“How long has the cramping been going on?”
“Addison,” I grumbled, closing my eyes and tilting my head back in frustration.
“How long, Asher?” Her voice had changed. She was forceful, and demanding, and it was hot as fuck.
“A year.”
“A year? God, have you seen anyone about it?”
“Yes, actually,” I said with a pathetic sigh. I opened my eyes and found her staring at me expectantly, waiting for me to tell her more. I ran my hand down my face in vexation. “Fine. You win. It’s something called Focal Dystonia. It usually doesn’t affect people this young, but lucky me had to be one of the outliers. It’s a neurological disorder and can happen to people who perform the same motions over and over again. Musicians are most prone.
“It causes painful cramping of the muscles in my hands and arms. I don’t sleep very well and my mood is all over the place, as you’ve noticed. And I’m stressed, but that could be because of my job or the tour. Who the fuck knows?”
I was growing angrier as I spoke, and when I finished, I was shouting at Addison who didn’t budge from her spot across the tub as I punched the water, spraying both of us.
“What do we do to fix it?”
“Nothing! There isn’t a damn thing anyone can do. I’ve been ordered to rest and relax to see if it calms things down. I’m probably going to be replaced in the band I created, all because of some fucking shit with my brain.”
“Asher,” she whispered softly.
“And who knows. The doc suspects it could be Early Onset Parkinson’s disease. So, you know, I could be like this forever.
“All I’ve ever wanted to do was play music and now that’s being stolen from me. I can’t even grip my guitar without my hand cramping, let alone come up with music.”
A beat of silence passed and I looked away from the bubbles and across to Addison.
“Are you done?”
“What?” I asked cocking a brow and tilting my head to the side.
“Are you done with your pity party? I mean, we each get one. I had mine with Katy, but you’re entitled to one. I just want to know if you’re done.”
“I wasn’t having a fucking pity party.”
She laughed. Not just the cute giggle I’d grown accustomed to, but a boisterous laugh that came from her entire body.
“That was the biggest freaking pity party I have witnessed in my entire life.”
“Whatever,” I grumbled.
“Asher, come on. You just had the biggest, whiniest, self-indulgent party I’ve ever witnessed. And I’ve watched my younger cousins throw tantrums over dessert.”
“So, what are you trying to say? That I don’t deserve to get angry and upset that everything I’ve ever known is up in the air?”
I was getting angry, feeling that tension bubbling beneath my skin. Then something happened. Addison moved across the tub and settled against my lap. She shifted her weight so that she was straddling me, my cock pressed against her stomach.
“You deserve to feel however it is you want to feel. You deserve to be angry, upset, and lost. But you also deserve to get answers. You deserve to fight. Asher Blake, you are one of the strongest people I know. If there is anyone that could persevere through some sort of diagnosis like this, it’s you.”
She wrapped her arms around my shoulders, leaning her head against one of her arms and pressed a kiss to my jawline. My anger immediately dissolved. She was right. I was letting this. . .problem. . .determine how my life was going to change due to this condition. I may not have any say on what happened regarding the band and how that would play out, but I had a say one my personal life.
“Shit, I’m going to have to talk to the band, aren’t I?”
“Eventually, yeah. But you don’t have to right now. You can relax and wrap your head around everything. It’s all still new. You’re allowed to have time. Except. . .”
“Except what?” I replied, stroking my hand up and down her back, my body relaxing since my tirade.
“My dad is going to be livid you didn’t tell him right away. He’s very protective, you know.”