Finding His Redemption Read online

  She shrugs. “I say we go with it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

  Famous last words.

  Who knew West could bowl? Who knew West even liked bowling? Not this former superfan, that’s for damn sure. And yet, as we finished setting up, that’s exactly what he did, and he did it pretty damn well, all while answering questions about his brother.

  He was, once again, more forthcoming than I’d expected, explaining how his brother had always been about doing the “right thing” — aka what their dad wanted — all while somehow avoiding the man himself as much as possible.

  He did skirt around the issues with his dad again, but openly talked about how much he hated his brother as a kid and that now, as an adult, he can see more where he was coming from.

  It’s the first time Kristoffer Westberg has surprised me in a good way in a very long time, and it gives me hope that this will be another successful apology. Ford and Burke seemed happy with the first one, anyway, so I figured if this went the same way, then we’d be in good shape.

  Luckily, once his brother did show, things seemed to take off on their own between the two of them and they didn’t even need me. Like, at all. West and his brother had a very natural conversation about West’s time in rehab and how he’s been clean more than two years now.

  His brother not only forgave without being asked but also asked for West’s forgiveness for the disappearing acts he apparently used to pull on the regular. It was almost touching. There wasn’t any hugging like with West and Ward, rather a friendly handshake.

  And now, Alexsis is interviewing Erik in another part of the building while I get ready to do West’s post interview.

  As I sit down to West taking off his bowling shoes, he looks up at me and my heart trips in my chest. He looks happy. If I hadn’t gotten to know him better, I wouldn’t be able to tell. But his smirk is more a smile, and there’s a light in his eyes I don’t often see. It takes me a moment to place what it makes me feel: pleased. I’m pleased that he’s happy.

  I sink into the closest orange plastic chair, unsure why that weirds me out so much.

  “You know, I know you’re here to do my post-apology interview thing. But I realized there’s something very important we haven’t addressed,” he says.

  “Oh? What’s that?”

  “We haven’t talked about your taste in music. I think I need to find out what kind of rock expert you really are before I answer any more questions,” he says, leaning back in his chair.

  “And how, exactly, do you plan to do that?” I ask suspiciously.

  “Just a few harmless questions of my own.” But the mischievous glint in his eye betrays him. He’s feeling peppy and looking to test me. But two can play at that game.

  “Hm. How about this. You get to ask me one, then I get to ask you one?”

  He cocks an eyebrow. “Fine,” he agrees.

  “All right, you go first,” I tell him.

  His answering grin is feline. “Fender or Gibson?”

  I level a look at him. He knows that I know how much he loves his precious Gibson guitar. His pride and joy. His Rosie. “Fender.”

  He laughs. “I knew you were going to say that.”

  “Mhm,” I murmur. “Jimmy Page or Eric Clapton?”

  “Jimmy Page,” he returns with no hesitation. Good man. “Rolling Stones or The Beatles?”

  I scoff. “The day we met I was wearing a Stones shirt, dude.”

  “Still a valid and very fundamental question,” he defends.

  I roll my eyes. “Rolling Stones, obviously. Bohemian Rhapsody or Stairway to Heaven?”

  He’s actually quiet for a minute. “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

  That surprises me, given how iconic Stairway to Heaven is, especially with guitarists.

  “Don’t tell anyone I said that, though,” he follows up.

  “Your secret’s safe with me,” I promise.

  “All right, all right. Now. A very important question.” He turns his head and gives me a serious look. “Who would win in a fight between Billy Corgan and Courtney Love?”

  I bark a sharp laugh. “Courtney Love, hands down. For reasons I assume are obvious.”

  He chuckles and nods.

  “Bon Scott or Brian Johnson?” I ask.

  “Damn, you’re not pulling punches, are you, Maxi?” he says with a teasing tone. “Bon Scott.”

  “Really? It’s not just because he’s the original, is it?”

  West shrugs. “Sometimes you can’t forget the one who made you fall in love.” His eyes meet mine.

