A Healing Love
Copyright© 2025 by Marc Nobbs
Chapter 12: Boots ‘n’ Bourbon
Coming of Age Sex Story: Chapter 12: Boots ‘n’ Bourbon - Paul Robertson's journey continues as his past and present collide at a star-studded movie premiere, where a connection that once terrified him reignites with passion that threatens to consume them both. Fighting to forge a new future for himself and stop drifting, Paul must finally become the man he’s always been afraid to be. A beautiful, bittersweet exploration of grief, social responsibility, the healing power of love, and learning that sometimes loving someone means letting them go.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction
“We should go,” Carly said as Alannah moved on to speak to her flatmates. “We have a train to catch.”
“What time’s your show?”
“I’m due on stage at eight-thirty and, in theory, I could just show up at ten after eight and go straight on, but I’d rather get there in time to do a rehearsal. I’m told the band has already rehearsed my songs, so I should just be able to sing while they play, but I’d still like time to run through it with them at least once.”
“So, what time do you want to be there?” We were already walking towards the exit. Imogen and Mark had left while I was talking to Alannah.
“The sooner the better. I think the doors open at about seven or something, and they’ve asked me to do at least an hour-long set—maybe even an hour and a half if the crowd are into it. So, really, I need to be there no later than five and ideally even before that.”
I glanced at my watch. It was just after two.
“It’ll probably be quicker if I drive us,” I said. “I’m not sure how often the trains run at weekends—I’ll check though, because I’d really rather go on the train. I’ve only driven in London a couple of times and hated every second of it each time.
“But I can’t imagine we’d get a train any later than three—probably before then. And it’s only an hour into London, so even though we have to get the tube after that, we should easily make it by five.”
“Okay, we’d better get a move on, then. It’s a good job I left an overnight bag at your place.”
It turned out that there were four trains to London every hour, so we set off just after half-past two. We dashed back to my place, grabbed the overnight bags we had both packed that morning along with Carly’s guitar, then I drove us into town and parked my car in the overnight multi-storey parking at the station.
By quarter to four, we were boarding the Tube at King’s Cross for a twenty-minute ride to Rotherhithe, the peninsula south of the River Thames formed where the river turns south before making a U-turn north again to create the Isle of Dogs peninsula to the north. Originally a shipyard, the area had a working dock until the late seventies, but all of the docks had been filled in and redeveloped as part of the broader Docklands regeneration, which included Canary Wharf to the north of the river.
Carly’s show was at a nightclub that hosted regular, themed nights. The American Country night, known as ‘Boots ‘n’ Bourbon,’ was every other Saturday. When the people who organised the event—a couple of young cowboys from Kentucky—heard that Kayla Valentine, one of the brightest rising stars in Nashville, was in town, they contacted her manager and pushed very hard to arrange a performance.
Carly mentioned they were paying her very well for it—almost double what she would typically earn for a one-off show like this, so she was eager to impress.
After a short walk from the Tube station, we arrived at the club to find Carly’s manager, Glenn, and the two event promoters, Blake and Luke, waiting for us.
“Kayla! Valentine!” said Blake, stepping forward and offering his hand, which Carly accepted. He shook her hand vigorously. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Miss Kayla! Your first album! Man, I had that one on repeat for about a month and a half. It’s amazing. And your second album! Man, some of those songs live rent-free in my head.”
Blake let go of her hand, and Luke stepped forward to shake her hand, too. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Miss Kayla. We feel real privileged and honoured that you’ll be performing for us tonight. I know our regulars are gonna love you. They’re real enthusiastic anyways, and it’s real rare we get a star on the rise like you here, so thank you for agreeing to do this. We sure do appreciate it.”
Carly tilted her head, smiled oh so sweetly and said, “Why thank you, Gentlemen. It’s a real pleasure to be here. I just hope I can put on a show that y’all enjoy.”
I don’t know if it’s because she was talking to people from ‘back home’ or if it was my imagination, influenced by the way Blake and Luke had spoken, but Carly sounded more like a ‘Southern Belle’ in those two sentences than she had all week. Don’t get me wrong, throughout the week in Westmouth, it was immediately evident where she came from every time she opened her mouth. She had such a delightful accent that I simply adored—the way every vowel sound was elongated and the way she emphasised the start of some words but the endings of others. I don’t know if I’d gotten used to it over the week or if she’d been trying to speak differently with me, but now her natural drawl had returned since she was speaking to her fellow Americans. The way she’d said those two sentences made me weak at the knees.
“Oh, I’m certain it’ll be a show we’ll be talking about for months and months to come,” Blake said. He was, without doubt, the more enthusiastic of the pair, and it may just have been his way with the people who performed at his events, but he did seem quite taken with Carly.
With my Carly.
I made a mental note to keep an eye on him. You hear stories about his sort.
“Would you like to meet the band?” Luke said, gesturing towards the stage. The band wasn’t there, but I assumed he was indicating that they had headed backstage. “They’re eager to meet you, too. And to run through the set list and everything. They’ve been practising your songs all week with their regular singer, so they should be ready to go.”
