by M. S. Parker
I gritted my teeth. “Yes.”
Neither of the gatekeepers seemed convinced, and I was tired of the conversation. I took off my glasses and hit them with the full brunt of my stare.
“I'm his brother, Sean Morris.”
The older nurse went pale. “S-Sean Morris of Flagship Inferno?”
Oh, Christ. I was in no mood to deal with a fan tonight. As much as I loved people who loved my music, there was a time and a place to be adored. The emergency wing of a hospital while I was trying to find my sick brother was not one of them.
“Look,” I said, stepping closer to the two women.
The younger one's face had flushed prettily. She was staring up at me through her lashes, and I knew then my brother would be getting the best care for the rest of her shift.
“I just came here to see my brother. If I find out someone leaked this visit to the press, I'll sue the hospital.”
“We won't tell a soul,” the older nurse said, nodding profusely. “Here, I'll take you to him.”
Dave was always smaller than me. He was a runt of a kid and grew up into a skinny adult, taking his bird bones from my mother's willowy side of the family. But even so, I had never – never – seen him look so small.
His closed eyelids, purple and pink, fluttered every once and awhile, giving the impression he was about to wake up. He wasn't. Not for some time yet. I could tell he'd been out for a while too, since his parted lips were chapped and peeling. He breathed so softly that sometimes I leaned in a little closer from the chair Molly – the older of the two star struck nurses – had brought over to me a couple hours ago. I'd been waiting ever since.
His papery skin was dry all over and practically translucent from how it stretched over his cheeks so tightly. I figured he should have been a bit more filled out than when I saw him last, but I was forced to wonder if maybe this most recent rehab visit was less successful than he let on. Obviously, it had only been a bandage on a wound that refused to heal.
This was where I needed to be. I didn't regret making the decision to leave the tour, not when I saw my brother's sunken face as he lay immobile in a hospital bed. Not when I knew I couldn't make him better with my wishes and wants. Not when I was the only person left in Dave's life he could count on, and he couldn't even count on me.
I was still awake and staring hours later when Dave groaned softly and turned his face to the side. I sat forward. He was waking up.
My brother blinked. Once. Twice. On the third time, he realized he wasn't alone. He furrowed his brow and stared up at me through narrowed eyes, like he was just coming out of a dream. Or a nightmare.
“Sean?” His voice was sandpaper, and I was already feeling so raw. “I think I must be dreaming. What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” I said slowly. “What do you think I'm doing here? I got a call saying you were in the hospital recovering from an overdose. Fucking idiot.”
Dave coughed weakly. “Spare me the spiel. You've seen I'm okay, you can go now.”
“I'm not going anywhere,” I replied. “What the hell were you thinking? Was rehab just so wonderful that you were desperate to get back in?”
“Shit happens, Sean. I got into their little halfway house, and I wanted to stay clean. I swear.” He struggled to sit up a little in bed, wincing as he did. “But then I got a call from a friend, and well, one thing led to another.”
“Fucking idiot.” I couldn't think of a better way to describe my brother in that moment. “You could have died, Sean. You could have fucking died. Do you care about anything at all in this world? Because you certainly don't care about yourself.”
“Look at the bright side.” Dave smiled, and I could tell just from the sight of his cracked lips that it was painful. “Your next song is practically writing itself.”
My shoulders sagged. The anger I'd been feeling toward my brother turned back on me cruelly.
“This is my fault,” I murmured.
“Yes, I recall thinking the same thing when you were shoving the needle in my arm,” Dave replied sarcastically.
I ignored him. “I canceled the tour.”
“What?” Dave's features converged in an expression of disbelief. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I'm going to make this right,” I told him. Our eyes met, the same shade of blue. Our father’s shade of blue. But we were not our father’s sons. That drunk piece of shit made our lives hell. It felt like everything I’d done since then had been to make up for his sins. Now it was time to atone for some of my own.
“I'm going to personally see that you get clean. I was the reason this all started, and I'll be the reason it ends.”
Dave studied me. I couldn't tell what he was thinking and desperately wished I could. He'd always had an even better poker face than mine. Drugs were his tell. Mine was Hazel.
“I'm going to get some more sleep,” Dave said finally, sinking back against the flat pillow. “I have a feeling I'm going to need my energy for whatever you've got in store.”
In reality, he just couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. I watched them droop as he settled back down, intent on staying with him for as long as humanly possible. And when he woke again, I'd see about getting him out of this place. I could go home. The thought of my bed was some comfort, even in my current state of depression.
I wished Hazel was with me. She'd keep my spirits up. She'd remind me that I was doing the right thing, and her support would mean the world. But what could I do? I couldn't drag her through this. Dave was my burden to bear. I had no idea how long it was going to take to get him off the drugs for good, but I knew that he would have to be my prime focus until that happened.
Anyway, if Hazel knew what was good for her, she'd have realized by now she was better off without me.