  I swallow hard. He just said a mouthful. “So did I pass?”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “Yeah, I guess you’re okay.”

  My eyebrows jump of their own accord. Well, that’s a shift. Here I was thinking I was the biggest, or at least most recent, thorn in his side. Now I’m okay. Interesting. Guess we’ll see how long that lasts.

  “Glad we got that out of the way,” I reply. “So can I do my job now?”

  He slings an arm over the chairs, staring at me with a glint in his eyes. “Yeah, Maxi. Go for it.”

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes because I get it. He wants to feel like something about this is on his terms. Under his control. All things considered, his test was actually pretty enjoyable.

  Oh god, did I really just think of West and “enjoyable” in the same sentence? I must be getting soft.

  As soon as Carter’s assistant is ready and we’re rolling again, I purposely don’t go easy on West, grilling him on his conversation with his brother. I even get him to squirm at one point. I’m a bit sadistically happier about that than I should be.

  But whatever little measure of control he took, I needed back. Because when it comes to West, I can’t trust myself; there’s too much of my past that was spent adoring him, and I’ve had to shake myself out of those patterns. So I need to stay in the driver’s seat here.

  We finally get everything we need, and Alexsis and I compare notes before we pack up and head home for the evening.

  I check in with Carter before leaving, and he gives me the news: The next apology is this Sunday. West’s ex. I don’t know whether to dread whatever drama is bound to unfold or plan on bringing popcorn.

  As I head out to my car, ruminating over that, I don’t even see West leaning against exterior of the building just outside the entrance.

  “Hey, Maxi.”

  I look up, startled. “What are you still doing here?”

  “I’m waiting for my driver.”

  “Can’t you call an Uber or something? Or is that not safe for formerly famous rock stars?”

  “Ouch, Maxi, ouch,” he sighs. “I prefer my guy. At least, for another year anyway, until I can get my license back.”

  I shrug, finding it hard to feel sorry for someone who had multiple DUIs within a couple of years. “Did you need something?”

  “I heard Carter talking about Sadie.”

  “Sadie? Oh, your ex?”

  “That’s the one. Sunday?”

  “Sunday,” I confirm. “You ready?”

  He shakes his head and laughs. “Never.”

  A drop hits my nose, causing me to look up. “Oh shit, it’s —”

  “Raining,” West finishes as the small drops promptly turn into a deluge. Well, for Southern California anyway. “Fuck.”

  “Come on,” I call, running toward my car. “Get in.”

  He doesn’t hesitate, running the short distance and practically diving into the passenger seat as I get in the driver’s side of my tiny coupe.

  A glance in the rearview mirror tells me I look like a drowned rat, though thankfully my makeup isn’t visibly running. But I look over at him, and his T-shirt is soaked through, sticking to the lean muscles of his chest. Drops of water run over his sharp cheekbones. In short, he looks like a wet fucking dream. The bastard.

  “Where’s your driver?” I ask.

  “Downtown. I can wait for him inside.”

 
I shake my head, resigned. “In this weather? It’ll take him hours to get here. I’m in Culver City, I’ll drop you off on my way home.”

  “I don’t live downtown, that’s just where he is. But I can get a ride from Culver City.”

  “So where do you live?” I poke back.

  “The Palisades.”

  I snort. “Figures.” Shaking my head, I buckle in and start the car. Why on earth did I just sign up for an hour or two stuck in a car with this guy?

  Because I’m not an asshole, that’s why. If I were, this would be so much easier. Well, this wouldn’t be at all, as I’d have refused to see him the first time he showed up at Rock Scene. But that’s not who I am, so here we are. Dripping wet and fogging up the windows of my car while I drive the former rock god who shaped my younger years across Los Angeles. Life is weird.

  “Thank you,” West says, breaking through my thoughts as I pull onto the main road.

  I glance over at him. Still looking like he just won a wet T-shirt contest. If they even have those for dudes.

  “You’re welcome,” I reply begrudgingly.

  He beams. “That was really hard for you to say, wasn’t it?”

