Chapter 19
Tristen
“Up you go.”
For two days, Hatley has gone through the different stages of not only detox, but depression.
I laid next to him while he silently cried himself to sleep. Rubbed his back as the drugs purged from his system. Wrapped him in blankets when the chills became too much and brought him cool packs when he ran through a fever.
All the while, I hid my tears every time he begged me to make it stop.
I want it to stop, too.
“Ten, please,” he begs as he pulls against my hold and falls back to the mattress next to Emmett who watches this train wreck unfold with a furrow to his brow and a level of strength I could never possess.
I mean, fuck, Em was just in the hospital for the very shit that Hatley did, and yet he’s been next to me every step of the way.
Grabbing Hat’s water. Laying with him so I can shower.
Watching my best friend all but fall apart in my arms.
He’s somehow managed to be my rock without saying much. Just knowing that if I turned my head and he’d be there on my other side?
I … I don’t think I could do this without him.
And when I wrap my whimpering best friend up in a fireman’s carry he doesn’t fight, his body limp and too-thin over my shoulder, I meet Emmett’s gaze and nearly break.
A mist gathers in his sweet, honey irises, and I have to swallow back the cry that wants to escape as I rise to my feet. Only looking away when I make it to the door.
“Ten,” Hatley whispers thickly. “Just one. Please. We don’t have to tell Emmett.” A sob works its way out of his throat when I set him on the toilet and turn on the water.
“I can’t, Hat.”
“I know I’m making him sad.”
My jaw grits.
“You’re making me sad, fool,” I choke out.
He cries.
“I’m so fucking sorry.”
Sucking in a breath that reeks of a three-day old bender, I swallow back how much it hurts to see him like this and pull off his shirt.
“I need help, Ten.”
The words break the wall I’ve been desperately building up and my eyes fill. My chest cracks open. Tears spill over when he dives forward, circling his arms around my waist and sobs.
“I know, Hatley. I’m here. We’re gonna …” Fuck, I don’t know what the hell to do. “We’re gonna figure this out.”
It feels like it takes a lifetime to stop the flow from my eyes. Just a little longer to get Hatley to climb out of his sweatpants and into the shower.
And when I’m convinced that he’s at least rinsing off and not going to fall out, I turn to give him some privacy only to find Emmett standing in the hallway. The door’s open, has been, and when I meet his gaze, it’s glassy.
He holds out Hatley’s phone, the one I told him to hang onto and silence if it rang for anyone except Hat’s mom. There’s a website open on the screen when I accept it, fingertips tingling when they graze his,. My burning gaze shoots right back to his when the words displayed register.
“How’d you know about this?”
Fuck, how did I not think of this.
His brow lifts.
“Seriously?”
I clear my throat. Hand the phone back to him.
“Right. The hospital would have given you shit like this.”
He nods and tucks it in his pocket. “They have a meeting at six. If he gets dressed, we can make it.”
My face grows hot, though I couldn’t explain why if I tried, and I nod.
“Okay.”
“Here,” Emmett adds when I go to turn away and I pause. “I-I don’t know whose is what, but I assumed these were his since it’s his room.”
Looking down at what he’s holding out, I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from throwing my arms around him and crying into him like Hat’s been doing to me.
“Thank you,” I say and accept the pile of Hat’s clothes with a thickness to the words.
The As Above band tee stares at me from the top of the pile, the first concert Hat and I ever attended together—sober—and I swallow back the reminder of all the excitement we’d shared that night.
Being at a live show without taking anything and experiencing it as if it was new all over again.
We were like teenagers all over again, finally let loose to the wild and free.
I miss it.
My chest is weighted as I get my best friend out of the shower and into clothes. Heavier as we walk to the kitchen for the first time in days and meet Emmett.
His hair is wet, like maybe he washed it in the sink, and he’s wearing another one of my hoodies.
Seeing him help himself to my stuff … it helps ease some of the tension in my chest, while also adding to the guilt weighing down the oxygen in my bloodstream.
Something behind him pops and my eye twitches.
Even my PTSD is too tired.
Hatley slumps into the chair at the ring-lidden table, the dark circles around his eyes cast down as he traces the water spots with a finger.
“Tristen?”
Emmett’s voice is too soft as he says my name, and a prickling runs up the back of my neck.
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t know … just—here.”
He shoves a plate in my direction when I face him, his hair hiding him from me, and my chest splits wide open.
“Toast?” I ask and it cracks. “T-thank you.”
He peeks at me through lashes that are a darker shade than his hair, his cheeks turning pink.
And I swear, the urge to press my lips to his forehead is so strong, I almost lean in and do it. If he didn’t hate being touched, I probably would have.
Instead, I eat every bite of the almost-burned toast.