Chapter 6 #2
Riff and I stared at each other for a beat, him waiting, maybe hoping I’d offer up something, an explanation for Iggy being glued to my side this morning. But I stayed quiet. Eventually he nodded, pulled out his phone, and started making calls.
Twenty minutes later, the band, Clara, Iggy, and the trio from Half Life had commandeered several tables in Slice of Life, a mom-and-pop place just a short walk from the house.
The herby smell of marinara and garlic hung thick in the air.
Thump had already demolished one basket of bread, and Clara slid the fresh one further down the table so everyone else actually stood a chance.
When the owner brought out several extra-large pizzas, cheese golden and bubbling over mountains of toppings, my mouth watered.
We dug in immediately, and Iggy let out a sinful moan from across the table as a strand of melted mozzarella stretched from his shiny lips to his half-eaten slice.
The sound made something unfamiliar shift in my stomach, and I shook it off, biting into my own piece.
“Damn, this is good,” Trix said through a mouthful, and the rest of us nodded. Bella, Half Life’s guitarist, plucked an olive off her slice and held it out for Trix, who leaned in and ate it straight from her fingers.
“What are you three up to today?” Mick asked the support band.
“It’s our first time here,” Bella replied. “We’re gonna make the most of it, so probably walk through the Red Light District—”
“Maybe hit a couple of coffee shops,” Trix added, smirking. “You in?”
Riff went rigid beside me. Mick and Ghost began quietly watching me, reading the room. Thump, oblivious to the sudden shift, grinned and slammed his fist on the table.
“Fuck yeah. I wanna revisit that ice bar too.” He looked around at all of us—me included—clearly forgetting my situation. “You’re coming, right?”
“We, uh . . .” Riff started, eyes flicking to me.
The constant tiptoeing made my skin crawl.
I didn’t want to hold anyone back. My problems were mine.
Mine to manage, mine to drag like an iron weight.
The guys shouldn’t have to shrink their fun to make space for my damage.
And the Half Life trio didn’t know. No one did, except the band, Clara, the label, and Iggy—who was currently shredding a napkin into confetti, staring hard at the table.
“You in, Bodhi?” Trix asked, slinging an arm around Bella. “My friend said there’s a coffee shop near Vondelpark with the best brownies.”
I scratched the back of my neck, nails digging into skin, trying to anchor myself. Sweat beaded along my hairline. My breaths turned short, choppy. Panic wrapped around my windpipe like a fist, squeezing until air felt impossible.
“Bodes,” Riff whispered, gripping my thigh beneath the table.
“I-I um . . . I can’t—”
“Bodhi and I are going exploring today.”
Iggy’s voice cut through the static in my head—firm, steady, a lifeline thrown across a raging sea.
The fist around my throat loosened. Air returned.
My pulse slowed from frantic to survivable.
My hand fell from my neck. When I looked up, Iggy was smiling like nothing had happened, like I hadn’t almost cracked open in the middle of a family restaurant.
Like he wasn’t patching himself together under his own set of secrets, violating the honesty rehab had drilled into us, just as I was.
Everyone turned towards him.
“I’ve never been to Amsterdam,” he said. “So he offered to show me around. Canals, museums, ride some bikes, all that touristy shit.”
“Oh!” Trix said. “Well, come with us, then. See the wild side.”
“I’m not really the party type,” Iggy mumbled.
A snort escaped me before I could stop it, which I tried to cover with a cough. Iggy’s green eyes glinted as he glanced over. “Yeah, we’re sticking to the PG route,” I said. “But you guys go have fun.”
Thump opened his mouth, probably to argue, but judging by the way he jolted, someone—Ghost, almost definitely—kicked him under the table. Subtlety had never been Thump’s strong suit, and clearly, his memory was fucked.
Trix looked between Iggy and me, nodding like she’d just solved some grand mystery. Whatever she imagined was probably wrong, but as long as nothing real slipped through the cracks, she could think whatever she wanted.
“Well then, you two cool cats enjoy,” she said, winking and waggling her eyebrows.
After we’d eaten ourselves stupid, everyone stood and filtered towards the exit. I’d barely stepped outside when Riff caught my arm and pulled me aside.
“You good?” he asked quietly. “Because I can come with—”
“Riff,” I said, squeezing his shoulder. “You’re not my babysitter.”
“I know, I just—”
“And you can’t protect me from everything,” I added. “Go have fun. Really. Don’t worry about me.”
I glanced over at Iggy. Trix was twirling a lock of his pink hair, and he was chatting like nothing in the world was wrong. When he noticed me looking, he shot me a grin and held up a finger, mouthing, “Be right there.”
“I don’t know what’s going on between you two,” Riff said, dragging my attention back. “And I’m guessing it’s . . . more than just hanging out. But I’m glad he’s here if he can make you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Smile.” He poked my cheek, and I batted his hand away with a laugh. “He’s a good dude if he can make you less of a grumpy asshole.”
“Fuck you.”
We shoved each other, devolving into a headlock-and-elbows mess until a pair of Doc Martens appeared in my periphery. I looked up to find Iggy grinning down at us.
“So uncivilised,” he said with a dramatic shake of his head.
“You watch out for my man,” Riff told him, jabbing a finger between us. “And stay out of trouble.”
It was meant as a joke, but there was weight under it.
“Sure, Dad,” Iggy said, waving him off.
“It’s Daddy, actually,” Riff shot back. “If you’re feeling nasty.”
I grimaced. “Ew. Get lost.”
Iggy cackled, and as Riff walked off, he called, “Bye, Daddy!”
A few pedestrians stared. One woman actually crossed herself. “You’re a menace,” I muttered.
“Ah, but you still like me.” He bumped my shoulder as we started down the street with no real plan.
“So, what’s the plan, Iggy Pop? Wander around until we drop?”
“Nope.” He popped the p and pulled out his phone, showing me a blog titled, “10 Sober Fun Things to Do in Amsterdam.”
“Sober fun,” I read, raising a brow.
He beamed. “We’re doing everything on this list.”
“Everything?” I glanced at the time. It was already mid-afternoon. “We don’t exactly have long.”
“As much as we can,” he said with a shrug. “We’re free till your soundcheck tomorrow. Might as well distract ourselves, right?”
He had a point. Amsterdam was a city built on temptation.
Legal highs, neon sex windows, booze at every turn.
Alone, I’d be terrified of slipping. With Iggy .
. . I wasn’t sure if he made it safer or worse, but at least we had each other.
At least together, there was another set of hands to pull me back from the edge.
“Sober fun,” I repeated. “Alright. Let’s do it.”
“Fuck yeah!” Iggy clapped once and tugged me towards the nearest metro stop. “Let’s find fun that doesn’t hurt.”