Chapter 14
As with our first tour, we were feeling exhausted and worn thin, but it was easy to rally for this particular show.
And, just as we’d expected, it was amazing.
Although we didn’t know the numbers, we knew we were doing even better than before, because Mick had told us we’d have one week at home to recuperate and then we’d be back on the road—only this time, we would be the second act and there would only be us and the headliners and we’d be playing to large audiences, which assured us that our take would be bigger.
Mick also told us to not get too comfy because he knew there would be a third leg, even though the details hadn’t been arranged yet.
Because this show was also the last for the headliners, they threw a huge party in a big room at the hotel where all the bands were staying.
The plan was that we’d go home the next morning after celebrating and catching a little sleep.
Mick and the bus driver didn’t want to engage in our “party nonsense” but, because he was truly a softie at heart, Mick said we wouldn’t hit the road till nine AM so we could at least try to get a good night’s rest.
All of us in Once Upon a Riot could drink legally now, and we did.
It started with the beer flowing freely from one of the two kegs the headliners bought, but there were lots of bottles of harder beverages.
It started with the four of us chatting with a couple of eager fans but, an hour later, Cy was surrounded by no fewer than five girls and Zack had his arm around a dark-haired woman who wore a denim jumpsuit that showed lots of side boob.
I tamped down the jealous beast in my belly who had no right—and I did it by switching to a rum and Coke.
As the night wore on, I found myself getting tired. When a couple of other fans we’d been talking to left to fill up their beer, I told Braden, “I think I’m ready to go.”
“Yeah. Me too. Let’s go say goodbye to Wayne and the crew first.” It was a good idea. The headliners had been great to tour with and expressing our gratitude would be a good idea.
My mouth was dry but I didn’t want to try quenching it with more alcohol. “Let me get a drink of water first.”
Braden nodded. “I’ll see what’s up with the guys.” He gave me a quick kiss and we parted—with Braden heading toward Cy and me going toward the makeshift bar.
But before I made it there, Zack’s raven-haired denim jumpsuit girl all but attacked me, pulling on my arm.
At first, I thought she was wanting to fight and I turned quickly, ready to defend myself.
When I saw her face, though, I knew that wasn’t her intent.
Her pupils were wide, her face distressed. “You’re in Zack’s band?”
“Yeah. What’s wrong?”
“He’s sick. He—”
It wasn’t what she said but how she said it that made the hair on my arms stick out straight and I became completely sober as the entire party faded away. It was just her and me. “Where is he?”
“In his room.”
“What’s the number?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you take me there?” I wanted to shake her or slap her, because she was acting like a frightened rabbit and not exactly forthcoming with information.
“Uh…I can’t. I need to get out of here.”
“What?”
“I can’t let the cops catch me again.”
Although I tried grabbing her arm, she was making her way through the crowd and out the door before I could say another word.
Cy and Zack shared a room—so I’d find Cy and, if not, call Mick.
But Cy, still surrounded by several girls, was talking with Braden.
Shoving my way past drunken oblivious people, I finally reached my bandmates.
At first, Braden had a smile on his face but it faded when he realized I was distressed. I said, “Something’s wrong with Zack.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know that girl he was hanging out with? She said he’s sick.”
“Sick how?” Cy asked.
“I don’t know, but she looked like she was scared shitless.”
“So where is he?” Braden asked.
“She said he’s in his room. Can I borrow your card, Cy?”
“No, ‘cause I’m going too.”
Without another word, the three of us were heading through the crowded room toward the exit.
Once we were in the first floor hallway of the hotel and the doors closed behind us, it was as if we were in another world—peaceful, serene, and only the muted notes of a party that sounded as if it were a suburban block away.
The elevator ride was tense and none of us were talking—until we exited. Cy said, “She didn’t say anything else?”
“She said she was afraid of getting arrested or something and she bolted.”
Soon, Cy was inserting his card into the slot and, when the mechanism clicked and the little light turned green, he turned the knob and the three of us rushed in.
Nothing in the room seemed amiss. Their luggage was still sitting near the door and all the lights were on. There was a glass half full of either vodka or water across the room, but I was sure it was alcohol.
The bathroom door was half closed and Cy tapped on it. “Zack, you in there?” When there was no response, he opened the door—and there was our friend, sprawled out on the floor, half slumped against the wall. “Jesus Christ.”
