Chapter 15
The what-if game is the worst game to play, at least the way the majority of the population plays it. It’s never what if this amazing thing happens to me, but always what if this crappy thing happens? Or what if I made this different choice? Or what if my actions cause someone else harm?
There are plenty of instances in my life where I’ve questioned my choices. If pursuing music and taking the record deal were the right decisions. If doing things differently would mean the accident never happened.
Letting my thoughts wander down those paths never pays off in the end, but it’s not a question of if my mind will go there. It’s a question of when.
“Beckett,” Madison whispers, her hand coming to rest on mine.
The touch is soft, but deliberate. She doesn’t hesitate or seem to question if it’s the right move, and she doesn’t pull away when my eyes finally meet hers.
“It feels weird to say I don’t love what I do when it’s given me so much, but the truth is, I question if going into music the way I did was the right choice.”
“We all question if we’ve made the right choices. I think that’s part of human nature.”
It’s wrong in a moment like this, but I have no control of the laugh that breaks free. “Sorry. I was just thinking the same thing.” I shake my head, letting my eyes fall to Madison’s hand where it rests on mine. “The what-if game. What a waste of time,” I murmur.
I don’t expect a response, but the next words out of Madison’s mouth might be the most profound question someone’s ever asked me.
“Which what-if keeps you up at night?”
People ask me about the night that haunts me plenty of times, but rarely in a way that isn’t looking for a new juicy headline. For that reason, it’s the one question I refuse to talk about publicly.
It’s one question I refuse to talk about at all. I’ve spent years in therapy and support groups and have still never spoken about it.
Then again, Madison doesn’t know a single thing about me. At least nothing that we haven’t talked about over the last week.
“What if I hadn’t played that show on Halloween when I was twenty?” I’m shocked by the wobble in my voice. Maybe I shouldn’t be, but it’s been eighteen years. I’ve learned to live with it.
“What happened at the show?”
“It wasn’t what happened at the show. It’s what happened on the way home from it.”
Madison’s grip on my hand tightens, but she doesn’t say anything in the silence that follows. Somehow knowing I need a moment.
There’s a tightness in my chest, one I used to feel all the time after the accident but now only experience on the nights I can’t escape my nightmare.
Can it be called a nightmare if it’s also a memory?
“It wasn’t anything special, just a random Halloween concert, and my parents decided they wanted to be there. Not only for the show that night but for the entire day. I should have fought them on it, but I loved when they were backstage.”
Growing up where I did, we were used to unexpected and crazy weather, especially in the winter, but Halloween was the middle of fall. No one predicted what ended up happening that night.
If there had been any kind of warning, I would have sent my parents home.
It was still early in my career, but my parents had seen me play a million times and this one wasn’t any different from the rest.
“It was colder than typical for Halloween, but nothing completely out of the norm for Boston. What took everyone by surprise was the massive ice storm that came through. I honestly don’t remember a single report about the storm, but maybe I just wasn’t paying attention.”
There’s plenty about that night I don’t remember, and considering everything I do remember, I’m okay with the gaps. There’s nothing missing from those memories that will make the aftermath any better. That will help me cope with how it all turned out.
“My parents had seen bits and pieces of my routine over the years, but they’d never experienced a show day from start to finish. What made them decide that was the day to see all of it, I still don’t understand.”
Madison’s thumb strokes across the back of my hand, but she doesn’t say anything, letting me guide this conversation at my own pace. I squeeze her hand in return, grateful for the quiet support.
“Instead of getting a hotel room in the city, we made the decision to head back to Harborview after the show. Which wasn’t a big deal since the drive is only about an hour.”
The drive back to my parents was also the perfect way to burn off the adrenaline I always have after a show.
There are a few ways to make the drive between Boston and Harborview, but all of them involve a combination of major six-lane highways and smaller one-lane routes. But even the small byways are important roads for the area, making them a priority during any kind of weather emergency.
Meeting Madison’s eye, it’s clear I don’t need to say what happens next. The tears in her eyes tell me she’s figured it out from the little I’ve said, but I still need to form the words, if only for myself.
“It was clear when we left the venue, but we drove right into it, and just outside the town limits a driver coming in the opposite direction veered into our lane forcing us off the road. I hit a patch of ice and everything…” I swallow, feeling the emotion building in my throat and cutting my words short.
“The world flipped and then went black.”
It’s truly a miracle anyone walked away from that accident. I remember seeing the pictures weeks later and questioning how I was lying in the hospital room surrounded by so many people.
My team was much smaller back then, but they were all worried about how the accident would impact my career.
Whenever Ryan gets on me about needing to find a new team, the way Aaron handled everything after my accident is the prime example Ryan uses. But Ryan didn’t get the one-on-one time with Aaron like I did. He didn’t see how Aaron supported me through every tortuous moment the same way Ryan did.
Aaron made some stupid decisions, putting the things I could do for him and his career before what was best for me, but he was also one of the very few people who took the brunt of my anger, letting me rage against the world in every imaginable way.
He was one of the few people who was there for me every step of my recovery, supporting me in all the ways that mattered most.
“The next thing I remember is the sound of my mother pleading for someone to answer her. I couldn’t speak and I was pinned to the steering wheel, unable to move. Not to see where she was or what happened with my father. Not to reach over and reassure her I was okay. The only sound was her sobs.”
“Beckett.” The word is choked, and it’s me squeezing her hand in comfort this time.
Needing to get it all out, I push forward. “It was hours before anyone found us and the whole time all I could do was listen to my mother’s sobs getting quieter and quieter until they stopped all together.”
