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ELEVEN

WESLEY

Two months later…

“Does anyone else want to share?” the counselor says, looking around at all of us assembled in a circle in the rec room.

I raise my hand and stand up. “Hey. I’m Wesley. Most of you know me as Ryder. And I’m an addict.”

“Hi, Ryder,” is chorused back at me. The woman that I snapped at in my group meeting before my breakdown, Crista, winks at me.

We’ve become good friends over the past few months. Like me, she was abused in ways that are unimaginable and used drugs to cope. We’ve leaned on each other, talking and joking to get through the days so we don’t think about using.

A sad smile crosses my face. “I’m not sure if I’m Ryder anymore.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been thinking about when I’ve been at my lowest, and it’s when I was in the studio or on tour.

At my worst, I was drinking a fifth of vodka or tequila every day, at least five pills, doing coke, and smoking a few joints.

The only reason I didn’t do heroin is because I don’t like needles other than to get my ink.

” I don’t tell them the real reason. I’m still not ready to face that.

“From when I was sixteen until three months ago, I used practically every day.” I run a hand through my hair, swallowing roughly.

“I want to get high right now. This burden is heavy on me…it’s heavy on all of us.

But I’m taking it one day at a time. I…I want to be sober.

The past few months have been fucking hell.

I’ve had to look at the shit that happened to me, why I started using and why I kept using.

If I’m honest, I haven’t figured it all out, but I’m working on it. ”

The people in the circle clap as I take my seat and listen to others that want to share.

Being drug and alcohol free these past two months hasn’t been a walk in the park. Some days I wake up and have the shakes so bad that I can hardly stand. My stomach hurts, and my skin feels so tight that I fear if I move, I’ll split in two.

Other days, I lash out, trying to tear people down with my words. Me and a few people have almost come to blows because of it. But I haven’t given up.

Some days, though, there’s nothing I want more than to give up, to not get out of bed, to not fucking exist anymore.

My past assaults me every day, memories that were long buried rising to the surface to torment me.

My mother’s stream of boyfriends who mistreated and ignored me, going hungry some nights, living in hotel rooms until my mom met Perry, and we moved into a house in an unfamiliar town.

Then Perry himself. It all came back, and some days it fucking paralyzes me.

Doctor Steinfeld has been helping me come to terms with everything, but it’ll be a long road until I’m the person I want to be.

A better me.

We break a few minutes later, and I go to the gym and sign in.

The facility has a lot of amenities that help us get healthier.

Yoga, nutrition classes, art therapy, and this gym.

I’ve been spending a lot of time on the treadmill.

Running helps clear my mind, even though I’m not fast, and my body is still recovering from the abuse I put it through.

I get winded more quickly than others who haven’t polluted themselves with drugs.

I climb on the treadmill and start a light jog.

While I run, I let my mind wander, though it usually ends in a panic attack.

Today, my thoughts land firmly on Jaxon.

He’s one of the people I need to make amends with, along with my bandmates, even fucking Tech.

But first and foremost, I need to make amends with Jaxon.

Since I’ve been able to look at my past with more clear and mature eyes, I see that Jaxon saved my life.

Perry could have killed me or had me so used up from sharing me with his friends I would never have been the same.

Jaxon telling his mom was the best thing that happened to me, even though I didn’t see it that way at the time.

Hell, even now, I still don’t see it that way, holding on to my anger.

But I know logically that he did the right thing.

Since we’d met, he always had my back, always tried to protect me. That was just another instance.

It hurt when I heard him telling Mrs. Collins about my bruises, and it hurt even more when I found out he took photographs of them, but if it weren’t for that and Mr. Collins going to bat for me—not to mention the hospital evidence—I probably would have served time for cracking Perry’s skull with that snow globe .

Jaxon saved me from a terrible fate. I wasted fifteen years on misplaced anger. He needs to know that before I can move forward with trying to rebuild my life.

What will my life even look like after this?

I have a plan of what I want, but I won’t have the help.

I’ll be all alone. I’ve fucked up every relationship I’ve ever had, leaving people hanging when I didn’t feel like dealing with them.

My oldest friends, Kas and Mitch, have had to put up with my shit for years, and they never complained.

I should have been better to them. They’re on my amends list too.

“Wesley,” an orderly says, getting my attention. I hop to the side of the treadmill as I glance over at him. “You have visitors.”

I slam my hand on the emergency stop button, wondering who would be visiting. Since I’ve been in here, I’ve avoided calling anyone until I got myself together. I just started feeling like a normal person again. I’m not sure if that’s enough for whoever my visitors are to see me.

I’m led to the visitors’ bay, and a smile spreads across my face when I see Zed, Mitch, and Kas sitting on the soft leather couches.

Mitch notices me first, stands, and practically runs over to me. He pauses before he wraps his arms around me and then holds out a hand for me to shake. Though I’ve gotten better, I still don’t like unbidden touches.

I shake his hand, and he smiles hard. “Fuck man, it’s good to see you. Zed told us we had to wait until you…you know…”

“Sobered up,” I provide for him.

“Yeah. How do you feel?”

“Better.”

Kas and Zed walk over to me, shaking my hand in turn. Kas clears his throat as he takes me in, tears swimming in his eyes. Thankfully, his voice sounds level when he says, “You look good. More like you did when we were kids.”

“Thanks. I feel like shit, though.” I motion to the couches, and we have a seat.

