Chapter 16
chapter
sixteen
“There are moments that brand themselves into your heart. Not because you want to remember, but because your soul refuses to forget.” – Haven
CYRUS
Sleep never comes.
I avoid Haven all day and thankfully she doesn’t hunt me down. Last night one thing became clear. Until I know what the hell is wrong with me, there is no point in dragging Haven down. I’ve already done that to her enough, so that means keeping my distance.
I keep sound check short and lock myself in my room until it’s time to join the rest of the band. The roar of the crowd can be heard through the walls, and the vibration goes up my legs. It’s so strong that I don’t know where my tremor begins, and the crowd noise ends.
We walk like a silent army. Straight line, boots marching in time as we head for the front lines.
The lights dim, and we take the stage to thumping, clapping, and cheering.
I can faintly pick out the screams of ‘I love you,’ ‘Marry me,’ ‘Oh my god, I’m going to die.
’ I smirk and give those in the front row a wink.
I don’t hold back. I pour my fear, lust, and bone-deep frustration into every note and raw chord.
The band is locked in. Ash pounds the drums with a rhythm that matches my heartbeat. Vex is shredding the guitar, backing me with the same chaos I carry in my chest. Ledger’s fingers dance over keys like they are an extension of his soul. Eren’s bass grounds us all, the calm under the madness.
I stalk the stage like it owes me something.
The set goes by fast, the few wardrobe and set changes are efficient with no issues.
The lighting and sound crews are killing it tonight, and before I know it, I’m singing the last song.
A love ballad that I wrote while in rehab the last time.
Even then thinking about Haven is what got me through the darkest moments.
I’m sorry I’m a mess,
and I always seem to hurt you.
My heart is so in love,
even though I don’t deserve you.
These words hold so much more meaning than before. I’ve always thought of Haven when I sing, but now the lyrics hit different and carve a piece of my soul out with each word.
My head is full of trauma
that I’m trying hard to work through.
But I keep fucking up,
and even worse, you say,
Baby, it's okay. I forgive you.
The crowd screams, and I raise my arms to the rafters, soaking in their energy and letting it fill me. My hands tremble slightly, just enough to catch my attention and remind me that it hasn’t stopped since it started last night. I clench the mic tighter to hide it.
You’re such a fucking saint
despite the pain you live through.
You try to give me time,
and in return, I give you issues.
I turn just enough to look at Haven.
And when you finally say goodbye,
just know that I’ll always miss you.
I’ll always miss you.
“Reno! I love you,” I yell, and the crowd goes insane.
“Encore, encore, encore,” they chant, and I hold my hand to my ear, encouraging them louder.
I use the moment to gulp down some water, and the bottle almost slips through my fingers. A twitch. Something I can blame on adrenaline and sweaty hands. Fear prickles the back of my brain, just enough to be distracting.
Eren glances over, and I stare at him for a beat too long.
“You good?” He mouths.
Nodding, I wave it off, but I know someone else is watching. Haven notices. Like static from across the room, my attention is pulled to her. She sees every move I make. Her eyes travel up and down my body. I quickly look away.
Turning back to the crowd, I walk over to the mic and growl like an animal.
“Who wants to hear Deadly Under Pressure?”
And just like that, the room swims. The lights blur. I shake my head to clear it, but it doesn’t help. The mic drops like a gavel, my pulse pounds hard. Thud, thud, thud. Everything slows and my ears ring, and nothing makes sense.
Taking a step to my left, I lock eyes with Haven. Fear licks up my spine. A strong jolt of vertigo twists my balance. The crowd and the lights go sideways.
I try to call out and my voice sounds wrong, but every molecule in my body screams her name. My legs buckle. I grab for the mic stand and miss.
Gasps ripple through the crowd as my knees hit the stage. I lift my head and watch as Haven runs toward me. She looks like she is moving in slow-motion. My lip twitches up.
So beautiful. Then…everything goes black.
HAVEN
What the hell is happening? Cyrus stumbles to the side and looks at me with panicked eyes. Something is very wrong.
“Get a medic,” I yell at a stagehand.
When I turn back, Cyrus falls to his knees. My legs are moving before my brain has time to contemplate if it’s a good idea. The crowd is screaming. Lights still flash in manic patterns across the stage, but all I see is him.
“Cy!”
I reach him just before he collapses into a heap, and I keep his head from hitting the stage. The rest of the band rushes over as I kneel there, holding him.
Vex uses the palm of his hand and rubs Cy’s chest.
“Come on, buddy. Open your eyes.
