Zane had laughed. “What are you trying to tell me, Jenna?”
“That’s not it, Zane. I’m saying I think he can help you, even if no one else can. Why not just skip the middleman?”
Her logic, while frightening, had been sound. And her words continued rattling around Zane’s head, even while he chugged down I-25 on his way to Lakewood where the guy’s office was. If he was as good as Jenna said, he’d be worth the long drive.
Zane even arrived early.
Like most similar places (Zane would know, because he’d always tried them at least once or twice to convince himself that he’d made an honest effort), it was a nondescript building, much like many of the other buildings around it. Inside, it was cool and decorated in earthy beige and off-white shades, probably so as not to excite any of the excitable, impulsive individuals walking in the door. But, as Zane checked in at the front desk and then turned to sit down in the quiet lobby, he looked at some of the faces buried in books and magazines or looking at the serene watercolor paintings on the wall and didn’t see anything that looked excitable or impulsive about any of the people sitting here. Instead, what he observed was what he felt inside himself: these people looked broken. Tired. At the end of their ropes.
A last hope, indeed. Here was hoping Dr. Harvey and his fellow associates could live up to their hype.
* * *
“Do you mind if I call you Zane?”
“Nope. That’s my name. I still answer to it.”
Dr. Harvey smiled. Good. At least he seemed to have a sense of humor. That was good...because Zane sometimes had to use comedy to deal with the dark, shitty, nasty things in life. Sometimes it was the only way to survive.
“So...tell me why you’re here, Zane. What you hope to accomplish.”
“I already told the woman on the phone.”
“I know...but sometimes things get lost in translation. And sometimes we don’t want to say more than we must to someone who isn’t going to be part of the solution. True?”
Zane nodded, all while assessing the guy. The doctor was probably in his forties or fifties. Zane wasn’t a good judge of age, but he knew he was right. The man’s hair wasn’t fully gray, but it was thinning at the hairline, moving back as if it were a battle line and the hair was losing the fight. His watery blue eyes seemed to take in everything and—much like Jenna—seemed nonjudgmental and caring, even while maintaining a professional distance that Zane could feel, almost as if it were a palpable thing. The guy had a bit of a belly, too, but it was hidden underneath a jacket and tie.
Jesus. Who’d wear that get up in the middle of summer?
A psychologist. Of course.
“So...? Tell me a little about yourself, Zane.”
Zane shifted in the chair, trying to find a comfortable position and failing. Well, he knew he wasn’t going to feel any kind of ease until he spilled all the beans, so no better time than the present.
“Not sure what you want to know.”
“Tell me what brought you here.”
Hell...there were more answers to that question than Zane could possibly sum up in his first hour. But he could give it a try. “I’m an addict, doc, plain and simple. I like booze and I like weed. I like smack and pills and just about every drug I’ve ever tried. If it gets me high or numb, it becomes part of my repertoire. And I’m a rock musician, so access is easy and usually cheap, but if not, I don’t need to spare any expense.”
“You’re clean now?”
“For the moment.”
Dr. Harvey jotted something on his clipboard before saying, “Tell me about a typical day. Before you got clean, that is.”
A typical day...that was almost funny. Each day was completely different—a new city, a new girl, probably a new drug or a new way of taking it—or a brand-new way of combining a couple for an unusual effect. But...there was a definite pattern and maybe Dr. Harvey needed to hear it to help him. “How much time we got?”
The doctor smiled, and it even reached his eyes. That, Zane thought, was a very good sign. “As much time as you need, Zane.”
“Man, I could tell you some stories.” Yeah, but the doctor wasn’t a guy Zane needed to impress—not that he would have wanted to anyway. In fact, the harder he tried to impress the shrink, the more pathetic he’d likely seem. “But a typical day. Okay, so...that would probably be on tour. Get up, have some coffee and maybe a little coke...definitely a little Oxy. Depending on where we were, either find my way onto or off of the tour bus. Eat something. Try to keep it down. Hang with my band doing some shit—that varied from day to day, but we usually do shit together until about midway through tour, when we get so sick of each other, we’re ready to kill. Then get ready for the show. Party half the night, meaning take more shit; fuck the other half. Lather; rinse; repeat.”
