Locked and Loaded (Bullet, #6) (17 page)

Yeah...he was definitely right.  The reward was being blissfully ignorant of himself, of forgetting everything, of letting it all go.  Zane nodded...and then told his therapist what he’d been thinking—that being blitzed out of his mind 24/7 was a better alternative than living with who he was.

“Let’s start there.  Find out who you are and maybe who you want to be...and then we can talk about
real
change.”

––––––––

J
ENNIFER LOVED SATURDAY mornings.  She always slept as late as Zoe would let her and then, when the child was wide awake and babbling at her mama to get up, she’d pull her out of her crib and let her bounce around in bed with her for a bit.  When she was littler, Jennifer was able to get Zoe to sometimes go back to sleep if she could pop the child’s pacifier in her mouth and snuggle her in a warm embrace.  Nowadays, though, Jennifer would just let her play for a bit until Zoe was tired of it and edging herself off the bed, ready to explore the apartment or eat a little breakfast.  And then Jennifer would often get up and make an entire pot of coffee she would nurse throughout the morning until they’d get dressed and leave home to do something for the remainder of the day.

This Saturday morning was no different.  Zoe was in Jennifer’s queen-size bed and was now tugging on strands of her mother’s hair—to what end, Jennifer didn’t know, but Zoe was cracking her up with her constant chatter about spaghetti.

Did her hair
look
like spaghetti?  Well, as long as Zoe wasn’t chewing on it, she wasn’t going to worry.

Soon bored, Zoe began sliding off the bed, and Jennifer sat on the edge, yawning before standing up.  Her phone rang and she glanced at it as she stood.

It was Zane.

She let out a soft breath.  It had been a couple of weeks and he hadn’t bothered her.  She thought maybe for once he was taking her seriously.

And she thought maybe she was ready to talk.  She picked it up after the third ring and began walking toward the bedroom door.  Zoe was already way ahead of her.  “Hey, Zane.  How are you?”

“Nice to hear your voice.  I’m doing pretty good.  What about you?”

“Can’t complain.”  Well, she probably could.  She still disliked her job.  She’d thought telling off Cunt-stance would change all that and, while it was better, she still didn’t care much for it.  She hadn’t realized how repetitive the work was now that she no longer had to walk on eggshells.  However, she doubted Zane wanted to hear all her crybaby woes.  “How’s recovery going?”  Oh, God.  She hoped that hadn’t come out sounding too insensitive, aiming straight for the target without any more small talk.

Before she could apologize, Zane answered.  “Really well, actually.  I’m, uh...learning a lot about myself. 
A lot.
”  She was going to ask another question but, once more, he beat her to it.  “And I’m still clean.”

She grinned at Zoe who was already in the kitchen playing with little solid plastic doll figures she had on the floor and headed for the coffee pot.  “How long?”

“Close to thirty days.”

That didn’t sound very good to her, but she didn’t want to be discouraging.  Her thought was that anyone could do anything for thirty days if he needed to.  Immediately, she thought of Morgan Spurlock eating nothing but McDonald’s for thirty days in his documentary
Super Size Me
, and then all the people on the TV show
Survivor
, battling the elements and various assholes while starving—it was a tad more than thirty days, but not by much.  Yeah...she’d be impressed when he made it to half a year...and then more.  But instead of saying that, she said, “That’s great, Zane.”

“They say it takes twenty-one days to make or break a habit, so I’m already there.”

She couldn’t help herself.  She’d held it in long enough.  “Have you been clean for thirty days before?”  And when he answered the inevitable, that he’d done it before, she would try not to sound snotty in her reply.

But his answer shocked her.

“Not even close.  Seriously, Jen, there were times I’d walk straight out of rehab looking to score.”

“God.  Why even go through rehab then?”

“Good question.”  He was quiet for a few seconds before he added, “I think it’s because, even though I had a hell of a time quitting, I wanted to believe I could.  Just because I failed didn’t mean I hadn’t wanted to do it.  I just...wasn’t set up to succeed at staying quit, I guess.”

She was almost afraid to ask.  She tried to distract her emotions by filling the coffee pot with water.  “Are you this time?  Set up to succeed?”