Cyrus looks wrong. Pale. Sweaty. His chest rises in uneven stutters, like his lungs are trying to remember how to work.
“Cy,” I whisper, grabbing his face and slapping lightly at his cheeks. “Cyrus. Hey. You with me? Come on. Don’t you dare die on me. Don’t you fucking dare. You don’t get to do this to me, asshole,” I say as my chest tightens and fear makes it feel as if my windpipe is being crushed.
His hand comes up and touches mine as his eyes flutter open slightly. They close immediately as if that is all he has the strength to do.
A crew member runs past me, screaming for the medics to hurry up.
Ash drops to his knees next to me, cursing violently.
“What happened? What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know.” My voice cracks as I continue to rub my thumbs over his cheeks so he’ll know I’m here. “He was fine, and then bam! He looked at me and collapsed.”
But he hasn’t been, okay. I know it, and he knows it, too. The chopsticks last night, the way he has been avoiding me all day. The water bottle from only a few minutes ago. The pills in his bag. His hands have been shaking, and I let it all slide.
Something is very fucking wrong with Cyrus.
I don’t want to care. I really don’t. Except now he’s lying here, and all I want is for him to be alright.
The medics arrive in a blur of uniforms and commands. They check his pulse, ask me if he has epilepsy, is diabetic, or was he not feeling well. I answered numbly.
“I don’t know. He has a doctor, but I don’t know the name,” I say, hating that I have so little information to share.
One of them looks up, face drawn.
“Does he have any allergies? Is he taking any medication?”
I blink. Then jump up.
“No to the allergies, but yes to the medication. I’ll be right back.”
Heart in my throat, I sprint from the stage and tear down the corridor toward the dressing rooms. I fling the door open, and my eyes dart to the couch where Cyrus left his pile of clothes and the black duffel bag he carries around everywhere.
Racing across the room, I drop to my knees and unzip the main compartment. I fish around and pull out some T-shirts. There, tucked away at the bottom, like he is trying to hide them, are the bottles he flashed at me last night.
I squint at the labels, but the drug names are unfamiliar. I race back, shoving past confused staff and stagehands.
“I found these,” I say, holding them out to the medic as they finish strapping him to a backboard.
Taking them, he glances at the labels and nods.
“This helps. Thank you.”
They move fast, but it all feels…wrong. It’s like I am in the middle of a skit or scene, and at any moment someone will yell cut, and all of this insanity will be behind us.
I grab his hand as they load him onto the stretcher and only let go when they tell me I’m in the way.
Nothing about this is normal. This isn’t a hangover or withdrawal. This is something else entirely, and I will get to the bottom of it.
“I’m sorry you can’t go,” the paramedic says when we reach the ambulance.
“I’m going,” I say, grabbing the door before he can close it.
“I’m sorry, miss, but it’s not allowed.”
“I don’t care. I’m his wife,” I lie.
He takes a deep breath.
“Oh, I didn’t know he was married.”
“Yeah, well, now you do, and you’re wasting time,” I bark. “If he dies because you’re arguing with me, I swear I’ll sue you and the city for everything you have.”
He swallows and nods.
“Okay, fine. You can strap in over there.”
The siren splits the night as I climb in the back and buckle up.
Inside the ambulance, it is a cocoon of turmoil. The stretcher rattles with every turn while the paramedic shouts out numbers. He moves fast, hands blurring as he tackles each task. A monitor alarms in the background, loud and shrieking, but no one silences it as we are jerked around like ragdolls.
We fly through intersections and pass stopped cars. The medic with me calls out to his partner what medication he’s preparing. I understand none of it.
My heart sits in my throat. Every bump in the road rattles through my spine. I grip Cy’s hand, hating to see him like this.
It doesn’t matter that he is the biggest asshole in the world. I’ve known that something is off. Why haven’t I pushed him to be straight with me?
The paramedic keeps glancing at me, suspicion and worry in his eyes. That tells me all I need to know. Cy is hiding something serious. Whatever it is has caught up with him, and I’ve been swept up in the wreckage.
I glance at his closed eyes and then lean down to whisper in his ear.
“Fight, Cy. Fight.”
We speed up to the Emergency Room and park. The back doors are thrown open, and Cyrus is lifted down on the gurney. Everyone is in motion as they wheel him into the hospital.
“Where are you taking him?”
No answer.
“What’s wrong with him?”
No answer.
“Hello? Anyone?”
My questions are ignored by the nurses and paramedics who are focused on Cyrus. They pass through a set of doors marked Authorized Personnel Only. I stop and watch at the small window until they vanish.