Skylar
Frustration rises up my throat as I sprint down the hotel hallway.
Josh isn’t exactly Mr. Reliable, but he’s never been this late before.
Nor has he ever ignored mine and everyone else’s phone calls.
My frustration reaches an entirely new level of oh, hell no when I throw open the door and find him asleep.
“The show starts in twenty minutes. Why are you in bed?”
“Relax, baby,” he muffles into his pillow. “It’s all good.”
He clearly doesn’t know the meaning of that word, either, because everything is most definitely not good.
It only gets worse when my phone rings and Phoenix’s name flashes across the screen.
Shit.
“Hey—”
“Where is he?” Phoenix cuts in, his exasperation blatant.
Good job, Josh. His carelessness has now managed to piss off his only ally in the band.
I scan the room for his clothes. I find them in a jumbled pile on the other side of the bed. “He’s…he’ll be there. Don’t worry.”
“When?”
“I don’t…” A ball of anxiety embeds itself in my throat. “I’m handling it.”
I disconnect the call and grab Josh’s jeans off the floor. “Get. Up.”
A series of indecipherable sounds leave him…and then he starts snoring.
Not today, Satan.
Tugging his arm, I pull him into a sitting position. I’m attempting to wrangle on his jeans when his head flops to the side and he falls back into bed.
I’m beginning to wonder if my infertility is really a blessing in disguise from the universe because it knew I’d have my hands full with an unruly adult-sized toddler for the rest of my life.
Blowing the piece of hair that escaped my messy bun out of my face, I pick up one of his feet and guide it through the pant leg.
I’m reaching for his other foot when a plastic bag slips out of his pocket.
Upon further inspection, I notice some tiny wax wrappers with a faint tan powdery residue inside them.
Josh’s drugs of choice are pills and cocaine. I’ve never seen this crap before.
Nudging him in the ribs, I dangle the bag in front of his face. “What is this?”
An incoherent mumble is all I get.
Grinding my molars, I poke him again, harder this time. “What the hell is this?”
“Goddamn. Would you shut the fuck up and let me sleep?”
“No, I will not shut the fuck up,” I screech so loud he grimaces. “What. Is. This?”
“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“I swear to God—”
“Heroin,” he slurs before drifting off again.
And just like that, my heart stops and the room begins to spin.
Pills and coke are bad enough, but heroin?
That stuff won’t just ruin your life…it will end it.
Clutching my stomach, I rise to my feet.
I told Phoenix I would handle this—just like I always do—only this time, I don’t know how.
Sure, I could contact some rehab centers, but the last time I did, Josh insisted he didn’t have a problem and refused to even entertain the idea.
My phone rings for a second time. Chandler.
I mutter a curse when I glance at the clock on the nightstand.
The only way he’ll make it to the venue in time to be on stage is if we leave now.
I try pulling him out of bed again, but he’s dead weight.
Damn it. Even if I somehow managed to get him there on time he’d never be able to perform.
Not in this state.
You got this. Don’t freak out.
Too late.
Pacing the room, I stare up at the ceiling as though the solution will somehow magically appear on it.
Think, Skylar. For fuck’s sake, think.
My intestines twist so hard I nearly double over when my phone rings for a third time.
I can’t keep ignoring everyone. I have to tell them something.
A cold sweat breaks out along my forehead. I try to take some deep breaths, but none of them manage to get past the lump in my throat.
This is what failure tastes like. I’m in over my head.
Both my heart and shoulders sag with defeat. I don’t know how to fix this.
Or him.
Snatching my phone off the nightstand, I call the only person I can fully trust.
Thankfully, he answers after the first ring. “Where are you?”
I don’t bother wiping away the tear sliding down my cheek. “I need your help.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Memphis snarls, glaring daggers at Josh who’s still passed out cold. “What the fuck is he still doing in bed?”
I chew my thumbnail, debating just how much I should spill.
Then again, I’m the one who called him asking for help.
Help he can’t give unless I tell him the truth.
“Promise you won’t lose your shit?”
Those dark eyes snap to me. “No.”
Fair enough.
“I…uh.” I wring my hands. “I found heroin in his pocket earlier.”
Memphis nods slowly, taking in the gravity of my statement…then he digs his phone out of his pocket.
I blink in confusion. “Who are you calling?”
I’m about to inform him rehabs are voluntary, and we’d have way better luck convincing Storm to be celibate for all of eternity than getting Josh to agree to go to one, but he grinds out, “Get your ass over here, Phoenix.”
Throwing my hands up, I mouth, ‘What the hell?’
I told Memphis the truth so he could discreetly help me help Josh. Not make the problem even worse by blabbing to everyone.
Disgust contorts his features as he hangs up and looks at his brother.
“I am not dealing with that shit.”
Then he storms out of the room.
“Seriously?” I’m hot on his heels. “You won’t help me?”
“No. I won’t help him.”
I know they don’t get along and that’s not likely to change anytime soon. I’m the one asking for his support, though. Not Josh.
“But—”
He whips around with so much vigor he almost knocks me over. “If you want to spend your life taking care of a heroin addict, knock yourself out.” He jabs his thumb into his sternum. “I won’t do it again.”
A river of guilt floods my chest. His mom was a heroin addict…and here I am asking him to get involved in this.
I feel lower than dirt.
He goes to walk away, but I latch onto his arm. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have asked you to come here.” Remorse clogs my throat. “I just didn’t know who else…I’m so sorry.”
His expression softens and he presses his lips to my forehead. “Me too, Sky. Me too.”