Chapter 46 Annalise #2
I wasn’t ready to hear it then; I needed the story where I was the fixer.
Now I’m seeing it for what it was.
More importantly, I’m finally living what it wasn’t.
Thankfully, Tag veers the conversation in a different direction, filling our parents in on tour life, after parties, and Chase’s guitar deal.
I zone out for a few minutes, thumbing through my phone.
Through Instagram. My eyes scan Alex’s latest photo, a panoramic view of the ocean.
Empty beach. Setting sun. His feet buried in the sand.
The caption reads, Healing isn’t always loud. Sometimes it’s sitting still.
Compassion trickles through me.
I’m happy for him. Maybe he’s finally finding his peace.
I give the photo a “like” and tuck my phone away.
An hour slips by, and we say good night to our parents, planning to meet for an early breakfast before hitting the road. With Christmas around the corner, we promise another visit soon. I wrap each of them in a long hug, eyes misting as I watch them head in the opposite direction.
I turn to follow Tag as he walks me back to my room. “That was amazing,” I tell him, folding my arms across my chest. “Thank you for arranging that. I needed it. A piece of home.”
“Figured the surprise was worth it.” Hands in his pockets, he bumps me with his shoulder as we stroll down a long hallway. “How are you holding up? Finally sleeping?”
“Yeah.” I nod brightly. “Things are good. Really good.”
“You look better. Got some of your color back.” He pinches my cheek.
Grinning, I smack his hand away. “I have a lot to be thankful for,” I say, my heart full. I glance sideways, catching the smile that’s barely left his face since our first video blew up. “I’m so proud of you, Tag. Watching your dreams come true is the best part.”
“It’s our dream. A team effort.”
“I know. But I just keep flashing back to you sitting on your couch that night, years ago, looking so defeated, wondering how much longer you could keep doing this. The struggle, the grind, the uphill climb with no end in sight.”
Tag goes quiet beside me. His jaw shifts, like he’s trying to decide whether to speak or let it pass. “I remember,” he says finally, voice low. “I was close to walking away for good. Didn’t even tell you that part.”
“You didn’t have to. I saw it.”
The silence stretches between us. Not uncomfortable, just full. Full of all the things we survived.
“You were the one who kept saying it would happen,” he murmurs, looking at me, his eyes glassy. “When I didn’t believe it anymore, you still did. You always did.”
I blink against the sudden sting. “Because I knew you weren’t done yet.”
He nods, smiling softly.
We approach my hotel room, pausing just outside the door.
Tag turns to me. “I’m glad you found your voice again,” he says, the words steeped in emotion. “You kept writing. Singing. Pushed yourself when it would’ve been easier to hide. And now look at you…out here chasing the things that always mattered, building something real.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. There’s too much lodged in my chest. Gratitude. Relief. That dizzying mix of finally finding my way.
“I’m proud of you too, Annalise,” he finishes. “You’ve been brave as hell.”
With watery eyes, I lean in and hug him, clutching hard, drinking in the scent of safety and home. “I love you.”
“Love you too, sis. Get some sleep.”
I pull back, swiping a tear away. “You too. We have a long drive ahead.”
“I got some shit to help me wind down. I’ll be out like a light.”
“What shit?”
“Just some Xanax.”
My nose wrinkles. “Okay. Text me when you’re up and we can meet up with Mom and Dad.”
Nodding, Tag steps back and sends me a lazy two-finger salute. “Good night.”
“’Night.”
I watch Tag disappear down the hall, then slip into the hotel room, finding Chase already passed out in the bed.
A smile tugs. He’s sprawled diagonally across the mattress, fully clothed, boots and all, one arm thrown over his face and the other draped across his chest like he passed out mid-thought.
His chest rises in steady rhythm, lips parted slightly, hair tousled from the show. Or maybe from my lust-driven hands. There’s a fading mark along his jaw where I kissed him too hard in the bathroom.
I move quietly, slipping off his boots, unbuttoning his shirt halfway so he can breathe easier. He barely stirs.
After changing quickly, I slide into bed, careful not to jostle him. But as soon as I settle, his arm finds me like muscle memory, pulling me against his hard frame.
He exhales deeply—warm breath fanning across my shoulder—and tucks me in closer.
And just like that, I exhale too.
Letting the day go. Letting him hold me.
Letting it last.
***
My phone pings beside me on the nightstand, jarring me from sleep.
Half conscious and bleary-eyed, I reach over and search for my cell, the room still dark. The sun still down. My eyes are slits, the bright screen barely coming into focus.
But I see it. Read it.
Read it again.
A message sent to the group chat.
Kenna: HELP- room 312
It takes a second for the words to register.