“That sounds perfect,” Carly said. “I’m eager to meet them all too.”
So, we headed deeper into the club with Luke and Carly leading the way and Glenn a step behind. Blake fell into step with me.
“So, is what Glenn tells me true? That you’re the ... er... ‘inspiration’ behind Kayla’s first two albums?”
I shrugged.
“Man, you’re a lucky son-of-a-bitch, I tell you that for nothing. You must have made quite an impression on her to make her write songs like that.” He paused. “I kinda hate you and admire you and am grateful to you all at the same time, you know?”
I nodded. “A friend of mine said pretty much the same thing after listening to the albums. Although, ‘grateful?’”
“Hell yeah, grateful. Grateful that you inspired such passion and depth of feeling that produced some of the best songs I’ve heard in a good few years.” He slapped me on the back.
By now, we were at the door that led backstage, and Glenn was waiting for me.
“Can I have a quick word, son?”
I nodded. “Sure.”
He held out his arm, indicating we should move away from the door and towards the stage.
“How’s she doing?” he asked. “Generally, I mean. I’ve heard almost nothing from her all week.” He paused and then added, “She’s not my only client in the country right now. I’ve got two others doing a mini tour of the country, and I’ve been on the road with them. Harry and Ellie have kept me in the loop, and they tell me she’s focused when she’s with them, but they haven’t made much progress yet. How’s she been outside the studio?”
I shrugged. “She’s fine. More than fine, I guess. She seems happy. She’s enjoying the time we spend together—at least, I think she is.”
“How’s she getting along with other people? Your friends, for example?”
“Fine. Why do you ask?”
He paused. To me, it seemed like he was weighing up what he could tell me or what he should tell me. He looked at me as if he were evaluating me.
Finally, he said, “Carly ... is a... ‘complicated’ person. A complicated ‘personality,’ really. She ... How can I put this? She can blow hot and cold. She goes through periods where she can be quite low and periods where she’s almost giddy. Most of the time, she’s just fine, but these... ‘mood swings,’ I suppose you could call them, are unpredictable and tend to occur when she’s facing something stressful or when there are changes to her routine.
“I told you before that she’s like many artists I’ve worked with in the past, and she feels really deeply. There was a period shortly after she finished the second album when she was really, really low for a good few weeks. I have no idea what she was like after you walked out on her, but I imagine it was a lot like that. I was quite worried about her for a while there, but she pulled through. She had good people around her who helped. I suppose it was as if she was coming down from the high of recording the album or something. It’s kind of like recording was a drug, and then she had to go through withdrawal. Do you know what I mean?”
I nodded. I didn’t, having never experienced it, but sometimes it’s best not to advertise your ignorance.
“Good. So, we’re on the same page. I just want to ensure that she’s okay. This is the longest she’s been away from Nashville and her friends there since moving to the city. I think finding you again might have helped, but it could also be the exact opposite of help. I guess we’ll see.”
I’m no expert on mental health, but what Glenn had just described sounded a lot like a condition that a girl I’d gone to school with had. She’d had quite violent mood swings, and they got worse whenever we’d had a test or something. She left school after her GCSEs rather than stay on with us in Sixth Form to do A Levels, and I hadn’t heard from her since.
But nothing I’d seen of Carly, neither when I’d been with her in Nashville nor during the past week and a half, was anything like how that girl had been. No mood swings. No seemingly random behaviour. Glenn was probably just being over-cautious and worrying over nothing.
“Honestly,” I said, “She’s been fine. Perfectly fine. I don’t really see her during the day—just in the evenings—but she’s been...” I shrugged. “Normal, I guess. Some nights, we go out. Some nights we just sit on the sofa watching telly. All very ... normal.”
He nodded. “Good. Good. Well, I’ll give you my number, and if you notice anything unusual, you can let me know, okay? Anything unusual at all. It’s my job to look after her.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll do that, but she’s fine. I promise you.”
“Good. That’s all I ask.” He nodded back towards the stage door. “Come on, let’s see how she’s getting on with the band.”
She was getting along with the band just fine.
As we entered the room, she called to me, “Paul, Paul, come here. I want you to meet the guys.”
She was standing with a man and a woman who looked quite alike.
“Paul, I want you to meet Ronnie and Roxie. They’re brother and sister.”
“Twins, actually,” Ronnie said in a very South London accent. He almost sounded like he belonged in a British gangster movie.
“Not identical,” Roxie added, grinning.
“Yeah, I’m the better-looking one,” Ronnie said, his expression neutral.
Roxie thumped him on the arm. Hard.
Honestly, I wouldn’t have wanted to upset either of these two, but I’d definitely want them on my side if push came to shove.
“Ronnie plays bass guitar. I guess six strings are too many for him to cope with,” Carly said, grinning.
“Hey!” Ronnie said with a smirk.
“Roxie plays a real guitar,” Carly said with a twinkle in her eye. “With all six strings.”
“Hey!” Ronnie said again, now grinning.
