3. Will
THREE
WILL
I stare at Jesse’s sleeping form, listening to the sound of the heart monitor beeping steadily. Unlike when I was listening to Ari’s monitor, I’m not worrying that the beeping is coming too fast or watching the lines on the screen jump, I’m grateful to hear anything at all.
They took the tube out of his throat earlier today.
He was awake for a while afterward, groggy and hoarse, eyes glassy as he tried to focus on me.
The only thing he managed to get out was a raspy apology that barely qualified as a word.
Then he fell back asleep, chest rising and falling on its own.
I’ve still been watching the movement closely, listening to every beep, in case it stops.
Jesse didn’t overdose as we originally thought. Not exactly. He definitely had too many sleeping pills and more in his system, which contributed to a more dangerous outcome when he tripped over the coffee table and hit his head. The impact triggered a seizure.
“Acute symptomatic seizure due to polypharmacy, substance use, and head trauma,” is what the doctor said. A lot of words to say he got lucky someone found him when they did. A couple of minutes later and it could have been too late.
He's alive. That’s all that matters. Fuck this band, fuck the fame, fuck everything else.
Ari was discharged two days ago. He, Naz, me, and Mr. Holland have all been taking shifts to stay with Jesse, and there’s always a bodyguard outside the door.
Usually we come in pairs, and Jesse’s mom is here most of the time, too.
But Naz went to get something to eat, and Ms. Moore went home for a shower, so it’s just been me most of the morning.
The door opens quietly, and Naz comes in, balancing a paper bag against his chest.
“That looks like a lot,” I say, even though my stomach betrays me by growling loudly the moment the smells of grilled meat and spices hit me.
“Hopefully it’s enough.” He laughs and holds the door open for someone behind him. “Mr. H called a meeting, and I didn’t think we should leave Jesse out, even if he’s still out of it.”
“Fair enough.”
Ari steps in with Blake Holland just behind him. Ari is looking a lot better than he was. He’s more relaxed and has some color back in his cheeks. His thick, dark hair is pulled back in a low ponytail. He still has some dark circles shadowing his eyes, but I think we all do.
The rest of the entourage follows. Cory and Eric, our two bodyguards, both pat the edge of Jesse’s bed in greeting, even though he’s asleep. Eric is holding another bag of food, and Cory has a Styrofoam cooler in his arms.
Eric grabs a few tacos and a bottle of water from the cooler and gestures to the door. “Cory can keep me informed, I’ll keep watch.”
There’s not much chance of trouble in this private wing of the hospital, but it’s better safe than sorry.
There’s a reason Jesse has his own bodyguard.
Part of it is because he’s always causing trouble and needs round-the-clock supervision, but most of it is just his natural affinity for attracting chaos.
People go nuts when he’s around, like his mere presence stirs up mobs.
Mr. Holland—Blake, he asked us to call him—gestures toward a long table near the windows.
I thought it was a weird thing to have in a hospital suite, but I suppose some of the VIPs who stay here require all the comforts of home.
This place is more like a hotel than a hospital room, minus the rolling bed and machines.
Everyone takes a seat, and burritos and tacos get passed out. Ari sets a can of Dr. Pepper in front of me, and I immediately unwrap my steak and black bean burrito to take a huge bite.
Blake doesn’t waste time getting into the reason for our impromptu meeting. “Francis Tuft has been terminated, effective immediately,” he says evenly.
Ari lets out a breath. “It’s about damn time.”
I glance at him, catching the edge of his mouth curling into a satisfied snarl, and I can’t help smiling a little.
Francis was annoying, but it was Ari who seemed to take the brunt of his bullshit because he was the most likely to stand up to him or call him out.
Francis seemed to think he could steamroll Ari into submission because Ari was smaller in stature and “pretty”, which he used as an insult to insinuate he was dumb.
It never worked. And the more Ari stood up to him, the harder Francis would work to make his life difficult. He thought he owned us.
Blake’s gaze settles on Ari, direct and unflinching.
“You tried to tell the label. I saw the multiple complaints you filed,” he says.
“It’s inexcusable that they were overlooked and not taken seriously.
For that, I am truly sorry. I promise you that changes are being made even at the highest levels. ”
Ari blinks, clearly not expecting that. He nods once, muttering, “Yeah. Okay.”
I hope Blake is being honest, or that he has the power to force real change, considering we went as high above Francis’ head as we could with no real outcome.
Lest Is Moore is their top-selling client.
If this kind of gross oversight could happen with their biggest artists, how are the smaller clients being handled?
Blake continues, letting us know that not only was Francis fired and blacklisted from the industry, but charges will be filed pending Jesse’s approval.
The label will seek not only negligence and endangerment charges, but felony drug charges based on the evidence that Francis was doctor shopping to get multiple prescriptions filled.
He was administering said drugs without proper oversight, and even mixed contraindicated drugs, which could have led to much more severe consequences.
It’s honestly surprising he didn’t have an overdose, and the accident probably ended up saving his life if it means he’s getting intervention now.
“There’s a good chance Francis will see prison time,” Blake says.
“But that’s if they pursue the charges. There is an equal chance they’ll strike a deal to keep the scandal contained depending on what Jesse wants to do.