It’s the silence that descended after that haunts me most.
“By the time help arrived it was too late. She was gone and my dad never had a chance. He died on impact.”
I take a deep breath and finish as quickly as I can.
“I found out in the hospital that I broke my larynx, which is why I couldn’t speak or make any sounds.
” A pained laugh slips from my lips before I force myself to continue.
“Being pinned to the steering wheel actually saved me in the end. One slight move and I could’ve paralyzed myself or worse. ”
“That’s…what…how…” Madison’s words are stilted and she never quite forms a question, but I’ve got a good idea what she’s trying to ask.
Fourteen albums in twenty years, plus a broken larynx—even more proof of love for my career, or an obsession with needing to control something.
“A very strict recovery process that included three months of absolutely no use of my voice and another nine months of rehabilitation. My parents never would have wanted me to give up my music, and I couldn’t fathom letting them down after losing them like that.”
“Beckett,” she whispers, her hand still wrapped up in mine. “I don’t know your parents, but knowing the man they raised you to be, I can imagine they would’ve supported whatever decision you made.”
“You’re right, they would have supported me, but music got me through all the awkward, cringey, and tough moments of my life.
I knew it could get me through losing the two most important people.
So, I put all my focus on getting back to where I was before the accident, and then I put all my focus on making my career better than I ever could’ve imagined. ”
Madison’s eyes bounce between mine. I don’t know what she sees when she looks at me, but given the fact she’s the only person I’ve told the complete story to, I don’t try to hide anything else from her. There’s no point.
“I want to say something profound, but I’ve got nothing.
” She shakes her head, her eyes falling to her lap for a moment before lifting to meet mine again.
“I don’t know what you’ve accomplished in your life, but to have the recognition and respect of so many people, there’s no doubt your accomplishments are plenty.
And to do that while surviving something so…
” Her words trail off and I don’t blame her.
There are so many words that could finish that sentence. I’ve never quite figured out which one fits best.
Traumatic.
Horrible.
Devastating.
Agonizing.
All of the above.
None of it really matters. I may have accomplished a lot, but that doesn’t negate the fact that I’ve fucked up plenty as well.
“I’ve done some terrible things too,” I murmur. “Things I wish I could take back,” I add just as softly.
“Who hasn’t done terrible things in their life?” Madison’s words are as gentle as mine, as if she knows how big everything I’m sharing with her truly is.
“When drugs and alcohol are involved, those terrible things tend to escalate tenfold.”
Part of it was just bad timing and part of it was the fame.
It didn’t help that the accident happened during a time when doctors swore opioids weren’t addictive and it was as simple as saying I was in pain to get the prescription refilled or the dosage upped.
But the moment that shifted and I couldn’t get my hands on oxy, everything changed. Saying yes to new experiences became easier and easier, even if I knew it was a bad idea.
To say I’ve tried everything at least once wouldn’t be an exaggeration. Just like it’s no exaggeration to say some of the things I did are worse than anyone could possibly imagine.
I’ve never killed anyone—unless you count my parents—or forced anyone into a situation they didn’t want to be part of, but I definitely hurt people and destroyed friendships.
I let the drugs and alcohol consume me. Outside of music, they were the most important thing to me, and it showed in every decision I made.
The fact that Ryan is still part of my life is potentially more of a miracle than the fact I walked away from that accident with only the temporary loss of my voice and a few physical scars.
When I finally let my gaze move back to Madison, the question is clear in her eyes even if she doesn’t voice it, but I give her the answer anyway.
“I’ve been sober for almost ten years.”
“Beckett,” she breathes out, her hand squeezing mine. “That’s amazing.”
I won’t argue that with her. I know how hard it is to get sober and how it can be a struggle every day to continue turning away from something so easy to fall back into.
Ten years is something to be proud of, but it doesn’t mean I’m healed. If I manage to stay on this path, I will forever be a recovering addict. That label will never disappear.
“Thank you.” I feel the heat in my cheeks and it’s almost comical how easily I blush around this woman—even in a serious moment like this. “It doesn’t take away from everything I’ve done.”
“No, but we’ve all made mistakes.” Her hand slips from mine as she shifts in her seat, angling her body to face me, her knee knocking against mine.
“We’ve all done things we wish we could change.
Maybe some things are worse than others, but that doesn’t make someone better or worse.
All that really matters is what we learn from everything we do—good and bad. ”
“That’s pretty philosophical and clever for someone so young,” I tease, a smile forming as our conversation turns to something lighter. “You shouldn’t be old enough to understand something like that.”
I have to remind myself that Madison’s only twenty-eight.
Her work ethic and understanding of the world around her constantly surprises me.
Then again, I shouldn’t use my twenties as a comparison for the average young adult.
Not only was I in the spotlight with the world focused on me, I was deep into my addiction, just starting to dig my way out at her age.
“Hmm, remember, I’ve got an old soul. Besides, it’s not about the age of the engine, but the miles on it that counts.”
I’ve never heard that before, but I think it may be one of the most accurate things I’ve ever heard, and my brows lift at the thought.
“All right. Tell me more about this old soul.” My body settles into the cushions, feeling more at ease knowing the hard part of our conversation is over.
Talking about my issues with addiction isn’t something I find difficult anymore—my journey to recovery is one topic I’m always willing to talk about publicly—but that doesn’t mean I don’t get nervous talking about it with people whose opinions matter.
And Madison’s opinion might be the one that matters most.