Chapter 8 The Longest Day
THE LONGEST DAY
LILY
The plane ride feels endless, every second stretching into eternity.
Tension wraps around us like a vice, too thick to cut through with words.
Jax lies on a fully reclined seat in the center of the cabin, his face pale, his body twitching and mumbling incoherently.
The rest of us sit around him, silent and hollowed out by exhaustion.
The hum of the engines drone on, a steady backdrop to our collective worry.
I sit beside Dylan, my hand resting on his knee, trying to draw some comfort from his presence.
His usual lightheartedness is gone, replaced by a dark, brooding look.
Across from us, Enzo stares out the window, his anger simmering just beneath the surface, while Marcus leans forward, elbows on his knees, trying to look composed but betraying the weight on his shoulders.
None of us talk about what we’ve seen on this flight, what we have helped Jax do--this is supposed to be a three-hour flight but feels more like seventy-five. The silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating, as we will it to be over.
I have little faith in Harris or whatever plan he’s cooked up, but I can’t let the others see my doubt. Right now, the only thing I can offer is the illusion of confidence, so that’s what I’ll do. I’ll play the part, no matter how much it feels like I’m crumbling inside.
When we finally land, I breathe a small sigh of relief. The airfield is private, quiet, and hidden away from the world.
A blacked-out SUV waits for us on the tarmac, sleek and anonymous. We work together to load Jax into the vehicle, accompanied by a nurse who rode over with the driver. Her sharp eyes sweep over Jax with the kind of practiced calm that only years in her profession could bring.
The ride to the hotel is quiet, save for the noises of the engine and the occasional cough from Jax. I glance at him repeatedly, each time I feel my heart tightening in my chest. He’s so still, so thin. His cheeks are sunken in and his eyes are hollow. It’s worse than I ever could have imagined.
Days. He was only gone for a few days, and he looks like he is wasting away already.
The driver pulls up to the back of a towering building and parks the car.
He turns to Marcus, handing him a set of key cards.
“These are for the suite on the top floor. You’ll want to use the service elevator,” he says, nodding toward a discreet door near the rear of the building.
“Go in through there and head straight up.”
Marcus gives a curt nod, and we climb out of the van.
Enzo hefts Jax onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, his muscles flexing under the strain.
Any other time, I might have admired the strength in his arms, but now, the sight just makes my chest ache.
Jax’s limp, fragile form is too stark a contrast. I blink back the tears threatening to spill, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.
We file into the hotel, and I barely register the luxurious surroundings—the polished marble floors, the ornate sconces casting warm light on the walls.
Wherever Harris has booked us, it’s undoubtedly the nicest place we’ve stayed so far, but the grandeur feels hollow in the face of everything that’s happening.
The elevator opens into a short hallway with just one door, a clear sign this suite takes up the entire floor. We step out, and Marcus scans the key card, letting us into a space so opulent it feels obscene given the situation.
The suite is massive, with lush furnishings, a private elevator entrance that likely leads directly to the lobby, and multiple rooms branching off the main living area. Everything gleams—soft lighting, rich fabrics, and polished surfaces—as if mocking the situation we’re in.
Ignoring our surroundings, my focus shifts immediately to the nurse, who wastes no time setting up supplies on the coffee table.
Her movements are efficient, deliberate, and her demeanor is sharp with authority.
“I’ll be administering a 24-hour detox,” she announces briskly, her gaze sweeping across all of us, leaving no room for argument. “We need to start immediately.”
Her words hit me like a slap. I stare at her, my voice trembling as I blurt out, “A 24-hour detox? Is that even safe?”
“It’s not ideal,” she replies, her tone firm but not unkind. “But it’s what we have to work with. He’ll be monitored closely the entire time, but you need to understand—it won’t be easy.”
“This is bullshit,” Enzo snaps, his voice sharp with anger. “We’re supposed to just watch him suffer for 24 hours?”
The nurse ignores him and continues prepping. “I will need to set up in one of the rooms for the entirety of the detox. One of you can stay with him, but the rest will need to leave him be. He’ll need space, and so will you.”
“I’ll stay,” I say immediately, stepping forward.
“No,” Enzo interjects, in a surprisingly gentle voice considering his previous outburst. I open my mouth to protest, but he continues. “You need to rest, Lily. We’ll take turns. I’ve got this for now. When you wake up later, you can take a shift.”
His words make sense, but it takes everything in me to agree. “Fine,” I whisper. “But come get me if anything happens.”
He nods, then moves to carry Jax into the closest bedroom. I can’t stop myself from walking forward and watching as Enzo deposits Jax onto the edge of the bed. The nurse strides past me with a tray of supplies and immediately starts working.
I linger for a moment longer, watching as the nurse administers the first dose of a sedative. Jax’s face contorts in pain as she jabs him with the needle, even in his semi-conscious state, and my chest constricts.
Enzo strides to the edge of the room and places a hand on my shoulder, guiding me toward the door. “Come on, Lily. Go get some rest. I’ll stay here and get you if anything happens. I promise.”
I nod, allowing him to guide me out the door.
I linger just long enough to hear the soft click of it shutting behind me before moving toward the adjoining room.
The space is dimly lit, shadows pooling in the corners.
The air here feels just as heavy, just as suffocating as the bedroom and it takes me a second to realize that maybe the feeling is just the tightness in my chest and nothing to do with the air at all.
Dylan sinks into a chair, dragging a hand through his disheveled hair, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. Marcus stands by the window, his back straight but his expression taut, his worry etched into every line of his face as he stares out at the dark city beyond.