  An unbidden laugh chokes its way out of me. “Yes!”

  “What’d I do, Maxi? To make you not want to feel anything for me anymore?”

  “Why do you care?” I deflect. “You don’t like me either.”

  “That’s what I thought too. But I’m starting to think I may have been a bit hasty on that front.”

  I shoot him a skeptical look.

  “No, really. You didn’t have to drive me home. You didn’t have to do any of this, really. But you are. You’re obviously a good person, Maxi. So if there’s a problem here, it must be me.”

  His words hit me right in the heart. “You’re not a bad person, West.”

  “Thanks,” he murmurs. But from his tone I can tell he doesn’t agree.

  I glance over to see him rubbing circles into his knee with one finger.

  “Why do you do that?” I ask, nodding toward his hand.

  “You ask a lot of questions but won’t answer any?”

  I laugh. “That’s literally my job description,” I remind him.

  “Fair enough,” he allows. “Off the record?”

  I debate that. But if we’re going to be in this for another, what, three or four apologies? Anyway, we’re going to need to build some sort of trust here.

  “Off the record,” I agree.

  “It’s a soothing mechanism.” He pauses. “For when I feel like drinking.”

  I look over at him in shock. Because he does it so much.

  “Yeah. I feel like drinking a lot,” he says, as if replying to my thoughts.

  “Wow. I had no idea you still struggled so much.”

  He shrugs. “It’s not as bad as it was at first.”

  “But at least you’re not an addict anymore,” I offer. “You’ve got your life back. You’ll get there.”

  A small smile graces his still-damp lips, and he looks at me with those dark, soulful eyes of his. “I’ll always be an addict, Maxi. But I’m still me. Always have been, always will be. Even addiction can’t take that away. Nothing can, really.”

  I swallow hard against the emotions his words stir in me. Pity. Compassion. Confusion.

  “Why are you telling me this?” I ask, my throat dry as I try my hardest to concentrate on driving. But now that we’re on the freeway, slowed to a crawl, it doesn’t require enough of my focus to ignore the gnawing feeling in my stomach. Guilt. Even though I know that particular emotion should be all him.

  “So you know I’m still that guy you felt for once. In here.” He thumps his fist to his heart.

  I blink hard against the tears. Lord, no. Remember, Max, remember.

  “The last time we met,” I say, my voice thick with emotion, “you know, before you showed up at my magazine, you almost got me arrested for prostitution.”

  West pulls back. “I’m sorry, I did what now?”

  I huff out an unamused laugh. “Three years ago. You guys did a concert at the Forum. Afterward, some friends and I were looking for our car and we found you guys outside a back entrance. You called us over. Started to flirt. God, I was so stupidly flattered. I’d worshipped you for more than ten years. Then some cops came by. And I think …” I blink hard, fighting back tears of anger this time, all of the guilt evaporating as the memories pour back in, “in hindsight I think you were just trying to keep them from realizing you were high or had drugs on you or whatever, but you told them I was a prostitute trying to get you to hire me. I got handcuffed and shoved into the back of a police car while you guys hightailed it out of there with your security team. I cried and begged and pleaded, trying to explain that I wasn’t a hooker. I think they finally figured out what had happened, because they let me go with a warning. Or they didn’t want to make a scene since my friends were freaking out the whole time. Either way, it was one of the most traumatic experiences of my life. And that’s the night I lost all respect for you. Oh, and your band, who didn’t bother correcting your wildly harmful and false accusation.”

  I grip the steering wheel, purposely not looking at him. Expecting him to say something. Anything. A denial. An explanation. An apology. But the exact thing he’s been begging me to tell him got no response. Nothing.

  The whole drive. He stayed silent. I kept looking ahead.

  I broke the silence eventually, asking him where he lived. Quietly, he told me. And nothing more even as I dropped him off. Not even a goodbye.

  11

  So What by Pink

  * * *

  West

  I’m an asshole. Wait, what’s worse than being an asshole? Because that’s what I am. A lowlife piece-of-shit addict with a knack for destruction. My own life. My band. Other people’s lives. I don’t discriminate. I’ll burn them all to the ground.