Forty-Seven
Hazel
Flash Flash had never been a more welcome sight. This tiny studio, with its hideous backdrops and balding carpet, was just the kind of familiar place I needed to be right now. And I also needed to be there because I was out of a job and had nothing else to do. Granted, the check Brad wrote me would hold me over for some time, but I would still need to bring in income sooner or later. I didn't trust he'd follow through on his vague promise to “take care of me,” mostly because I didn't trust anybody anymore except myself and Cora. It was better that way.
But as happy as I was to step back into my old studio, I couldn't say the same about stepping back into my old life. The change from loud and non-stop to quiet and relaxed was sudden and disorienting. To make matters worse, I hadn't expected to be home so soon, so obviously had no appointments on my calendar. Nowhere to be. Nothing to do. Nobody to see.
Two hours into my first day back, and I was bored as fucking hell.
Luckily, Cora came in just before noon and immediately jumped over the counter to give me a huge hug.
“I'm so glad you're back!” she cooed into my ear. “Though obviously, I'm not happy about the reason you're back. That totally sucks.”
“Thanks, honey.” I patted her on the back and pulled away from the hug. “But hey, that's life, right?”
She looked me up and down appraisingly. “You look different.”
I cocked a brow. “If this is the part where you congratulate me on being a woman now, I won't have any of it.”
“No, no,” she said, laughing. “I don't mean because you lost your virginity. I mean you just look different. More relaxed, maybe?”
I let out a bark of laughter. “Relaxed? Far from it. But I'll get there.”
I didn't feel any different than before I left. And I certainly didn't think I looked any different.
“Want to grab lunch?” Cora asked. “My treat.”
My stomach grumbled. “I think that sounds like a fabulous idea.”
We were just about to head out the door when a familiar face stepped into the shop, stopping me dead in my tracks. Brad's muddy eyes went between my best friend and me.
“Can I catch up to you in a minute, Cora?” I asked.
She didn't question me, knowing that I'd give her the full scoop later. Cora gave Brad a friendly smile and slunk out the front door, letting it smack closed behind her.
Brad scratched his chin. “I would have called, but I was already in the area on my way to meet with a new client.”
“Don't worry about it,” I said. “I'm glad you stopped by.”
He looked around. “So this is where Sean found you, huh?”
Either Brad didn't know how much it stung to think about Sean or he didn't care. I painted on a smile anyway.
“This is where I work when I'm not being a fabulous band photographer, yes. Need some new passport photos?”
Brad snorted. “Not today, but I'll keep you in mind. That is, unless you'd like to get out of this little shit hole for good.”
My heart picked up speed in my chest. I'd hoped that him stopping by meant he hadn't forgotten about me, but then again, I'd also hoped what I had with Sean was real. I wasn't hanging much on my hopes these days. But with Brad here, hinting something bigger was on its way to me, I let myself feel just a small measure of happiness.
“Don't be coy, Brad,” I said playfully. “What've you got up that tailored sleeve of yours?”
He smiled at my familiar tone. I still didn't know if he liked me or not, but so far, all signs were pointing to yes.
“A job,” he said. “High profile client too, an up and comer in the rock scene. You interested?”
“Of course I’m interested!” I practically yelled. “That’s incredible! Thank you!”
Brad grimaced at my outburst and took a cautious step back, as if he was worried I might hug him or something.
“You’ve earned everything that’s coming your way,” he told me. “The client actually asked for you specifically when she found out Flagship Inferno’s tour got canceled.”
He said this with a bitter tone that let me know he wasn’t over what had happened. I couldn’t imagine how much extra work he had to do to smooth out all the ruffled feathers Sean had left behind.
“Did she really?” I asked excitedly. “Who’s the client?”
I couldn’t believe it. My dreams were finally coming true! I was about to start a job with a high-profile rocker who wasn’t just using the job as an opportunity to get in my pants. Well, I suppose she might be, but if that were the case, at least I’d find this one easier to turn down.
Brad’s eyes glinted with amusement. “It’s someone you’ve met.”
I raised my eyebrows in silent question.
“Jasmine Fox.”
Forty-Eight
Sean
One month later…
“Something smells good,” I said, strolling into the kitchen.
Dave was bent over the stove, a kitchen towel slung over his shoulder like he thought he was Gordon fucking Ramsay.
“It’s nearly done.” He straightened and looked back at me. I’d noticed in the past couple of weeks his cheeks had filled out some, and were now touched with a slight rosy glow. “Wanna set the table?”
As I grabbed the plates from the cupboard, I meditated on how the scene was so domestic it was almost funny. My brother and I had done a lot of things together in our lives, but cooking and eating a meal together was new. At the start of this week, Dave had declared he wanted to be more helpful around the house. The withdrawal symptoms passed long ago, but it had taken a little longer for him to get back to himself. I wasn’t sure he even knew who he was yet, having not had a chance to find out during the endless cycle of rehab and relapse.
Together, we’d spent the last month puzzling it out. And little by little, we were peeling back Dave’s layers of grime and pain to reveal the man underneath, who was more recognizable to me than my brother had been in years.
I finished setting the table, just as Dave loaded up two plates with half-burnt stir fry that smelled better than it looked. I would eat it even if he served me a plate of literal shit. I was just glad to see him take an interest in something he didn’t have to shoot or snort. The novelty of that would take a long time to wear off.
