Chapter 24
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
BODHI
The amber liquid in the glass seemed to taunt me.
It caught the warm light above the bar and glowed like something precious.
Hints of caramel and vanilla curled up from the surface, sweet and inviting, cut through with something sharper beneath it.
The oversized spheres of ice were melting, slowly diluting the rich colour, thinning it out.
Still, the whiskey remained. The alcohol didn’t disappear just because it was watered down.
I’d ordered it on instinct the moment I stepped into the hotel bar.
It was where I’d ended up after turning my back on Iggy again. A place that used to feel like a sanctuary, but now only echoed with reminders of my own history. Of failure. Of how easily old habits waited, patient and familiar, just beneath the surface.
“Whiskey on the rocks,” had slipped from my mouth without effort.
Automatic, comfortable. Like speaking a language I hadn’t used in a while but never truly forgot.
When the bartender set the crystal tumbler in front of me, my chest had tightened.
My mouth went dry, then watered. My tongue twitched, eager for a taste.
Just a sip. Something small. Something to take the edge off.
But I hadn’t touched it.
I sat hunched on the high stool, elbows close to my sides, staring at the glass as the ice slowly broke down.
My hands rested on the marble bar, palms flat, grounding myself in the cool surface beneath them.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a quiet, cruel voice whispered that I deserved it.
That it would warm me from the inside out.
Smooth over the sharp, splintering edges I could feel starting to crack.
My willpower held.
That part surprised me. Despite the pull, the ache, the familiarity of the craving, I didn’t actually want to give in. I didn’t want to undo the work I’d fought so hard for. Didn’t want to throw my sobriety away over this. Partly because I knew I shouldn’t.
But mostly because of Iggy.
Because when he came down, when the false euphoria burned off and left nothing but reality in its wake, he would need me. He would need someone steady. Someone clear-headed enough to help him gather the pieces and try to fit them back together again.
I needed to be that person.
And I couldn’t be if I gave in.
So I stayed there, watching the ice melt, waiting for the fear and hurt to loosen their grip long enough for something stronger to take their place. Bravery, maybe. Resolve. I didn’t know how long it would take. I only knew that an hour hadn’t been enough.
“I hope you’re not going to drink that.”
Riff’s voice startled me, then immediately eased some of the tension coiled in my chest.
“I’m not,” I said honestly. “I was just looking at it.”
He slid onto the stool beside me and rested a hand on my back, squeezing my shoulder in quiet solidarity. The bar was almost empty at this hour, and the bartender appeared before either of us could say anything.
“Water, please,” Riff said, not even glancing at the whiskey.
She nodded and returned moments later, setting a full glass in front of him. Riff dragged a finger through the condensation gathering along the side, eyes flicking briefly to the untouched tumbler between us.
“So,” he said, still staring at the glass. “You ready to tell me what the fuck’s going on?”
I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes and sighed. I couldn’t put this off any longer. Tonight had made that painfully clear. Folding my arms across my chest, I turned to my best friend. He watched me without rushing, patient in the way only someone who knew me inside out could be.
“I knew Iggy before the tour,” I said carefully, tracking his reaction. “We met in rehab.”
His eyes widened, his grip tightening around the glass of water. “I’m sorry—what?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Got the shock of my life when he showed up here.”
Riff took a long drink, buying himself a second to process. He’d always been like that when it mattered. Loud and reckless on the surface, but capable of slowing down when the moment called for it. Thinking before he spoke.
“So . . . is this, like, a stalker situation?” he asked, eyebrow lifting.
I huffed a laugh. “Nah. He was just as surprised as I was.”
“Okay.” He nodded, rubbing at his jaw. “That actually tracks.”
“How?”
“You and Iggy,” he said, like it should’ve been obvious.
When I didn’t respond, he went on. “You never let people in, man. Took you months to warm up to me and Mick when we were kids. You went back and forth with Ghost and Thump for ages.” He shrugged.
“Then Iggy shows up and suddenly you’re inseparable.
Either you already knew him . . . or he was just special. ”
That made something warm settle in my chest. “A bit of both,” I admitted.
Riff smiled and bumped his shoulder against mine. “So. Tell me about him.”
“You already know him.”
“I mean before,” he said. “Rehab Iggy. The meet cute. All that shit.”
I rested my chin in my hand and stared past his shoulder, letting myself drift.