We all crammed inside, getting close. Zack looked so pale, I was afraid maybe he was dead and a brief thought flickered through my mind that if he was, I wouldn’t rest until I found that side-boob bitch and killed her.
But Braden said, “He’s breathing.”
“Barely.”
I let out a slow breath as relief flooded my veins. “Zack?” I asked, hoping he’d open his eyes. “Zack?” I grabbed his hand, cool to the touch and clammy. “Zack!”
Cy got close to his face and gently tapped on his cheek. “Wake up, man.”
“I’m callin’ 911,” Braden said, standing, pulling his phone out of his pocket and walking out of the room.
Cy kept trying to wake Zack up but to no avail. “That’s a good idea.”
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing at something near the bathtub while already knowing what it might have been.
Cy leaned over, picking up a spoon and a blue bandana. “Probably heroin.”
Fuck. “Should we call Mick?”
“Yeah. Why don’t you do it? He likes you better than us guys.”
That was bullshit but now wasn’t the time to argue about something stupid like that. So I got my phone out of my pocket. “Will you stay here with him?”
“Yeah.”
“Zack, hang in there, okay?” I begged him, not knowing if he could actually hear me or not.
Then I stood, realizing for the first time that tears were streaming down my cheeks.
Get your shit together, Dani. I wouldn’t be able to help him if I was losing it.
Walking out of the bathroom, I looked at Braden beside the door, but he was immersed in his own phone call.
I moved to the other side of the room beside the table with the drink.
On the third ring, Mick answered. “This better be good, kid.”
“Uh…yeah. Um, we think Zack took some heroin and maybe overdosed? He’s not moving or waking up.”
“You need to call an ambulance.”
“Braden’s already calling 911.”
“Good. Goddammit.” He was silent for a moment before saying, “I’ll call the front desk and see if they have any Narcan.”
I’d heard of Narcan and knew it could save someone who’d OD’d—so I prayed Mick could get his hands on some…and I immediately felt relief that I’d called. For a split second, I felt like he was like a real dad. But I couldn’t respond because now I was sobbing.
“It’ll be okay, kid. You did the right thing calling me. I’ll be there in a little bit.”
After I hung up, I squeezed my eyes together.
I wouldn’t be any help if I was losing my shit.
Braden was now half in the bathroom, still talking with the 911 operator who seemed to be asking questions.
I looked around the room for tissue to wipe my face, even while knowing I’d have to get it in the bathroom, but I settled for a napkin beside the tiny coffee pot.
And then I spotted an amber bottle with a white lid—some kind of medication.
Had Zack overdosed on something else?
I picked up the bottle to read the label.
It was prescribed to Zachary Ryan—Alprazolam, 0.
5 mg tablets, with the instructions to Take one tablet by mouth once daily or twice daily as needed for anxiety.
Anxiety? I knew Zack was having problems with depression but I hadn’t known he’d been having other struggles.
I couldn’t miss the sticker that said May cause drowsiness.
This bottle had just been filled at a Walgreens in Las Vegas a little over a week earlier. The prescribing doctor, though, was from Dalton.
And a shiver charged up my spine as I realized the bottle that had once held sixty tablets was almost empty.
Had he intentionally taken a lot? Had he been…suicidal maybe? Was he suffering that much and we’d all simply shut him out to protect ourselves when he’d needed us the most?
I made my way back to the bathroom. Braden had just hung up his phone and said, “They’re on the way.”
“He’s still breathing,” Cy said. “His pulse is faint, but he’s still alive.”
“I found this,” I said, handing it to Braden. “It says it causes drowsiness. Do you think he maybe took a bunch of those?”
Cy said, “He takes a couple every day but…maybe? What did Mick say?”
“He’s gonna see if the hotel has any Narcan.”
And the minutes moved as slowly as a snail might across a lawn.
As the seconds ticked by, my stomach felt like it was going to eat itself.
We wet a washcloth with cool water, not knowing if it would do any good, and I knelt beside Zack, unable to stop myself from crying as I dabbed at his face, trying to get him to wake up.
Both Cy and Braden talked to him, saying his name often while telling him to hang in there, that help was on the way.
When there was banging on the door, I felt another rush of relief, certain help had finally arrived. Braden got up from where he’d been sitting on the toilet and I stood to make way for the paramedics.
But it was Mick.