35. The Jester – Dakota
35
THE JESTER
DAKOTA
T he stale air of the hotel room presses down on me, still heavy with the scent of yesterday's whiskey and regret. Outside, I can hear the distant rumble of the tour buses being loaded, a reminder of the relentless pace of life on the road. My fingers shake slightly as I scroll to Lauren's number, the bright screen a stark contrast to the dimness of the room.
I've been putting this off for hours, torn between the desperate need to hear her voice and the fear of what she might say. The memory of our last conversation, my words slurred and angry, plays on repeat in my mind. God, what must she think of me?
Taking a deep breath, I hit dial. Each ring sends a jolt of anxiety through my body.
"Dakota?" Lauren's voice is hesitant and guarded. The warmth that usually colors her tone when she says my name is noticeably absent.
"Hey," I say, my own voice rougher than I expected. I clear my throat, trying to shake off the remnants of last night's cigarettes. "I... I'm sorry I didn't call back sooner. Things have been..."
"Complicated?" she finishes for me, her tone flat.
I wince, pacing the small space between the bed and the window. "Yeah. Look, Lauren, about the other day-"
"You were drunk," she interrupts, cutting straight to the chase.
The bluntness of her statement catches me off guard. My free hand instinctively goes to the back of my neck, a nervous habit I thought I'd kicked years ago. "I... yes. I was. I'm sorry, I-"
"How long has this been going on, Dakota?" The pain in her voice is palpable, and it cuts deeper than any hangover.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, shame washing over me. "It started after the first show. I thought I could handle just one drink, but..."
"The first freaking show? It's never just one, is it?" The bitterness in her tone makes me flinch.
A memory flashes unbidden - the electrifying high of that first show, the champagne flowing freely backstage. I'd felt invincible that night, on top of the world. How quickly it all came crashing down.
"Lauren, I'm sorry. I know I messed up. But I'm going to fix this. I'm going to meetings, I'm talking to Brad-"
"Stop," she says, and the weariness in her voice makes my heart sink. "Just... stop, Dakota. I've heard all this before."
"What do you mean?"
There's a long pause. When Lauren speaks again, her voice is barely above a whisper. "With Miles. I've heard all these promises before. The 'I'm sorries,' the 'I'll do betters.’ And I just... I can't do it again."
Her words hit me sideways. The room seems to tilt, and I grip the edge of the bed to steady myself. "Lauren, please. I'm not Miles. This isn't the same-"
"Isn't it?" she cuts me off. "The drinking, the mood swings, the unreliability. It all feels pretty familiar from where I'm standing."
I feel panic rising in my chest, making it hard to breathe. "Lauren, I love you. I love Roman. I don't want to lose you."
"I don't want to lose you either," she says softly. "But I have to think about Roman. I have to think about myself. I can't go through this again."
"What are you saying?" I ask, though I'm absolutely terrified of the answer.
Another long pause. I can almost see her biting her lower lip the way she does when she's trying not to cry. "I'm saying... I think I need some time, Dakota. To think. To figure out if I can do this. If we can do this."
No, no, no.
I stand up abruptly, needing to move, to do something. "Lauren, please. We can work through this. I'll do whatever it takes."
"I've heard that before, too," she says, and I can hear the tears in her voice now. "I'm sorry, Dakota. I just... I need some time."
"Wait," I say, desperation coloring my voice. "What about... what about Miles and Chloe? Don't you think we need to figure that out together?"
Her sharp intake of breath is audible even through the phone. "Dakota... I can't deal with that right now. Not when I'm not sure I can trust you not to go off the deep end with whatever we find out. I’m sorry, but I need time."
Before I can respond, she ends the call. I stare at the phone in disbelief, my mind reeling. This can't be happening. Not now. Not when I need her most.
The mini-bar catches my eye, its contents promising a temporary escape from this nightmare. For a moment, the urge to lose myself in a bottle is overwhelming. But I resist, my knuckles turning white as I grip the phone tighter. If there's any hope of salvaging things with Lauren, I have to stay sober.