Dr. Harvey jotted a couple of words down—at least, that was what it appeared to look like from where Zane sat—and then asked, “So no particular drug of choice? No preference?”
Zane shrugged and sat back, already feeling a little less tense. “Not really. They all did different things. Like...I’d drink, because that’s pretty damned acceptable and normal and sometimes it’d wash down whatever else I was taking. It could be beer or whiskey—I didn’t give a shit, because alcohol was always the starter...never the main attraction. I like H and Oxy, because they take the pain away.”
“Any particular pain you’re addressing?”
Shit. Zane hadn’t given that much thought in years. But the shrink asked...so Zane might as well tell. “My back bothers me off and on. When I was a kid, my dad used to beat the ever-lovin’ shit out of me...and there’s a spot on my lower back that hurts like fuck sometimes. Oxy cures that shit.” Zane was impressed that the doctor never even blinked when Zane flung expletive after expletive at him. That was good and indicated that they’d probably get along just fine.
“Psychological pain? Emotional trauma as well?”
“Yeah. Probably.”
“What else?”
Zane paused for a few seconds to let his thoughts settle once more. “Weed usually just puts a haze on everything and makes life feel okay, you know? Like...I could be having the shittiest fucking day, be angry as hell, then I smoke a joint, and ah.” He reclined in the chair and laid his head back as though letting go of all his worries, all the tension of the day. “It’s the best thing for me if I’m pissed off. Takes all the edge off.”
“You’re speaking in present tense, Zane.”
He gave it some thought. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“That’s okay. Nothing wrong with that. I just wanted to point it out.”
Zane nodded. “I usually don’t do—er, didn’t do one strain or another. I usually went with a hybrid. But anyway, um...did I answer your question?”
“I think so.” Dr. Harvey sat up and pushed his glasses to the top of his head. “How often were you sober?”
“On the road?” The shrink nodded his head. “Um...never if I could help it.”
“And regular sex was part of the routine?”
“Oh, yeah. Goes along with it. Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll, doc. You’ve heard that before, right?”
Dr. Harvey smiled again, not an unsympathetic gesture, but he leaned forward. “Do you have any other compulsive habits, Zane?”
“What do you mean? Like what?”
“Well...let’s just say that addiction comes in many forms. Maybe you gamble impulsively...or you’re addicted to the internet. Maybe you obsess over sex.”
Zane laughed—the first fully relaxed moment he’d had since entering that building. “Doc, I’m a rock star. Yeah, I’m not the front man, but I score plenty. And I’m a guy. Tell me what guy my age doesn’t obsess over sex.”
Dr. Harvey took a deep breath and looked down at the papers, flipping pages and seeming to look for some information, but Zane got the feeling the guy was toying with him. “You’re in your twenties, correct, Zane?”
“Yeah...”
“What’s that even mean?”
Dr. Harvey took in a deep breath. “I’d like you to consider the very real possibility, Zane, that perhaps you are addicted to a great many things, things you’ve never even considered...and maybe we have our work cut out for us.”
Oh, fuck.
Chapter Twenty
MAYBE IT MADE her a bitch, but Jennifer asked Zane for a little space. He’d called her up and told her he was in regular counseling now. Jennifer quickly countered, “One session does not mean regular, Zane. Call me in a few weeks.”
Yeah, it definitely made her some kind of a cold-hearted bitch, but she had to protect herself and her daughter. She’d done a shitty job thus far and needed to do better. If Zane called her in a couple of weeks and said he was going regularly, then she would begin to take him seriously. But she knew from past experience that Zane often went into some kind of counseling or rehab and relapsed pretty quickly. She wanted some evidence this time—something more concrete, showing he was committed to permanent, ongoing recovery.
