Star Crossed

She was happy to have me home. Happy, but not thrilled like Val was to see Matt, or elated like Leana to see Jimmy. It bothered me just a little. I'd been away from home for months on end, and yet all I got was a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. No, "Welcome home, Zacky." No, "I missed you." And within five minutes of my having been back in the house, she was gone. Off to see some friend of hers.

The house was clean. Overly clean. As if nobody had been living in it for the length of time that I had been gone. Usually this would have pleased me, but right now I could have done with the distraction. Instead, after I had taken a lengthy shower, I found that I had nothing better to do than to sit and dwell on the things that I would rather ignore.

No matter how rich you are in life, you'll find that there still will be times when there's absolutely nothing to watch on the television. I spent the better part of an hour flicking through station after station, never staying on one for any more than five minutes at a time, if even that. The hour after that was spent aimlessly playing video games that I wasn't really interested in. And the hour after that I spent aimlessly wandering the house in search of something - of anything - to do.

It was the biggest downside of just having returned from a long tour. The sudden abundance of free time was enough to drive anybody crazy. At long last I retired to my room and did the one thing that I usually didn't do for at least a week after getting home - I picked up my guitar and played.

This turned out to be a stupid thing to do, because it dragged my thoughts right back to him. Playing alone just wasn't the same - it wasn't right unless he was right there by my side, picking up the slack when I faultered or else adding another layer to the rhythm I was playing. How was it that my only salvation was also the one thing that we did together so joyfully?

I had to get out of the house. I had to get away from all of this. I made up my mind in that split second and traded my guitar for my carkeys, heading outside to my baby eagerly. I slipped into place on the black leather seat and took a moment to breathe in the scent. While it was nice to have somebody else driving you around all the time, sometimes all you wanted to do was get behind the wheel and get away. That was what I did now.

I drove all over town, taking in the sights as if it were my very first time. And since we had been gone for well and truly over a year, it felt like it was. Things in Huntington Beach didn't change much in the space of a year, but I still felt the need to reacquaint myself with it. When you had a job like mine, you never knew when you were going to see home again.

Johnny's Bar was the place to be.

I parked a little way down the street and walked the rest of the way to the place that had become a haven for school kids with fake IDs. It was almost too easy - the bartenders were unusually hopeless at recognising a fake, and once they came to recognise your face around the place you never had to show it again. I knew it was something that should have been brought to the attention of somebody with a spiffy legal title, but who was I to complain? I'd had some of the best times of my life in this bar - why deny other underage punks the chance?

I stepped inside the dingy bar and headed towards where the guys and I always sat. I was a little annoyed when I noticed that there was already somebody there. This annoyance turned to surprise when I came to realise who it was.

"Brian?"

He glanced around at the sound of my voice, proving that it was indeed him. My breath caught in my throat as those hazel eyes met my green - even from this distance and in semi-darkness I could see that they were red-rimmed. Not a sight that I often saw, and not one that I wanted to see. What was so wrong with the world that he - beautiful, strong Brian Haner Jr. - was crying?

"Hey, Zee..."

I sat down across from him, not failing to notice the two already empty beer bottles on the table, along with the at least half a pack of Marlboro butts that were littered all around them. He hadn't been here long, then. He grabbed his third bottle, already half empty, and took a swig.

"Dude, what's up?" He shrugged as he set the bottle down once again. His eyes remained glued to it, refusing to look at me again. Odd behaviour on his part. "I thought you'd be at home with 'Chelle, man, especially after you whined about missing her so much."

"Yeah, well, apparently shedidn't miss me so much." His eyes narrowed, and the look that he gave that bottle was enough to make me wonder how it was still in one piece. "I fucking walked in on her with some other guy, man. In our bed! What the fuck?!"

My eyebrows shot up as my eyes widened in surprise. Michelle? Cheating? It was a thought that I just couldn't process. It was the epitome of his nightmares - and, sad to say, the product of my dreams.

"...fuck, dude. I'm so sorry to hear that..."

I really was. Because despite the fact that I wanted him to be mine, I didn't want him to be miserable. And without Michelle - his love of many years - he was. It was heartbreaking to watch.

"What about you? Why aren't you home fucking Gena's brains out?"

"She went to see a friend," I replied indifferently. "Didn't seem like she missed me much."

"Fucking girls. Who needs 'em?"

"Damn right."

And that was how we ended up sitting around bitching about our horrible love lives into the late hours of the evening. I felt that his need was far greater than mine, and so I stayed sober while he drank himself stupid. There was no way that I was going to let him drive home drunk. Hell, there was no way that I was going to let him go home at all - not when he was like this. And by three in the morning he was passed out in one of my guest rooms, looking as amazing as ever.

It took more than just a little self-control for me to make myself head down the hall to my own bed.