Now
“It’sbeensixweekssince you even bothered picking up a guitar,” my assistant Annie says from the door to my in-home gym.
That’s not technically true. I pick one up every now and then as I walk around the house. I have eight guitars scattered throughout my Nashville home, a holdover from the days when the songs were pouring into my brain so quickly that I needed to have an instrument within arm’s reach at any given moment.
They’re less necessary now.
I set the bench press bar back on its holder and rise to a sitting position. Her gaze stays laser-focused on my face, a mixture of sympathy and concern in her eyes.
“I’m taking a well-deserved break,” I reply, repeating the same phrase my PR team has used about two hundred times since the end of my international tour last year. It’s not that I don’t deserve a break after headlining the highest-ever-grossing international tour; it was needed, especially after all the drama that happened during it.
But now it’s less of a break and more of a self-imposed stay in the isolation wing of a prison. If the prison were a six-million-dollar home complete with a swimming pool, a workout room, and a pool house turned recording studio in Nashville.
“Your song for the benefit is due soon,” Annie says, as if I don’t know that.
“Are you bored, Annie?”
Narrowed eyes is the only reaction I get from her.
“I can set you up with that new gate security guy if you want?” I offer. “I think his name is Nate.”
His name is most certainly Tim, but I’m bored and love playing matchmaker. So, setting up my employees—since they’re the only people I ever bother to see these days—seems like my best option.
“His name is Tim, Jaxon. He’s been here for two months, you should know that.”
“Oh, right. Tim. And is he from around here originally, or did KH Security make him move out this way?” I ask, taking a sip of water to hide my smile.
“He moved to Nashville to be closer to his grandkids, which is highly commendable,” Annie says with a sniff. “The poor man lost his wife almost three years ago now, and when his daughter-in-law went back to work full-time, he moved here to help with the grandkids. It’s why he works the night shift.”
Poor Annie. She never sees my sneaky ways coming.
“He does seem like a great guy. Maybe you should invite him over for dinner sometime. I’m sure he doesn’t get a lot ofhome-cooked meals—not wanting to be a burden for his son or daughter-in-law.”
“I suppose I could invite him over,” she says, pulling up her phone and typing something. Knowing Annie, it’s likely a reminder to think about it more later.
“You could come too. Maybe bring a date of your own?” Annie offers, still typing. “It has been a long time since you went out with someone. You stopped inviting women back to the hotel during the tour and haven’t seen anyone since.”
Ihatethis part of fame. The part where my employees know how many women I’ve slept with in the last two years. But I can’t manage everything without a full staff, and so they’re with me. All the time.
“Oh, you don’t want me there, Annie. Tim might get the wrong idea and think we’re together.” I add a wink at the end to sell the joke. Annie gives real grandma vibes and not in the GILF kind of way.
“Oh, Jaxon. You’re such a sweetheart!”
“Annie!” my other assistant, Andre, bursts in. “You let him distract you!”
“Were you listening outside the door?” I ask. I won’t ask him if he’s bored. He tells me every day. And, as my assistant who deals with the media and appearances side of my life, that checks out. I haven’t done anything since the tour ended. No one is happy about it. Not my team. Definitely not my label. Not even me at this point. It’s one of the many reasons I agreed to write a song for the Lupus Foundation benefit.
But if I go out and do anything, people ask me when my next album is going to be released.
And I don’t have an answer for them.
Perhaps whenever the music comes back.
The lyrics that normally flow through my mind like leaves on a breeze went quiet almost two years ago, and since then, silence.Not even the threat of letting down an organization that means a lot to me is enough to inspire a song.
“Yes, I was listening outside the door,” Andre says with a huff. “Annie claimed it would be better if she did the intervention alone. Clearly, she was wrong.”
“An intervention, huh?” This is a fun new development.