Either way, Francis will never work in the music or entertainment industry ever again, and with a record he’ll be hard pressed to find a job with any sort of influence at all. ”
Good.
I glance back at Jesse, watching his chest rise under the thin sheet, the monitor still steady. Relief washes over me in a slow, dizzying wave.
Then I look at Ari again, and my throat tightens.
I try, and fail, not to imagine him in Jesse’s place. With a tube down his throat and the uncertainty that he’d recover completely. It hits me so hard I have to set my burrito down so no one can see my hands shaking.
Ari was admitted for a panic attack. And while I hesitate to think the words just a panic attack —because the pain and fear are so very real—what if it had been him lying lifeless on the floor, skin pallid and lips blue, while someone else fought to revive him and I stood there useless?
The thought alone makes my guts twist.
Ari has understandably had trouble sleeping in the nights since. I can’t even bring myself to consider it a silver lining that he’s back in my arms every night. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
He thought Jesse was dead. He wasn’t breathing, and Cory couldn’t find a pulse. And considering Jesse wouldn’t be the first person he saw die in front of him, it’s no wonder he reacted the way he did. The experience has only added to the memories that haunt his nightmares.
He’s so much stronger than anyone gives him credit for.
After all of this, I know one thing for sure. I’d die if anything happened to Ari. The certainty of that is absolute.
“So what happens now?” I ask, needing something solid to focus on.
Blake nods, folding his hands together. “I’m stepping in temporarily.
The next two shows are being pushed, so you’ll have about a month to recover from this…
incident . The time off will mean less time between the end of the tour and all the press you’re scheduled for, but after that I’m pushing for your studio time to be rescheduled so you can take some real time off. ”
“Time off?”
“I discussed some things with Jesse earlier, and although he was a little out of it, I think he understood the importance of focusing on his health. That starts with seeing how well he does detoxing from the medications Francis had him on, and going from there.”
“What about the label?” Naz asks. “They can’t be happy about us not recording the new album right away. They pushed for us to get back into the recording studio as soon as we finished the last leg of this tour.”
“My guess is that it was mostly Francis making those calls. He had you all booked beyond what is normal, even at your level of popularity. But it’s inconsequential, and after this drastic oversight, the label knows they’re in danger of losing their top act.
I’ll be honest here, you are well within your rights to challenge your contract with them and I have made sure to remind them of that.
They don’t get to call the shots after this.
My priority is all of your health and well-being.
Your fame and how much more money you can continue to make for the label is secondary. ”
Naz, Ari, and I exchange glances. Something like relief, tinged with a dash of apprehension, settles behind my sternum. There’s something about Blake that makes me want to trust him. It’s so foreign that I don’t trust the instinct, but I can give him a chance.
A real break? What does that even look like?
We’ve been running nonstop for almost five years.
The last year especially has been brutal.
We’ve been watching Jesse’s slow decline, all but expecting the worst. More and more nights have ended with Jesse passed out somewhere he shouldn’t be and having to be dragged through back entrances to get him to a safe bed without being spotted by paparazzi.
We didn’t always succeed, and we’d have to listen to Francis ream us over whatever humiliating photos ended up on the front of the tabloids.
Jesse and I spent a lot of time together, and I’m not innocent. I’ve done my fair share of drugs and drinking, and we’ve shared more than one woman between us. We’ve had a lot of fun, sexy times.
But there’s nothing fun or sexy about watching one of your best friends in the world block out everything that makes them special so they can’t feel. And I know that’s what he’s been doing. I just don’t understand why, and none of us knew how to stop it.
I glance at Ari again, and guilt shoots through my chest like a hot knife beneath my ribs. We fought the night he found Jesse unconscious. It’s probably the only reason Ari came home early and how he found Jesse instead of staying out all night.
I’d been watching him. I’m always watching him. But I caused a scene again, the same way I did almost a year ago. I saw the guy he was with pull his hair and felt something ugly snap in my chest.
Why does that get to me so badly?
I don’t know. But I do know that more nights than not, I end up with Ari curled into me, my nose pressed into the back of his head or the nape of his neck, breathing in the scent of his herbal shampoo. Lavender and sage, soft and familiar. And mine.
The thought startles me, though it shouldn’t. I’ve been struggling with this possessiveness for as long as I can remember, although it’s different now than it was when we were younger.
His hair seems to be a trigger for me. I don’t want anyone else’s hands in his hair, combing through it or nuzzling into it.
And I most definitely don’t want anyone gripping him like they own him.
The sight of it makes me see red, even when I know that Ari can take care of himself.
That he’s consenting. That he chose to be touched that way.
Maybe this break will be a good opportunity for me to give Ari some space. I know he’s feeling claustrophobic, and I need to let him go, let him do his own thing.
The idea feels impossible the moment it forms.
We’ve been attached at the hip since we were kids. Sixteen years of shared rooms, shared beds, shared breathing. I don’t know who I am without him within arm’s reach.
I don’t know what I’d do if he wasn’t there.
I watch the heart rate monitor, the line jumping with each slow beep, steady and sure, grounding me. I don’t know what comes next, but I feel like everything is about to change. Maybe for the better, maybe not.
But as long as we all have each other, we should be okay. Right?