  It doesn’t matter that I care now. It doesn’t matter that I’m not using anymore. It doesn’t matter that the band is back together or that I’ve made a couple of stupid apologies. It doesn’t change anything. My regret changes nothing. How do you unburn a bridge?

  Obviously, my thoughts have spiraled since Maxi’s revelation. In light of the horrifically awful way I behaved toward someone who revered me … well, it all feels futile. Some misdeeds are too heinous to be forgiven. So why bother apologizing? What’s it fixing, really?

  Oh yeah. My career. That.

  It’s the last thing I have. The only thing. If I can salvage it, maybe the rest won’t matter. At least, that’s what I tell myself. I have to. I have to have something I can focus on that can be fixed. And as much as I hate it, I’ve been given a road to follow to make that happen. So I’m going to fucking follow it and take what’s coming to get at least that back.

  Addiction may have completely changed the course of my life, but I won’t let it take music from me. Or any fans still willing to see past a bunch of drug-and-alcohol-fueled bad decisions. I have to believe there are enough of them left to make this worth it.

  I heave a sigh as my driver speeds down the freeway toward my next life implosion. Toward Sadie. Another woman who hates me for good reason.

  But when we pull up at a strip club, all I can do is laugh. Looks like not much has changed, because this is exactly where we met.

  As soon as I step out of the car, as if I’m searching for her, my eyes land on Maxi. I can tell by the tension in her body, the hard set of her jaw, and how hard she’s gripping her takeaway coffee cup that she is not a happy camper. And while I would usually immediately think of all the ways I could tease her for it, today I feel bad. Jesus Christ.

  In this moment, I know everything has changed. I saw her as the enemy before, the driving force behind this public lesson in humiliation and groveling. But knowing why she carries such hatred toward me? I can only accept the blame. I can’t make it right. She doesn’t want me to. But I can stop baiting her at every turn. Stop trying to get a ris
e out of her.

  It’s going to be hard. Because damned if it isn’t fun watching her react.

  As if she hears me thinking about torturing her, her head turns, and we lock eyes. And something lurches inside of me in a way that makes me wonder for the first time if I feel something more for her than dislike or regret.

  Fuck. I think I respect Maxi Marshall.

  Christ, I do. The woman is here. Though snarky, she’s doing this. How could I not respect that?

  I approach carefully, given our epically awful last conversation.

  “Hey,” I offer.

  One of her dark, slender eyebrows raises. “Hi?”

  I open my mouth to apologize, but snap it shut. How stupid would an apology be? I’m sorry I almost got you arrested for prostitution, but I understand now why you’ll always hate me?

  “So, your ex is a stripper, huh?” she asks, saving me from pulling together an apology I don’t have the first clue how to make and sound sincere.

  I shove my hands in my pocket and nod. “This is where we met, actually.”

  She rolls her eyes and I smile a little. And for some reason, my body relaxes.

  “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by that,” she murmurs, taking a sip of coffee.

  “A little late in the day for caffeine, isn’t it?” I offer lamely. Christ, West.

  She snorts. “Thanks, Dad.”

  I shake my head, not wanting to banter back like I usually would. “Whatever. So, what’s the plan? You guys aren’t leaving me alone with her like you did with Erik, are you?”

  A wicked smile spreads over Maxi’s full, red lips. “Are you afraid of your ex, West?”

  I shrug. “You would be too if you knew her.”

  That gets a full laugh out of her. “I met her a few minutes ago. She’s gotta be a hundred pounds soaking wet.” She eyes me up and down. “Pretty sure you could take her.”

  I scoff. “How little you know me. I’d never fight a woman, Maxi. Not even one as pretty as you.” And with a wink, I decide to leave it there and find someplace else to be.

  I make to head into the club, but one of Carter’s assistants stops me at the door. “Sorry, Mr. Westberg, we’re not ready for you yet.”