He was never a bad guy, just one unsuited to me. I didn't like that I had to remember him as the crazy, controlling, vicious, insane ex who had attacked me in a coffee shop. Now, the memories were a bit more subdued. We had closure.
So we were in Los Angeles for the weekend, poolside, sipping wine in the middle of the day. Jack had just gotten back from a brief meeting and told me that he had big news to share with me. Most of the time these days, I went with him to meetings. But this one he had asked to do alone, and I respected his wishes.
He sat down next to me at the hotel pool, clad only in his bathing suit. Our legs dipped in the water as the sun lightly cooked us from above.
"Well, I've decided to retire from touring. I'm just not going to do it anymore."
"Really?" I asked. "I thought you liked it." Inside, I quietly celebrated, my cravings for a more normal life about to come to fruition. We'd get married and settle down, the perfect progression of things.
"It's been burning me out," he said. "I love performing, but I'd rather do it at a local level, if at all. I mostly want to produce. I never wanted to complain in front of the other guys or Lexy because they were always having a blast."
I laughed, realizing he had apparently been thinking the same thing as me all along—but we never spoke of it for fear of offending someone else. "I was actually hoping you'd say something like that. But I was worried that I'd offend you."
Jack kissed my forehead and put his hand around my back. "I don't think you could offend me if you tried."
"I'm pretty good when I'm mad," I said confidently.
"We'll have to test that out sometime." He took a sip of his wine and delicately rested his glass on the cement.
"So does this mean you're going to still fly around all the time to work with people?"
He smiled. "They'll come to me. I don't have to chase them around anymore. I graduated. I'm a pro now."
Holy shit. Once again, the best was getting better. "W-where are you going to work from?"
"Where do you want to live?" he asked curiously.
"Wherever you are." I smiled, realizing it sounded tacky. "Here, maybe."
"Okay. We'll just wait and see then."
"Yeah." I nodded and stared at my reflection in the pool.
"There's one more thing," he said.
"Oh?" I asked.
"I was meeting with a film company today. They bought one of your stories and they want it developed into a script."
"What the fu—"
"I'm not kidding. I should have told you, but I snatched the draft of The Colored Room off the table when you left it there. Stacy said it was damn good, so I read it and then shopped it around after I realized she wasn't just saying that to be nice."
"Holy shit, Jack. I don't even know what to say." I seriously had run out of words entirely.
"Don't say anything. Write it. Make me proud." He pulled me closer and kissed my cheek this time.
"God, I love you, Jack. Maybe too much."
"I know what it's like to suffer from that problem. I'm terminally ill."
We both laughed and spent the rest of the day doing nothing, even though I really wanted to run to my laptop and start the script. This was surreal news, and it was great—but this was also vacation.
As Jack had shown me, sometimes when you stop trying so hard to see through the haze, it finally clears. And then you're left with the most beautiful things your eyes will ever see.
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