Fast Lane - Kristen Ashley Page 0,94

do her.

[Grins]

And make sure that gets in whatever you’re doin’, sister.

Simone loves it and Tom hates it.

But these days, some of the best jollies I get is bustin’ Tommy’s chops.

Dave tries to talk Preach and me into hitting some club. There’s some band he’s interested in, he’s kinda cast himself in a role of mentor to a few bands who he thinks have promise, and he thinks this is gonna be one of them.

Preach and me refuse, Dave takes off, and we’re standin’ outside by our cars, and seein’ as I mentioned things were not gonna go further with the woman I’m with, Preach suggests I come to the place he’s at, a short-term rental.

I say yes because I’m glad to have him back. I’m pleased as fuck I got eyes on him again. I’m glad he looks good.

But I’m not at one with Mystery Preacher.

I had Mystery Preacher once and the end result was not one I wanted to relive, you hear what I’m sayin’ to you?

We drive down the coast.

He’s renting a little bungalow.

He gets out the bourbon.

We sit out on chairs that are on his back patio, but we got our feet in the sand.

And I say, “Preacher, I fucked up. I know it, man. But—”

He stops me by sayin’, “It wasn’t that. And it sucks you thought that. I hate it. Knew you’d be thinkin’ that and it ate me up while I was gone. But I had to go, brother. I had to go and be neck deep in nothin’ but me to find out who I was as a man whose brother’s body is now finally where it should be. In a grave with a tombstone.”

Then he says more.

He says, “And I had to go, I had to cut ties, it had to be a clean break without anyone able to get to me. I had to do this for Lyla.”

McCade:

It’s cleared out for us.

I’m sorry?

The bar. It’s cleared out for us.

I’m a regular, they appreciate it, they know I never do this. I wanted a space we’d both be comfortable in without distractions.

So, they cleared it out for us.

[Bartender serves McCade what looks like an iced tea]

You’re a regular at a bar and you no longer drink?

[He is not sitting a stool but leaning well forward from his significant height into his forearms on the bar, he turns his head toward me, and he’s smiling]

Darlin’, it’s three thirty in the afternoon.

Of course.

[Clinks the bottom of his glass against mine, which is not iced tea]

Not judging.

[Gaze drops to my notebook]

You’re writin’ a lot.

Well, I find you fascinating.

[Roars with laughter]

Jesse:

So…

As I shared, Preacher reaches out to Shawn.

Shawn wants to do something for this legal aid place.

He comes up with the charity concert.

Preacher wants the band back together and making music.

Of course, the band’s all in.

And thus, Tom does not fuck around with going to our label.

And they offer and it’s good. It’s respectable. It isn’t a fuck you, your lead disappeared for six years when you were at your peak.

But it was not what we were used to.

That doesn’t matter.

What matters is…

The band is back.

We recorded the new album in this place Tim wanted to hit that was out in the middle of nowhere in the desert.

Timmy also tries to talk us into doing peyote before we get down to business. Go on some spiritual quest or something. Do it together as a band.

Like we’re the fuckin’ Young Guns.

Dave says, “This place is phat, but if I’m gonna trip for the first time in half a decade, I want some pussy close by, not a bunch of dicks.”

[Chuckles]

Shawn and Vanessa have their kid by then, but Vanessa is Vanessa. She doesn’t wanna miss anything, and she doesn’t want Shawn to miss anything either. She finds a big house close by to rent, brings her momma to help out and makes a bunch of spa appointments.

And Tom is there, but Simone is not.

So, since Shawn doesn’t want to be puking and hallucinating when he’s getting zero sleep and has a newborn at home, and Tommy’s happy as fuck the band’s back together, but he doesn’t want to draw this shit out unnecessarily because he kinda likes his wife and wants to get back to her, and I lost interest in tripping when I was about nineteen and Preach never tripped, peyote was voted down.

We’d all been writing, though Shawn had nothing to contribute to the album since he records his own shit then loses all his