Until then, she wasn’t going to let him know he had a daughter.
She knew that that too made her a bitch, but she didn’t care. He hadn’t earned the right to know. She just kept picturing that slutty blonde in his house that night—naked, curled up in a ball, filing her fingernails with the chipped red polish, inviting herself to the party, so to speak. What if Jennifer had agreed to move in with Zane and that had happened in front of Zoe? Maybe it wouldn’t scar her now, but it sure as shit would when she was older. Jennifer did not want her daughter to have a warped idea about men. She wanted Zoe to hold up Jennifer’s grandpa as a role model—although, being in his eighties, she didn’t know how long Zoe would have with him to look up to.
It didn’t matter. Jennifer was aware of the fact that, in spite of the many times Zane had spouted words of love to her, the evidence suggested that Zane was quite good at sweet talking. His follow through, however, was lacking, and so Jennifer was going to be more demanding this time—and from now on. Her heart couldn’t take it anymore.
She and Val were meeting for lunch—a girls’ day out. Val was bringing Hayley, her daughter, and Jennifer was bringing Zoe. The girls were more than a year apart in age, but it still didn’t stop Jennifer from hoping the two would become and remain good friends throughout their lives. Jennifer and Val had lost touch for a few years when Jennifer was finishing out college and Val was pursuing a music career, but they had never completely lost touch and continued to have a strong bond.
In spite of the fact that she hated the area, Jennifer agreed to meet Val for lunch on Sixteenth Street in downtown Denver. There was a hot spot down there, a trendy restaurant Val had been wanting to try out. It was a beloved place for business folks who worked near the capitol, but shoppers had begun buzzing about it too, and Val wanted to check it out for herself.
Jennifer parked in a paid lot and couldn’t even remember the name of the restaurant—she thought it had the word yard in it somewhere. But she had the address and it was on her maps app on her phone, so she picked up Zoe and the diaper bag with her purse shoved in and began walking the two blocks to the restaurant.
She knew how Val was too. She knew her friend would also want to do a little shopping afterward. Jennifer would wait and see how she felt after eating before deciding for certain. If Zoe was cranky (or if Jennifer felt cranky), they’d skip the shopping part. But Val had a way of energizing Jennifer, of making her feel happy and alive and ready to conquer the world.
Ten minutes later, Jennifer was stepping into the restaurant. The décor was dark—lots of black and heavy woods, juxtaposed with doses of silver and chrome and mirrors. Each table had a spritz of thin flowers in tall vases, giving the place a hip feel. She was looking ahead at the hostess who stood behind a large polished wood podium, so she heard Valerie to the right before she actually saw her.
“Jennifer!” She turned her head and saw her friend stand up from off the bench where she’d been sitting. Dark-haired Hayley was crouching on the floor, playing with a soft baby doll. Jennifer walked toward Val, and her old friend embraced both her and the baby. By the time she let go, Hayley stood at their feet.
“Mama!”
Val smiled and picked up her daughter. “Do you remember Jennifer and Zoe, Hayley?”
“Uh-huh,” the child said, smiling and bobbing her head up and down.
“Hi, Hayley,” Jennifer said. “I’m starving. It smells great in here.”
Val smiled, turning to pick up her purse and diaper bag after setting her daughter down. “Hayley, pick up your doll, honey.” She looked to Jennifer while taking Hayley’s hand in hers. “I hope it lives up to the hype.”
While they moved closer to the podium, the hostess said, “All set? How about a booth?”
Val said, “Sounds good to me.” Jennifer was impressed with her friend and so happy to be around her again—while Valerie didn’t look like she was eighteen anymore, she certainly looked youthful. Yes, she was now tattooed and pierced and had blonde streaks in her brown hair, but her eyes had never stopped sparkling, looking for the best in people; her smile had never faded. Her exuberance could still be felt in the air.
