Let's go.

Part 15: The Unwanted Visitor

"What's going on?" Layne's voice is calm as he continues to hold me against his chest.

My stomach is in knots after hearing Jerry's voice.

He places his finger under my chin to lift my eyes to meet his. He is staring down at me, worry furrowing his brow.

"Just tell me," He says softly.

"Jerry," I croak out, my throat dry.

"Ah, the fucker found me," Layne says with a chuckle. "That happened a lot faster than I thought it would," he adds and shakes his head.

"You didn't tell anyone you were here?" I ask.

He shakes his head "No," then adds, "I needed a break from everyone."

He squeezes me tightly before letting me go and turning toward the plate with the pancakes we had been feeding each other before the call. The pancakes have grown cold with time and bloated from the excessive amounts of syrup Layne pooled over them. He lifts the fork next to the plate and squishes it down on top of the round cakes, syrup begins oozing from the sides to escape the pressure.

"He's calling to get you to go on that tour, isn't he?" I ask.

Layne stands and sighs. He sets the fork down on the plate and then leans against the counter to face me. His arms are crossed over his body and he looks troubled.

"Yeah, we are supposed to go Europe, Australia... A big world tour." He lets out a long exhale and rubs his hand down his face. "I don't know if can do it."

He sighs then says, "Everyone keeps asking me what I want." He's quiet for a moment and he finally says almost as a whisper, "But what I want won't ever fucking exist again."

"And what's that, Layne?" I ask softly

He looks up at me, his blue eyes are bright but solemn, "I just want it to be like what it was before all this happened." He says with a shrug. "I feel burdened, uninspired, and just fuckin' bored. I love being on stage but everything else really sucks." He adds with a chuckle.

I nod my head, recognizing that his current situation isn't providing him with the kind of artistic outlet he desires and he is yearning for something different, something purer. And it makes sense. Watching him while I was briefly a part of their tour last year, it became obvious that Layne was not interested in the fast-paced grind that the industry imposed on them. Jerry fed off of it and was energized by it. But it grated on Layne. He instead longed for the stripped down version of the industry: the energized crowds and artistic expression. Not the bloated extortion it manifested and sucked them down into.

I don't know what to say to him. I know that I will never understand what he is feeling and that he doesn't want advice. He stops rubbing his face and looks down at me. His blue eyes searching mine for answers that I cannot provide.

Finally, I say, "Sex, skateboarding, or surfing?"

His eyebrows shoot up and he says, "What?"

I clear my throat and repeat, "Do you want to have sex, go surfing, or skateboard?"

He laughs joyfully, his eyes shining down at me.

He grins widely and says, "It is getting too dark for surfing, so I choose the other two."

He chuckles and reaches for me. He grabs a handful of my ass and pulls me up against him

"You own a skateboard?" he asks, his eyes looking down at me with a mischievous gleam.

I bite my lower lip and nod my head vigorously.

"You always surprise me," He says with a grin before placing a loud smacking kiss on my lips.