I sat down across from Dave, and we both dug in. At first, I thought Dave’s silence was because he was focusing on his meal, but I soon realized he was building up to something.
I glanced up at him. He was idly pushing vegetables across his plate with his fork, just like he used to do when we were kids.
“What is it?” I asked, shoveling another bite into my mouth.
Dave’s eyes met mine. I still couldn’t believe how much brighter they were. “Have you talked to that Hazel girl since you canceled the tour?”
My heart squeezed at the sound of her name. “Where the hell is this coming from?” I asked with a mouth full of food. I told him about Hazel during his first few days with me, since we hadn’t had a helluva lot to talk about then, and it seemed best to keep him distracted. I hadn’t expected for it to come up again. We both sucked at taking an interest in the other’s life.
Dave shrugged and took a bite of food. “I’ve just been thinking a lot about you canceling the tour, and all the stuff you sacrificed to get me on the right track. I don’t think you should have sacrificed everything you did.”
I stabbed my fork into another bite. “What are you saying?”
I didn’t like when people talked in circles, and Dave had always been the worst for it.
He pointed his fork at me. “Exactly what it sounds like. I think you should call her.”
Like the thought hadn’t crossed my mind at least five times a day since I left her sleeping and disappeared into the night.
“Can’t.” I shoved more food in my mouth and stared down at my plate.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t,” I repeated with ire. “I don’t have her number.”
Dave laughed so suddenly I looked up in surprise. Seeing him with a genuine smile, and not one of those bitter half-smiles he usually sported, was another novelty in this process.
“You fucking idiot,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You never got the chick’s digits?”
“Didn’t need them until I did. It was a stupid oversight, but that’s life.”
I thought Dave would leave it like that, but apparently, he was feeling particularly obtrusive tonight.
“So, you don’t have any other way of contacting her? I find that a little hard to believe.” He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you know where she works? You’ve been there, haven’t you?”
Christ, he was like a dog with a bone.
“Yeah, I know where she works.” I fixed him with a challenging stare. “Drop it, Dave.”
Dave blinked, then resumed eating. I stabbed my fork into a green bean, and we lapsed into a tense silence. It was foolish of me to think he would just leave it.
“You think you're bad news,” Dave said a few minutes later. “You think she’s better off without you.”
“For someone who complains about therapy so much, you seem pretty keen to shrink me.”
Dave's reaction was unexpected. He slammed the fist holding his fork down on the table, glowering at me. “I'm tired of this, Sean!”
I blinked in surprise. “Tired of what? What's your problem?”
“You're my problem,” he practically shouted. “Just not in the way you think. We've been living like this for a month, and I appreciate everything you've done for me, but it's so fucking unfair you're the only one who's allowed to dole out advice and feel guilty. I don't blame you for my addiction. I can't stop you blaming yourself, but I can tell you it's a pointless exercise. What are you getting out of it? Nothing, except that it gives you a place to hide. Ever since you came to the hospital, I've noticed something's off with you, but you refuse to acknowledge it or fix it. How is it fair that I've been literally sweating my ass off to rid myself of the poison infecting my life, but because yours is invisible you get to ignore it?”
It was the most alive I'd seen my
brother in years. His eyes blazed with vindication, face taking on a reddish hue. He wasn't the sunken wretch I'd picked up off the floor too many times to count. He was the wide-eyed adventurer who'd been tagging along at my side since we were just little kids playing in our neighbor’s fields.
“What exactly is my poison then?” I asked. “That I hold myself responsible for what happened to my kid brother?”
He rolled his eyes. “You're noble to a fault where I'm concerned. It's sickening. How am I supposed to conquer my own problems when I always have you in my ear saying it's not my fault? That you'll fix it for me, and all I have to do is stand back and let you make up for your perceived lack of foresight and attention?”
I'd never thought of it like that.
I'd been propping up Dave since he first went into his tailspin, even if I thought I was doing the opposite. I'd cut him off and given his drug-addled brain a person to hate, a person to square himself against. And when he came to me for help, instead of doing whatever necessary to get him better, I just threw money at him like before.
Why hadn't I seen it? Why hadn't I seen that what he needed wasn't rehab after rehab, it was me? True support from his brother?
I rested my fork on my plate. I wasn't hungry anymore.
“Dave, I'm so sorry.”
“No.” He waved me off. “That's the problem, isn't it? You're always sorry for something. You always feel guilty for something. And I can tell your guilt is what kept you at arm's length these past few years. You pity me just as much as you fear me.”
I raised a brow. Something told me he'd been getting more out of those therapy sessions than he thought.
“I did this,” Dave continued, pointing to the scars on his arm. “You may have helped me gain access to drugs, but I was the one who abused them. And when you pin all of your unhappiness on me, it's a lot of fucking pressure to take, man. Each time I stumble, I'm painfully aware of how you're going to take it, how it's going to send you into another guilt spiral. And I can't take that anymore. I need you to stop blaming yourself for something that happened so many years ago to your brother and start focusing on the mistakes that you've made. Recently.”