In less than five minutes, they were seated, including Zoe in a high chair and Hayley in a booster seat, and they were flipping through the menu. Jennifer was beginning to feel overwhelmed by it—too many pages, too many choices. “I have no idea what to get. So many things sound good.”
“I have to try this burger. I can’t turn down a good burger. And...for Hayley, I think I’ll get these chicken tenders and sweet potato fries. Is Zoe eating more adult foods nowadays?”
“Yeah. I just like to make sure they’re cut up good enough.” She continued scanning the menu, but she was dying to catch up. So, when the waiter came by, Jennifer asked what his recommendations were and went with them for both her and her daughter. The women were deep in conversation by the time their drinks arrived.
Jennifer began by asking, “How are Brad and Chris?”
“Doing great. I guess the guys are planning to get together in a few weeks to start putting together album number four.” Jennifer took a deep breath, figuring now was as good a time as any to let Val know that she’d been halfway seeing Zane again, but then Val said, “I have something I need to tell you.”
“What?”
“Brad and I are expecting again.”
“Oh, that’s great, Val. That’s amazing! What’s your due date?”
“They told us January tenth, but you know how my kids never come when the ultrasound says they’re supposed to. It’s bound to be later than that.”
“You never know. What do the kids think?”
“I don’t think Hayley quite understands, but Chris thinks it’s pretty cool. He keeps telling me he hopes it’s a boy. He loves Hayley, but he wants a brother in the worst way.”
“Aw.” Jennifer couldn’t imagine her life with more than one child and now Val was going to have three. She never would have guessed it. The more Jennifer thought about it, though, the more it made sense. Yeah, Val had chosen to become a rock star, but part of that was driven by her complete adoration of Ethan. She loved being in love and, of course, children went along with all that. And now that she was with the guy who was truly meant for her, it wasn’t completely shocking that they’d want to have lots of children. “I’m so glad our children are around the same ages so they can grow up together.”
“Are you planning on having more?”
“Probably someday.” The waiter brought by the appetizer—some type of egg rolls and various sauces for dipping. Jennifer was cutting one up for Zoe when she said, “Speaking of the father of my child...”
“What?”
“Well, you know Zane was going to contac
t me...and we went out on a couple of dates. But I, uh, gave him an ultimatum.”
“Ultimatum?”
“Yeah. I told him he can’t just go to rehab anymore, because it doesn’t work. He needs to finish what he starts.”
“Ah...that explains a lot.”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember I said the guys were getting ready to put together their next album in a few weeks? Well...I guess they’d originally planned to start now but Zane asked for more time. Said he had some personal business to attend to.” She shrugged. “He probably gave the guys more detail than Brad passed along to me. Never mind that I used to be their roommate and knew everything...and I used to be in the band, for God’s sake.”
Jennifer’s smile was wry. “Yeah, but when the subject matter involves one of your close friends...”
“That’s good, though, right? That he’s taking you seriously?”
Jennifer tousled Zoe’s hair, wishing for her daughter’s sake that Val was absolutely correct. “I’m not going to hold my breath, Val. He’s made me too many promises, too many times. All I can do is...hope.” And, no matter how cynical she felt herself becoming, that was all she had left to cling to—and, this last time, she was going to hope with all her heart that Zane could do what he’d vowed to.
Chapter Twenty-one
“ZANE, BABY, DO another line.”
“I’m already flyin’, honey.”
“Just one more, stud. You can do it...and then we can stay up alllll night long...”
“Too much’ll make me an asshole.”
“Maybe I like you when you’re an asshole.”
“Honey, you’ve never seen me when I’m an asshole.”
“Hmm.”
“There. You happy?”
“Mmm-hmm. Much. Now maybe a little champagne.”
“Look, Jen, I need to ease off a little—”
Locked and Loaded (Bullet, #6) Page 12