“That’s where the psychologist comes in, Jen.  He’s the missing piece I’d never used before.”

She decided to try to keep her voice neutral.  “That’s good.”

“Yeah.  And...”  He got quiet.  It sounded like maybe he was struggling a little, so she didn’t want to push it.  “I’m talking about things—
thinking
about things I just never did before.”

“That
is
good, right?”

“Yeah.”  She turned the coffee pot on, having loaded it with fresh grounds, and turned around, leaning against the counter.  When she spied Zoe on the floor, she realized she should probably get her a little juice to drink before breakfast, so she turned back around and fetched a sippy cup out of the cabinet.  Zane acted like he wasn’t going to say more, and so she tried to think of what else they might want to talk about when he said, “I want to see you.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“Why not?  I’m making progress.  And you didn’t say how long you wanted me working at it before we could, uh, resume.”

That was true.  She’d merely told him he needed to clean up his act.  It wouldn’t be fair to string him along forever.  “What did you have in mind?”

“I think maybe...maybe we should take it slow this time.  Don’t get me wrong, babe.  I want you in the worst way.  Always have.  But I want to get to know your daughter too.  If we’re going to try having a serious long-term relationship, she needs to get used to me, and I want to get to know her.”

Aw.
  That was so sweet, and no way was Jennifer going to say it, but he was thawing her heart.  Maybe they did have a chance after all...and she thought maybe she should let him know the secret about her child.  But she still needed a little time to prepare.  “What day next week will work for you?”

* * *

“D
ude!  Dude, I got ‘em.”

“Hmm. 
Very
nice.”

“I knew you’d like.”

“You definitely know my type, man.  So, let’s see...”

“Who you thinkin’?”

“Hmm.  How about...the chick second to the right?  You know, the one wearing the black leather miniskirt and thigh-high boots?  Yeah, I gotta try that on for size.”

“Got it.  Okay, ladies—”

“Wait.”

“Yeah, boss?”

“The one in the middle?  The cute one with dimples?  Let her know I want to see her
after
the show.”

“Backstage passes for the rest?”

“Yeah.  Why not?  Uh—how much time we got before I gotta be on stage?”

“Oh, you got plenty of time, Zane.”

“You, my man, are the best roadie on the planet.  I think we need to give you a raise.  I’m starting to have a real hard time pickin’ out of the babes you bring me...”

“Yeah.  First world problems.”

“First world problems...”

“Let’s talk about sex, Zane.”

Zane couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face.  “What exactly do you want to discuss, doc?”

“You’d mentioned a few sessions ago that sex and drugs were part of your rock-and-roll routine.  Am I summing that up fairly?”

It didn’t sound like Zane’s words exactly, but the sentiment was right on.  When he was on the road with either band, sex and drugs were a huge part of the entire experience.  It had been that way from the beginning.  The trouble was he didn’t know how well he’d fare now on the road
without
sex or drugs.  Or without sex
and
drugs.

In fact, he was beginning to wonder if he should quit.

But that...that was crazy.  Playing bass in metal bands was the only real work he’d ever known.  Well, aside from bagging groceries at one of the smaller grocery stores back home his senior year in high school.  Add to it he was tatted all the fuck over his body, he didn’t know what kind of work he could get that he would actually
like
.

No, he had to find a way to survive—had to find a way to fucking stay clean once the going got tough.  And he
was
tough.  He knew he could do it.  That didn’t change the fact that he was a little fearful—and, he suspected, that was what Dr. Harvey wanted to explore.  So far, the guy had hit so many nails on the head with Zane, it wasn’t even funny, and he’d given great advice.  More than that, though, he’d helped Zane dig deep to discover who he really was.  There was a likeable guy down in there somewhere, someone Zane wanted to get to know better, to nourish and help grow.  A respectable guy, a good guy.

The guy Jennifer had fallen in love with and kept hoping Zane would be.

The man he
needed
to be for her.

“Yeah.  I’d say that’s pretty accurate.”

“I also know you told me about a typical day in terms of those three things, explaining the importance of them in your life while you were on tour.  Out of the three, in order of priority, where would you say sex ranked?”