“This is a fucking nightmare,” Dylan mutters, running his other hand through his hair, causing a section to stand upright.
Marcus replies, his voice even but tired. “It is… Jax did this to himself and now he’s facing the consequences of his actions. But we need to help him through it. He’s still a part of this band and part of our family.”
I sink into one of the luxurious armchairs in the living room, exhaustion crashing over me.
My mind spins with questions and guilt. We found Jax, but it barely feels like that has solved any of our problems. I press my palms to my face, stifling the tears burning behind my eyes. “This has to work,” I whisper.
Dylan stops his quiet muttering and settles onto the couch near me. Not long after, Marcus joins us, sinking into a seat as we sit in silence, waiting. I close my eyes, and try to will myself to sleep, but my mind races with all the things that could go wrong, refusing to grant me peace.
The hours drag on, punctuated only by the nurse’s soft movements as she moves in and out of the room. The tension is a living, breathing thing, gnawing at the edges of all of us. Eventually, Enzo slips out for some air, and Marcus takes his turn with Jax.
When Enzo returns, he doesn’t say a word.
He gathers me into his arms, pulling me onto the sofa beside him.
His face is drawn, exhaustion etched into every line.
He holds me tightly, his grip firm but comforting, as if I’m the only thing keeping him steady.
Within minutes, his breathing evens out, and he falls asleep, curled protectively around me.
Sleep continues to evade me. I stare at the ceiling, periodically glancing at the time on my phone. When the nurse returns with Marcus following closely behind, I carefully ease out of Enzo’s arms, doing my best not to wake him. Quietly, I slip into the bedroom and take a seat beside Jax.
He lies motionless, his breathing shallow and uneven, his skin slick with a sheen of sweat.
My chest tightens at the sight of him. Reaching for his clammy hand, I wrap mine around it, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Leaning closer, I whisper softly, “You’re not alone, Jax.
We’re here. I’m here. I need you to hang on. ”
I don’t know if he can hear me, but I keep talking, keep holding on to him like I can tether him to us through sheer will alone. Eventually, exhaustion wins out. My head rests on the edge of the bed, and I drift into a restless sleep, his hand still clasped in mine.
Sometime later, I wake to the gentle jostle of being lifted. The motion stirs me from sleep. I blink up to see Marcus, his expression soft despite the dark bags under his eyes from lack of sleep.
“You need sleep, Lily,” he murmurs, carrying me out of Jax’s room and into the room next door.
I want to protest, but my body is too heavy. He lays me down, the mattress dipping as he settles beside me, pulling me into his warmth. I barely register the tender press of his lips against my forehead as sleep tries to claim me again.
“I’m here,” he whispers. “Get some rest.”
I fight to open my groggy eyes and turn to face him, our faces mere inches apart.
The soft glow of the city lights filters through the curtains, casting faint shadows across the room.
His blue eyes are dark, heavy with emotion that mirrors the feelings swirling around my head.
I reach up, cupping his cheek, my palm resting against the warmth of his skin.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice trembling under the weight of exhaustion and gratitude.
Marcus leans in, his lips meeting mine in a soft, tender kiss. It’s more than just a kiss—it’s a promise, a silent vow that we’ll weather this storm together. His hand slides gently to my waist, drawing me closer until there’s no space left between us.
Our movements are unhurried, deliberate, as we undress each other in the quiet stillness of the room.
Each kiss, every touch, is laced with a need to escape the fear and exhaustion that has gripped us for days.
His body moves against mine in a gentle rhythm, his hands exploring me with a tenderness that makes my heart ache.
I cling to him, my nails digging into his back as the tightness in my body unravels. In this moment, we’re not just two people lost in chaos—we’re each other’s lifeline, finding comfort and strength in the connection we share.
After we both find our release, we lie tangled together, our breathing slow and steady as the world outside fades away.
Marcus’s hand strokes my hair in soothing, rhythmic motions, grounding me in a way words never could.
I curl further into him, the tension in my chest easing for the first time in hours.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice a broken thread.
Marcus doesn’t reply. He just holds me tighter, like he’s trying to hold the pieces of me together. I drift into a comfortable sleep, my ear pressed against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
When I wake, sunlight streams through the curtains, painting the room in soft, golden light. Marcus is gone, but the lingering warmth on the sheets tells me he left only moments ago. I slip out of bed quietly, pulling on my clothes with care before heading to check on Jax.
The nurse is still there, her movements precise and practiced. Her eyes flick up to meet mine, and she offers a small nod. “He’s stable,” she says, her tone steady but cautious.
Relief floods through me, but it’s fleeting. I read between the lines of what she isn’t saying. Jax is alive and detoxing, but that is all. It would be enough if he didn’t have less than twelve hours before he needed to be on stage performing.
I spend some time sitting on the corner of the bed, watching Jax sleep through the withdrawal process that the nurse is attempting to expedite and gnawing on my bottom lip.
The others are in the living room when I retreat. Enzo leans against the wall, arms crossed, his frustration still evident. Dylan sits on the floor, head in his hands, while Marcus paces.
“This is fucked,” Enzo mutters, his voice low and sharp. “He’s barely holding on, and we’re supposed to be on stage tonight.”
“It’s not that bad. The nurse said he’s doing okay,” I say, my throat tightening. “But we’ll figure it out. We have to.”
“Harris fucked us,” Enzo snaps, his anger flaring again.
“There was nothing else he could do,” Marcus responds, his voice threaded with exhaustion.
The room falls silent again, all of us caught up in our own thoughts and worries. Jax’s fight isn’t over, and neither is ours.