“Well,” I said slowly. “It started with a garden.”
What felt like hours later, though it couldn’t have been more than twenty or thirty minutes, I’d told him about the Willow. Not the private details. Not the parts of Iggy’s recovery that weren’t mine to share. Just the spaces in between.
Sitting by the lake. Walking the gardens in weak winter sunlight.
Playing piano in the music room while he listened.
Letting him paint my face like I was a blank canvas.
Exploring forgotten rooms on an unused floor of the manor.
The night he’d held me while the cravings got too loud to ignore.
Hot chocolates by the fire when sleep refused to come.
I replayed every memory through new eyes. With the knowledge of who Iggy was now, and what he meant to me. And somewhere in the telling, I realised I was falling in love with him all over again.
We’d only ever meant to be friends. And he was, truly, my best friend. Loving him was just a bonus.
“Look at you,” Riff teased, nudging my shoulder. “I told you. You’re a fool in love.”
I nodded, because there was no point pretending otherwise.
“I guess that means he’s also an addict.”
Right. Because that was the part we actually needed to talk about.
I hummed in confirmation and rotated the whiskey glass slowly, listening to the ice clink softly against the sides.
“Does that have something to do with the fact you’re sitting here staring down a full glass of whiskey?” Riff asked.
I sighed and pushed the glass away from me. “Iggy’s been relapsing,” I said quietly. “Slowly. And I didn’t see it until it was already happening.”
“Fuck,” Riff muttered, dragging a hand through his wavy hair. “What happened?”
“He’s been taking painkillers,” I explained. “Ultram. Ghost gave them to him.”
Riff’s expression hardened, his mouth already opening to unload on a bandmate who wasn’t here to defend himself. I lifted a hand, stopping him.
“His intentions weren’t bad,” I said quickly. “Iggy used to do ballet. He had a serious injury that ended his career, and it still gives him trouble. Ghost gave him the pills to help with the pain. He didn’t know Iggy was an addict. No one did.”
Riff exhaled sharply. “Okay. Shit. I get it.” He nodded once. “So, he’s been taking pills.”
“Mmhmm. And when they ran out, he asked for more. Ghost didn’t have any, and Iggy snapped at him.” I swallowed. “Ghost told me because he was worried, so I talked to Iggy about it, and . . .” I trailed off. “It didn’t go well.”
“I can imagine,” Riff said softly, eyes drifting across the bar.
I knew what he was thinking. All the times he’d tried to pull me up short. The fights, the arguments. The way I’d lashed out when he’d seen the signs before I was ready to admit them myself.
“I gave him space,” I continued. “Like he asked for. And he spent the night with Trix and Bella.”
Riff let out a dry scoff. “Yeah. I think I know how this story ends.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and nodded.
Half Life were known for partying. They were young, new to it all, still riding the thrill of attention and excess. Untouched by the grind that eventually chewed everyone up. I hoped they’d stay that way.
I didn’t know why I’d thought it was a good idea to point Iggy in that direction. I wanted him to have friends, wanted him to feel supported outside of me. I wanted him to have a life that didn’t orbit entirely around mine.
Just not like this. Not as a way to self-destruct. Not at the cost of his recovery.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “I told him he needed help, and we fought. His spiral triggered my own, and I walked out. Went to the show and performed like nothing was wrong.” I swallowed. “Got the job done.”
I scrubbed a hand down my face, my eyes starting to burn as I reached the hard part.
Walking into Iggy’s room. Seeing him sprawled on the bed and wondering if he was dead. The split second where my heart stopped, where I was certain I’d been too late. That he’d gone too far and this time no one had been there to save him.
Only for him to open his eyes.
To smile.
To offer me drugs like he was offering comfort. Like he was asking me to crawl into bed with him and pretend everything was fine. Watching the cracks spread as he slid to the floor after I pushed him. Hearing them finally shatter when the door closed between us.
I told Riff everything. I didn’t realise I was crying until a napkin appeared in the corner of my vision. I took it, wiped my eyes, blew my nose, and drew in a shaky breath that didn’t quite steady me. I kept my gaze fixed on the bar, afraid to look at him.
Afraid he’d see me the way I saw myself.
Like a fucking monster.
“Bodhi.”
I shook my head, refusing to meet his eyes.
A hand settled on my shoulder. Warm and solid. “Bodhi,” he said again, firmer this time. “Please look at me.”