Kenna.
Help.
Help.
I shoot up in bed, wide awake, heart thumping. Blinking repeatedly, I shove at Chase’s arm, dragging him from sleep. “Chase. Chase, wake up.”
“Mmm…” He stirs, rubbing a hand over his face.
Not a moment later, there’s a pounding at the door.
My eyes fly open. Pulse spikes.
“Annalise! Annalise, wake the fuck up!”
It’s Kenna.
Oh my God.
Chase sits up, tousling his hair. “What the…”
I shoot out of bed, my bare feet slapping the tiles as I race to the door and whip it open.
Kenna stands there, bouncing in place, half dressed, her hair wild and mascara smudged. “Annalise. God, come on. Hurry.” She grips me by the wrist and hauls me from the room. “It’s your brother. He—”
“What?” A cry spills out of me as I catapult forward.
She’s tight on my heels, sobbing through the words. “He won’t wake up. I can’t wake him. I don’t know if he’s breathing. I called the police. I just don’t…I don’t—”
“Shit, shit, shit.” My lungs rattle. My limbs are putty. I tear across the hallway, burst through the stairwell, and leap down several sets of stairs.
Chase calls out. “Annie!”
“It’s Tag!” I scream back, tears streaking in rivers down my cheeks. “Oh God. Oh God…”
Kenna pulls ahead, hands trembling as she fumbles with the room key, wearing nothing but a baggy band T-shirt. “He took something. I don’t—I don’t know what it was…” The key slips from her hand. Slips again. “Dammit!”
I pound on the door. “Tag!”
Nothing.
I want to fall apart. Die.
Chase cuts between us, ripping the key away and shoving the door open the moment it unlocks. He runs in first, shirt half open, feet bare. “Christ,” he says, beelining toward Tag who’s sprawled out on the bed, motionless.
He’s on him in seconds. He grips his shoulders, shaking him hard.
No response. No groan. Just deadweight.
My knees buckle. I catch myself on the doorframe, my body frozen, mouth open but silent. The walls tilt. The world narrows.
Kenna hovers behind me with the door open, sobbing, her hands tangled in her hair. “He was breathing a minute ago. I-I tried to wake him. He took a pill to help him sleep—”
“Pills?” Chase tilts Tag’s head back, checks his mouth, his neck, his wrist. “Shit, no pulse,” he mutters. Then louder. “No fucking pulse.”
“No…no, no, no.” My voice finally comes, but it’s a whisper. Broken. Barely mine.
Chase launches into action. He climbs onto the bed, hands braced over Tag’s chest, and starts compressions. “Call them again,” he orders. “Tell them to fucking hurry.”
Kenna’s already redialing, crying into the phone, while Chase counts under his breath, sweat starting to bead at his temple. His arms pump hard, fast, desperate.
One. Two. Three. Four.
“Come on. Come on, man. Stay with me,” he grits out.
I’m paralyzed. Sick.
My brother. My brother is dying. My brother is gone.
A sudden crash behind us.
Zach.
“What the hell—?”
“OD,” Chase says without looking up. “He’s not breathing.”
Zach pales. “Shit.” He spins. “I’ve got Narcan. Two rooms down.”
He takes off running.
Chase keeps going, rhythm brutal, unrelenting. My ears ring with the thud of his hands hitting Tag’s chest. A sound I’ll never forget.
Moments later, Zach busts back in, fumbling through his backpack. “Hold him,” he barks, ripping the cap off the nasal spray. “Lift his head.”
Chase obeys. Zach presses the nozzle into Tag’s nostril and delivers the dose.
“C’mon,” Zach mutters. “You’re all good, buddy. Come on. You’re good.”
Time crawls.
The room spins.
I hold my breath until I’m blue.
Then Tag jerks violently, coughing, a wheezy gasp forcing its way into his lungs. His whole body seizes, a violent inhale crashing through him like he’s clawing his way out of death.
He chokes, eyes flying open, unseeing.
Limbs twitching.
Muscles locking, then loosening in jerky waves.
“Shit, there it is,” Chase breathes, exhaling hard as he backs off and presses forward on his knees. “Fuck, man.”
Tag’s eyes flutter. His lips tremble. He tries to sit up, but his body doesn’t cooperate.
“Tag!” I sob, rushing toward him and collapsing beside the bed, squeezing his hand. “God, Tag. I’m here. I’m here.”
Sirens wail in the distance.
Kenna cries out, landing beside me.
Chase releases a ragged breath, barely holding it together, while Zach slumps against the wall and stares up at the ceiling.
Tag is alive.
He’s alive.
But the fear—that hollow, bottomless kind—has already made a home in me.