Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Dustin
I stare at my phone, the screen now black after the call ended, and the silence around us feels louder than the music humming faintly from the speakers in the corner of the room.
I rake a hand through my hair, gripping it at the roots, trying to ease the dull throb pulsing behind my eyes.
This isn’t how I thought things would go.
I hoped she’d say yes without hesitation—because she loved him more than anything in the world.
I loved them both, always have, but deep down, I’ve known the bond between them is different—stronger, more unbreakable than the connection I had with either of them.
If she can’t do this for him, if she won’t fight for him, then .
. . do I even stand a chance of fixing any of this? I’m not sure anymore.
I glance over at Halsey, sitting stiffly beside me, her posture tense, her eyes distant—fixed on something far beyond the walls of her living room.
She hasn’t said anything since the call with Santos ended, and I can’t figure her out.
Is she angry? Hurt? Trapped in her own thoughts? Probably all three.
It’s fucking sad that I can’t even read her anymore.
It’s like we’re living in separate worlds, moving on completely different wavelengths.
There was a time when I’d know exactly what was going on in her mind with just a glance.
Now? I’m lost. If I could reach out and pull her into a hug, I would.
But there’s this distance, this invisible wall between us.
I’m terrified she’ll push me away—reject me because I’ve lost that right, haven’t I?
God, I’ve missed her. I miss that sharp, quick-witted fire, the way she’d laugh at my dumb jokes like she actually found them funny.
I miss the way she could look at me and know exactly what I was feeling, even before I did.
But that was a lifetime ago. And now, I’m not the person she once knew—and I doubt she even cares to know me at all.
Now, we’re strangers sitting in the same space, worlds apart. I could beg her, I should beg her for one last favor. I can pay her my entire fortune to save him. All of it, as long as he doesn’t lose the one thing that keeps him going.
She couldn’t possibly understand the fear clawing at me—the terror of what Jean-Luc could do to Santos, to his career, to everything he’s built.
I’m afraid of losing him again, not that I have him.
He’s my friend and sometimes . . . well, we lose ourselves in each other to try to fill the hole she left.
It’s not like we can be together. He’d never come out of the closet, I .
. . I don’t even want to think what kind of life we would have if we had to hide all the time.
Would I lose my fucking mind again? Just like it happened when Santos left Blissful Meadows. And I feel it coming, the fear that gripped me then when I had lost Hals and San, it’s creeping back into my chest. Losing them was worse than anything I’d felt before, even when my parents died.
Back then, being in Blissful Meadows wasn’t an option.
I had to get out. So I made the call—to my father’s old manager.
I begged him to help me leave, to throw me into the music world I’d been groomed for since the day I could hold a guitar.
My father had trained me relentlessly, made sure I had every tool to step onto a stage when the time came.
I was a prodigy. Everyone knew it. But when he died, I disappeared.
Getting back to Los Angeles was easy. The trust fund was there, waiting.
And so were the distractions—alcohol, drugs, anything I could use to numb the pain in my soul.
I dove into it all, drowning out the noise of my past, silencing the ache that had been gnawing at me for years.
I numbed myself until I couldn’t feel anything at all.
I’m so tempted to search for a beer, a bottle of vodka, find a dealer .
. . anything to take the edge off. My mouth is dry, and my hands twitch like they’ve got their own agenda.
It’s not about getting drunk, not really—it’s the craving, the need to shut it all off.
The noise in my head, the relentless thoughts spiraling, too loud, too fast. I can feel it creeping in, that familiar pull.
I can almost taste it—the burn of the alcohol, the numbness that comes after the first few swigs.
My fingers flex, itching to grab my phone, call someone who can make it all disappear for a few hours.
The high would hit, smooth and warm, wrapping around my mind like a blanket, dulling the world.
Everything would slow down, every jagged edge smoothed out.
The temptation is so strong, it’s suffocating.
I can already picture it, that haze creeping in, the world blurring at the edges as I float above it all. Above the pain. Above the mess I’ve made. The drugs always did that—just a few pills or a line, and I’d be gone. Numb. Peaceful. Nothing would matter.
I shift in my seat, my leg bouncing uncontrollably, fingers drumming against the couch faster than I can keep up with.
It’s like I’ve lost control over my own body, like every nerve is on high alert, screaming for something—anything—to settle it down.
I clench my fist, trying to steady my hand, but it’s no use.
My whole body’s betraying me, and I’m losing the battle.