A knock at the door startles me. "Dakota?" Brad's voice calls out. "Soundcheck in 10, man."
Right. The show. The tour. Life goes on, even as mine feels like it's falling apart.
"Be right there," I call back, my voice sounding strange to my own ears.
As I grab my bass, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Something I’ve been doing a lot of lately – looking for the flaws. The man staring back at me looks lost, broken. But beneath the pain and fear, I see a flicker of determination.
I will fix this. Somehow, some way, I will make this right. For Lauren, for Roman, for myself.
Because the alternative - a life without them - is too painful to bear.
The backstage area is a cacophony of sound and motion. Roadies rush past, breaking down equipment. The air is thick with the smell of sweat, undercut by the faint scent of spilled beer. My shirt clings to my back, damp from the heat of the stage lights, and my fingers ache pleasantly from an hour of playing.
"Killer set, man," Chase from Incendiary Ink materializes beside me, his energy seemingly unaffected by the grueling schedule. "You guys really brought it tonight."
I manage a weak smile. "Thanks. You guys were amazing, too."
Chase grins, slinging an arm around my shoulders. The scent of his cologne mingles with the ever-present smell of alcohol that seems to follow him. "We're heading to this strip club downtown. You in? First round's on me."
The offer hangs in the air, tempting and dangerous. A familiar warmth spreads through my chest at the thought of that first drink, the way it would take the edge off, make everything a little easier to bear. For a moment, I'm back at that first after-party, the taste of expensive champagne on my tongue, the world soft and warm around the edges.
I shake my head, dispelling the memory. "Thanks, but... I think I'm gonna pass tonight."
Chase's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Seriously? Come on, man, it's gonna be epic."
From across the room, I see Brad watching our interaction, his expression a mix of concern and hope. Stefan and Emmett are helping to pack up their gear, but I can tell they're listening too.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. "I'm sure it will be. I just... I can't. Not tonight."
Mark, Incendiary Ink's guitarist, steps closer, his eyes narrowing. "Everything okay, Dakota? You've seemed off lately."
For a moment, I consider brushing it off, making up some excuse. But I'm tired of lying, tired of hiding. "Actually, no. Everything's not okay. I'm... I'm trying to stay sober."
The backstage area suddenly feels too quiet, too still. Chase and Mark exchange a look I can't quite decipher. From the corner of my eye, I see Brad give me a subtle nod of approval.
"Shit, man," Chase says finally. "That's rough. Respect for being upfront about it. This industry can be a bitch for staying clean."
Mark nods slowly. "Yeah, the constant parties, the stress... it's not easy. And I’m sure we haven’t been helping with that.” He gives Chase a sideways glance. “You got support?"
I think about the AA app I downloaded earlier, and the meetings I've been researching. "I'm working on it," I say, surprised by the determination in my voice. "One day at a time, right?"
Chase squeezes my shoulder. "That's the way. If you need anything..."
"Thanks," I say, feeling a lump form in my throat. "I appreciate it."
As they head out, Chase turns back. "You sure you don't want to come? We could do something non-alcoholic, hit up a diner or something?"
The offer is tempting, but I shake my head. My hands are already starting to shake slightly, my body craving what I'm denying it. "Not tonight. But... maybe next time?"
Chase grins. "I'll hold you to that. Take care of yourself, Dakota."
As I watch them leave, I feel a mix of longing and relief. The urge to follow them, to lose myself in the night, is almost overwhelming. But I stand my ground.
Brad approaches, his voice low. "Proud of you, man. That couldn't have been easy."
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. He seems to understand, giving my shoulder a quick squeeze before heading off to help with the gear.
Back in the dressing room, I ignore the mini-bar and grab my laptop instead. As I start researching local AA meetings for our next stop, I can't help but wonder: Can I really do this? Stay sober on tour, with temptation around every corner?
I don't have all the answers. But for tonight, I made the right choice. And maybe, just maybe, that's enough for now.