What an odd question.  Zane had no clue how to answer it.  “Well, doc, something you gotta understand is that the sex and drugs wouldn’t have happened if not for the rock and roll, so I guess the music was number one.”

Dr. Harvey leaned forward, and Zane almost started laughing, because for some reason, he half expected the shrink to start talking in a European accent, imitating Sigmund Freud.  “You say that...but I don’t think that’s accurate.  Out of your priorities, which of the three would be more important?”

“I guess I don’t know what you mean.”

“Your music—would it be fair to say that your agenda for the tour was already set?”

“Yeah.”

“So...you already knew where you’d be going, where you’d be playing.”  Zane nodded.  “And did you ever miss a show, drugs or not?”

“Well, no.  If you’re talking about scoring pussy—which I think you are—you only have easy access because you’re in a band.  If you don’t perform, half the motivation for chicks is gone.  Chicks don’t wanna fuck washed-up has-beens.”

Dr. Harvey chuckled.  “I suppose that’s correct.”  He shifted in his chair and was twisting the pen in between his thumb and forefinger.  After a couple of seconds, his eyes reconnected with Zane.  “So tell me...how many partners would you say you had on any given tour?”

“Got a calculator?”  Zane was being flippant, but it didn’t change the fact that there really was no way for him to give an answer to that question.  “Doc, something you gotta understand...we went to all kinds of venues in hundreds of cities, lots of states—hell, lots of
countries
.  I have no way of knowing how many girls I fucked.”

“No keeping track?”

“I know one of our roadies had some app on his phone where he kept some kind of record for me...but no way in hell am I gonna ask him for info, telling him my psychiatrist needs to know how many women I’ve slept with on the road.”

Dr. Harvey started laughing.  “So he’s documented every single woman you’ve been with?”

“Ah...I don’t know for sure.  He might have missed one or two.”

“That’s all right, Zane.  I don’t need an accurate head count.  I just need an estimate.  Let’s make this easier.  In a day, how many times—
on average
—would you say you engaged in either sexual intercourse or something close?”

“On tour or—?”

“Yes.  On tour.”

Zane thought about the last tour—the one with Ethan and their side project band Sinful Disobedience.  Jenna had joined Ethan on tour, so Ethan was no longer Zane’s wingman (although
copilot
would probably be a more apt expression), but the new guys were young and horny, so Zane didn’t seem out of place or over the top in comparison.  And he’d been lucky enough that Ronnie, his best and most trusted roadie from Fully Automatic, had been along for the tour.  The guy knew his type—blonde, nice tits, small ass—and never failed to line them up.  Zane always had his pick, so he got the finest metal-lovin’ pussy from coast to coast.  “Uh...two or three times a day.”

“How many partners?”

“At a time or—?”

“Did you engage in sexual relations with multiple partners often?”

Zane shrugged.  “Once in a while but no...that wasn’t my usual bag.”  He sighed.  Goddamn, he was going to sound like a whore.  But it didn’t matter.  He always left Dr. Harvey’s office not only feeling better but with food for thought.  And the more he talked, the better he felt.  He didn’t know if it was because the sessions were a lot like confession and he felt absolved of multiple crimes every time he walked out the door, but it worked, so he would keep talking.  “Usually, it was just one chick.”

“For how long?  I mean...did she stay with you for a day or a week or month or...?”

Zane blinked.  Truth was hard sometimes.  “One chick at a time.”

Dr. Harvey cleared his throat.  “For each session?”

“Um...yeah.  So if I had sex three times in a day, it was usually with three different girls.”

The gray-haired man nodded.  “Seven days a week...while on tour?”

“Yeah.”

“So...by my estimation, no fewer than fourteen different partners per week, perhaps more.  Does that sound right?”  Zane swallowed and nodded.  God, when he put it
that
way...  “Have you ever heard of sex addiction, Zane?”

––––––––

Z
ANE DROVE DOWN the freeway, lost in thought.  The doctor had once more given him plenty of food for thought.  Zane had always found the idea of being addicted to sex comical—mainly because he’d truly been addicted to drugs and alcohol.  Sex was nothing like that.  Sure, he craved it...wanted it, needed it—but what normal, young human being on the planet didn’t?  It was like saying people could be addicted to air.