“Is everything okay, Dustin?” Halsey’s voice is soft, but there’s an edge of concern that slices through the haze I’m drowning in.
Fuck no, everything’s not okay, but I just nod, keeping my eyes fixed on the floor.
I can’t look at her. I can’t let her see just how close I am to spiraling.
My hands start twitching again, so I shove them deep into my pockets, hoping it’ll stop the tremble.
But I know she’s watching. She always sees everything.
“You sure?” she presses, her voice firmer now, cutting through the fog in my head like a knife.
“Yeah, just—just tired. It’s been a long fucking day,” I mutter, still avoiding her gaze. I press the heel of my palm into my knee, like I’m trying to pin myself down, but the subtle shaking won’t stop. It never stops when I get worked up. And of course, she notices.
“Dusty,” she says, her tone shifting to that no-bullshit voice she always used when we were kids, the one that told me she wasn’t buying a single thing I said. “You’re not okay. You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin.”
I force a grin, but it’s as hollow as I feel inside. “Just wired, I guess. Too much coffee or something.”
Her eyes don’t leave me, and then—God, I wish she wouldn’t—she reaches over and touches my hand. The warmth of her fingers sends a shock through me, calming me for just a second. “Do you take anything for the anxiety?” she asks, her voice gentle, but she’s not fooling around.
I let out a hysterical laugh. Do I take anything?
Fuck, if only she knew. Cocaine if I can get my hands on it.
Pills, alcohol—whatever numbs the edges for a while.
But I can’t say any of that. I just laugh, the sound harsh and hollow, until it starts to crack.
Until it’s not a laugh anymore but something desperate, something raw.
Halsey doesn’t move. She doesn’t flinch. Instead, she pulls me closer, her hand shifting to my arm, gentle but firm. “Dustin,” she says softly, “breathe. Just breathe.”
She shifts closer, her presence steady, grounding. “Open your legs and put your head between them,” she says, her voice calm, like she’s done this a thousand times. I hesitate, but she’s already guiding me, her hands gentle but insistent. “Come on. Trust me.”
I follow her instructions, leaning forward, resting my head between my legs. Her hand moves to my back, tracing soothing circles, and her voice—steady, soft—whispers in my ear. “Breathe, Dusty. Slow and deep. Just follow my voice.”
The world feels like it’s spinning, but her voice, her touch—they’re the only things keeping me tethered.
The panic that was clawing at my throat starts to loosen, just a little, with each breath. Her fingers draw slow, steady circles on my back, and for the first time in what feels like hours, I feel like I might be able to breathe again.
Halsey keeps talking, her words a low murmur, coaxing me back from the edge. “You’re okay. Just breathe with me, one breath at a time. You’ve got this, Dusty.”
I close my eyes, letting her voice pull me away from the edge of panic, like a lifeline I didn’t know I needed.
The craving to numb it all with something stronger lingers beneath the surface, coiling, waiting—but for now, it’s quieter.
She’s here. And she’s always been the one who knew how to calm the storm when I couldn’t.
Suddenly, I feel her lips press against my shoulder, soft, familiar.
Just like she used to when things got too much for me to handle.
That one, simple touch—a kiss that says more than words ever could.
“You’re safe,” she whispers, her voice steady, the kind of reassurance that cuts through the fog clouding my mind.
My breath hitches, but her words keep pulling me back, tethering me to the present.
“I need you to say it, Dust,” she urges, her voice calm but firm, like she’s not giving me a choice. “I need you to repeat that you’re safe.”
For a moment, I can’t. The words feel too heavy, too fragile to say out loud. But she’s waiting, her hand still on my back, tracing circles that ground me, like she’s willing me to believe it. I take a few more shaky breaths, trying to force the words past the knot in my throat.
“I’m safe,” I finally manage to say, the words coming out rough, strained. “But . . . how do we know he’ll be okay?”
Santos. My heart squeezes, tightening with the worry I’ve been holding it in for far too long.
She doesn’t understand. She can’t. Santos doesn’t just need help—he needs her help.
Real, professional help that no one else can give him.
Halsey’s the only one I trust for this. It’s not even a question in my mind.
I know it in my bones.
She’s always been the one who could fix things, the one who held us together, made us whole when everything else felt like it was falling apart.
Even when we were kids, it was her. She carried the burden of our broken pieces, never letting us crumble.
And now . . . now I’m hoping, praying, she can do it again.
Just this once.