Carly turned and pointed towards the three other people in the room, who were sitting on a sofa and two wing chairs in a U-shape formation by the wall. “That’s Bones—he’s the drummer.” A huge white guy with a shaved head and tattoos all along both arms held up his hand in greeting and nodded.
“He looks hard,” Ronnie said, “But he’s a total pussycat.”
Bones growled and tried to look menacing. He succeeded.
“Next to him, that’s Charlie,” Carly said as if she hadn’t been interrupted by anyone. “He plays ... What was it? Piano and fiddle?”
“And harmonica, but it depends on the track,” he said. “And it’s usually a keyboard, not a piano. I play the sax as well, but there’s not much call for that in Country.”
Carly smiled and said, “Not yet, anyway.” Then she turned back to me before continuing, “I swear, I’m full of good ideas today. I can’t wait to speak to Ellie and Harry. I might even call them tomorrow rather than wait until Monday. And finally, at the end, that’s Sarah. She’s a guitar player, too. A proper guitar, not a bass.”
“Hey!” said Ronnie, one more time. He was still grinning.
Turning back to me again, Carly said, “Apparently, they’ve all been playing a couple of my songs as the house band for a couple of months already. How awesome is that?”
“They’re awesome songs,” Roxie said. “And I love singing them. But I’m really looking forward to hearing you sing them.”
“Aww, thanks, that’s real kind.” Then, turning to me again, Carly said, “We’re gonna go out on stage and run through a set list, decide on the order we do things and rehearse some. You can stick around and watch if you want.”
“Actually,” I said, “I kinda want to experience this gig like the rest of the crowd. I love to hear you sing, but I’d rather see the finished article. How about I take our bags and check into the hotel, then come back in an hour or so?”
“You sure? Okay, I suppose it makes sense to do that, or we won’t be checking in until real late.” She glanced at her watch. “Come back for half-six? Before the door opens to everyone else? We can maybe grab a bite to eat with the guys here before we go on.”
I nodded. “Okay. See you in a bit.”
The hotel was about a twenty-minute walk away on the bank of the river in an old dry dock. I’d booked a suite on the top floor, featuring a balcony with a view of the river and the skyscrapers of Canary Wharf towering majestically over everything on the opposite bank.
I checked in, took our bags up to the room, and made myself a cup of tea, which I drank out on the balcony, leaning on the railing and gazing out at all the activity on the river and the people bustling about in the distance, simply going about their business.
I wondered how many of them were following their normal routines, perhaps ones they’d had for years, or how many were enjoying a special day out in the nation’s capital, seeing the sights before returning home to their normal, everyday lives. I wondered how many of them were businesspeople making deals—movers and shakers amassing their millions. And I wondered how many were experiencing the kind of change and upheaval that I felt I was going through.
It was the eighteenth of January—just four days shy of a full month since Hannah and I had parted ways. Yet, here I was, in another relationship. I hadn’t spoken to Hannah since she left my house that Sunday morning, and I wondered what she would say if or when she found out about Carly and how swiftly I’d ‘moved on.’
Given how long I’d avoided any kind of relationship after Clarissa’s death, I was somewhat surprised to realise that I was on my fourth in less than a year. And how quickly I’d gone from one relationship to the next in that time.
I met Paige on the Monday after Vanessa left for her summer holiday, and we had our first date a week later. Had it not been for Hannah’s self-control, my relationship with her would have started the day after Paige broke up with me.
And now I was a week and a half into my relationship with Carly, less than a month after ending my relationship with Hannah. But I’d had a two-week break from reality with my sister over the Christmas and New Year period—disregard that break, and I was with Carly less than a week after splitting up with Hannah.
From Vanessa to Paige to Hannah to Carly, there was hardly any break between any of them.
Did that make me a ‘serial monogamist?’ Was that who I was now? A drifter destined to move seamlessly from one relationship to the next with little, if any, break in between. Was that any better than what I’d been doing during my gap year in the United States or the first half of my first year at Westmouth?
Was I...? Was I ‘scared’ to be alone?
I thought about it and realised that I spent very little, if any, time alone. I lived with three good friends, and there was always someone in the house. Lectures, seminars, and tutorials found me surrounded by crowds of people. I spent my evenings with friends, as well. I suppose the only time I was alone was when I slept—and even then, I didn’t always sleep alone.
Actually, I think that right then, standing on that balcony drinking my tea, might be the first time I’d been completely alone since I returned to the empty house at the start of the month and waited for Imogen and Mark to arrive.
I glanced at my watch. It was just after five. I’d agreed to go back to the club to meet Carly at half six, so I had about an hour or so to kill, given that it was a twenty-minute walk back to the club. I suppose I could have simply stayed there and watched the world go by from the balcony or gone back inside to watch television. Since I hadn’t brought a book or my tablet with me, I had nothing to read.
For the first time in as long as I could remember, I was alone with absolutely nothing to do. Even when I was waiting for Mark and Imogen to get home at the start of the month, I had things to occupy my time, like washing my clothes, heating the house, and generally preparing for their arrival. But now...
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