I blow out a long breath, my gaze flicking between them.

We’ve learned the different steps for recovery, and I’ve memorized the ones Doctor Steinfeld made especially for me as an atheist. “I finished Step Eight last week. It’s to make a list of everyone you’ve harmed and become willing to make amends.

The three of you are on my list. Step Nine is to actually make amends.

I owe you three an apology. I was…fucked up.

Really fucked up. Hell, I still am, but I have more clarity now than I’ve had in years.

” I look between Mitch and Kas. “We all lost Vic, and I’ve been acting like I’m the only one that loved him.

I never stopped to ask about you two. We’re best friends, and I shit all over that. I’m sorry.”

Mitch nods, pulling his lips in. “Thanks, man. We were young when he died. Kids, really. We should have done better.”

“Yeah,” Kas says, “I think we all handled things differently. We could have…I don’t know, gotten you away from the alcohol and drugs to help you.”

I shake my head. “There was nothing you could have done to help me. I was long past help when Vic died. And I didn’t want it.

” I look at Zed and swallow roughly. “You made me come here. You knew I needed help before I did. Thank you. And I apologize for what I said all those weeks ago. You’ve been my friend for years.

You’ve always looked out for me. I’m sorry I put you in the situation that you had to be my parent and not my friend. ”

Zed holds his hand out to me. I grasp it like a lifeline. His voice is tight as he says, “You have nothing to apologize for. I wish I had helped sooner.”

“No sweat, man. You did what you could. I appreciate that. More than you know.”

He pulls his hand away, swiping at the tears dripping down his cheeks.

“There’s something else I have to tell you all,” I say, nerves dancing in my belly.

“Since I’ve been in treatment, I’ve had time to think about what I want out of life.

Where I want to go from here and how I’ll stay clean to do it.

And right now, it’s not making music. It’s not being a part of Lana’s Mischief.

I’m sorry, but I have to take a step back. ”

Guilt clouds Zed’s face, and Mitch and Kas exchange a look. “What’s up?” I ask, alarm bells ringing in my head.

Mitch blows out a breath. “We wanted to wait until you were out of treatment to tell you…”

“Tell me what?”

“The label is dropping you. They said you’re more trouble than you’re worth. They want to replace you. With Tech.”

Anger simmers just below the surface, but I push it down. I don’t like Tech, even though he’s on my list of people to make amends with, but I don’t have the energy to hate him. Not when I need to work on not hating myself.

A soft chuckle leaves my throat. “I should have known they would try something like that. It’s all good. I hope you have success with him.”

Kas shakes his head. “We’re not doing it. Lana’s Mischief is ours. They can’t put someone in your spot. Our contract says that we can come to a unanimous decision to disband the group. Say the word, and we’re done.”

“Guys…”

Mitch sits forward. “We’re not Lana’s without you. Hell, it’s your fucking band. I don’t want Tech at the head of a group you started. Your blood, sweat, and tears went into building us up. It’s been tough without you, but it’ll be even harder going out on tour without you leading us.”

Tears prick my eyes as I look at my bandmates, my friends. They’re willing to put their careers on hold when I’ve been nothing but irresponsible and haven’t shown up when I should have. I’ve done nothing to ensure their loyalty, but they’re giving it to me anyway.

“Let’s make a deal,” I say, wanting to come to a compromise. “I’m not going to be able to go on tour or record an album while I’m still in recovery. With all the shit I put in my body, that’ll be awhile until I’m one hundred percent. So let’s take a hiatus and see where we are in a year.”

Kas smiles. “Yeah, I like that. Honestly man, I’m tired of touring. We’ve been at it nonstop since we signed almost ten years ago. A year-long break is just what I need.”

I sigh. “It might be indefinite. I won’t compromise my sobriety. I did the most drugs when music was involved. If I think it’ll interfere with staying away from drugs and alcohol, I won’t come back.” I meet each of their eyes, trying to impress upon them how serious I am.

Mitch shrugs. “That’s fine with us. Whatever it takes to make sure you’re healthy. That’s more important than albums and touring. Besides, we’ll still have income with our residuals.”

Zed says, “I got those three guys that had a suit against you to settle out of court for a low six figures. The label jumped at it, so that case is handled.”

“Settle all of them. I don’t care the cost. I want that chapter in my life closed. Whatever they’re asking for, pay it from my personal accounts.”

“But Ryder?— ”

“Wesley,” I say, feeling more like me and less like my stage persona. “I have close to ten million in my account, and I have some stocks and shit. Settle the cases. Then I’m out for at least a year. Okay?”

They nod solemnly.

“Tell the label and have them release a statement.”

Zed looks like he wants to do anything but see us break up, but it’s necessary.

I wish Kas and Mitch would continue to give the world the gift of their talent, but I won’t try to convince them if they don’t want to keep the band together.

“Okay, Ry—Wesley. I’ll inform them as soon as we leave today. ”

I smile at them, feeling lighter. “I’ll be out of here in a few weeks. Don’t look so grim. Y’all come visit me if you want some downtime.”

With a frown, Mitch says, “Visit you? You’re not staying in LA?”

“Nah. LA was where I did most of my dirt, and I was a frequent flier at all the drug spots. I’m not strong enough right now to avoid them. If I go to LA the day after I get out, I’d get high as a kite and be right back here.”

“Where are you going?” Kas asks.

“Back to Washington. I have some unfinished business.”