Page 37

TWENTY-EIGHT

WESLEY

Music blares on the other side of the hotel room door, and I have the nagging feeling I should turn around and come back when I have someone else with me. But I’m not a bitch. I can face Tech on my own.

After we demolished the house, I told Mitch and Kas I needed to make amends with Tech.

According to them, he tried to sign a deal with the label after we went on hiatus, but they didn’t think his voice was strong enough to carry a solo career.

They needed Mitch and Kas to round out his sound, and my friends weren’t having it, so the deal fell through.

That’s not something I have to make amends for, since I didn’t tell my friends to come to that decision, but I figure I could cover it while I’m apologizing.

He pulls the door open, his bloodshot eyes narrowing as he looks at me. I’m not sure why he’s pissed off— he invited me here.

“Hey,” I say, raising a sweaty hand to wave at him awkwardly.

Tech pokes his head in the hallway, glancing left and right, then back at me. “You alone? No Mitch or Kas?”

“Nah. Just me.” I push a hand through my hair, not sure why a lead ball is resting in my belly. “I wanted to talk to you by myself.”

He grunts and steps back, allowing me to enter.

The hotel room is a mess. Clothes are strewn about, both men’s and women’s attire. Empty alcohol bottles are everywhere, some turned over and others lining the wall like trophies.

Tech follows my gaze, and a glint enters his eyes, but it disappears as if it was never there. “Sit down. Say what you need to say so I can get some sleep.”

I take a seat on the couch after I push off the trash and women’s underwear.

Tech told me he was in Seattle for a gig for a few days and I could talk to him before he flew out. I didn’t want the opportunity to pass me by while he was so close, so I said I’d drive up the following afternoon. I didn’t expect him to be high or hungover.

Sweat dots my brow as I stare at the empty liquor bottles. The need to get drunk almost overwhelms me. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get through my apology before I have to bolt.

I haven’t been around drugs and alcohol like this since before I went into rehab.

But I can’t expect everyone to tiptoe around my recovery. My friends and Jaxon do it because they want to, not because they’re forced to. Tech doesn’t like me, so I can’t expect him to change shit up just because I’m an addict.

Tech looks me up and down, a tight smirk on his lips. “Can’t say I thought I’d see the day where you were clean. You look like a person now, not a walking fucking skeleton. ”

I clench my fists on my lap but don’t let my irritation show. “I’m trying to make it. Eating every day instead of supplementing my diet with booze and pills helps me keep on weight.” I glance around again, hoping I can figure out how to start this conversation.

Making amends with Jaxon, Mitch, Kas, and Zed was easy because I like them.

Even when I hated Jaxon, I knew deep down I shouldn’t.

With Tech? Fuck this guy. I’ve never liked him, and it had more to do with his attitude than with him replacing Vic.

He’s always been a dick, not really meshing with us anywhere but on the stage.

That doesn’t mean I had to treat him like shit when I was polluted out of my mind. I owe him an apology for that, then I can wash my hands of him.

“What gig were you playing?” I ask, trying to make conversation before I have to swallow my pride.

“A club here wanted to hear some of my original songs. Nothing as big as our concerts, that’s for sure.”

“About that,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’m sorry about…everything.”

“Everything?” he asks with a smirk on his face.

A flash of anger washes over me, but I tamp it down. I knew he wouldn’t let me get away with glossing over all I’d done, but I wish my amends could be that easy. The longer I stay in this room, the worse the panic gets, the more my palms sweat, and the more my head swims.

Sighing imperceptibly, I say, “For what happened before I embarrassed myself in front of the entire world.” I chuckle uncomfortably, ignoring the sweat dripping down my spine.

“I shouldn’t have hit you. And I shouldn’t have kicked you out of the band.

I can blame the drugs and shit, but I knew better.

You don’t have to forgive me, that’s not what this is about.

I’m taking responsibility for my actions and offering an apology. ”

“So you can absolve yourself of any wrongdoing?”

I shake my head slowly. “Not that either. I’m not looking for absolution. Just owning what I did. I fucked up. I was a fuck up. I’m not sure what I would have been like if I didn’t get high all the time, but being sober showed me I was a fucking nightmare. I should have been better.”

Tech shrugs. “It is what it is. You kicking me out of the band was fucked up, but I landed on my feet. I have a few bands that are interested, and after they saw my shit with Lana’s Mischief, they’re more inclined to take me on.”

“That’s good,” I say, not sure if I’m happy for him because I genuinely mean it or because me kicking him out of the band didn’t place him in a terrible situation.

I rub my sweaty hands on my pants, trying to dry them. “I hope there are no hard feelings between us, but if there are, I really am sorry about the fucked up shit I did.”

“Hey, man. We all make mistakes. Let’s?—”

“Tech, baby?” From the room off to the left, a naked woman comes out and smiles when she sees me. “Oh,” she says, not covering her nakedness. I avert my eyes so she doesn’t think I’m ogling her. “You’re Ryder.”

“I was,” I say, hoping to make my exit soon. This is the last place I want to be right now, but I’m not sure if me and Tech are done. I’m not hoping for an acceptance but maybe some acknowledgement that I did try.

Fuck, it’s hard for me to figure out what I want from this interaction with so much temptation around me.

Everywhere I look, there are bottles of tequila, rum, or vodka.

If I’m not mistaken, there is at least an eight ball of coke under the T-shirt on the table if the shape of it is anything to go by.

It’s like Tech threw his shirt over it lazily before he answered the door.

I have to fucking go.

The woman collapses on Tech’s lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Are we partying again?” she asks, gyrating on his crotch.

“Nah. We’re gonna finish talking, then me and you can do whatever you want.” I hear the smacking of their lips in a messy kiss.

When they’re done, she yanks the shirt off the rounded object, and my mouth waters as I stare at the coke. Sweat pricks my forehead as I continue to look at it, the old feeling of being high traveling up my limbs.

The woman gets down on her knees and uses a credit card on the table to separate a line.

She picks up the rolled-up bill on the table and sniffs the coke noisily, groaning and giggling when she rolls her head on her neck.

“Fuck, this is some good shit.” She dips her finger into the substance and brings it to her mouth, rubbing some on her gums. She turns to Tech and holds the bill out to him.

He gives me a long look, then takes it from her, and after she forms a line for him, he takes the line up his nose, tossing his head back. “Don’t sneeze, don’t sneeze,” he mutters to himself with a grin. “I always manage to fuck up my high by sneezing.”

“What’s this?” I ask, though I shouldn’t be asking shit. I should be fucking leaving, getting away from the drugs and alcohol. “You didn’t do drugs when you were with us.”

“That’s because you made it look like reckless bullshit.

But partying every now and then hasn’t hurt anyone.

” He glances down at the bill and back at me.

“You can have one quick bump and still be sober. Just enough to take the edge off. I know you’re struggling—I can see it in your eyes. You want it. So just take it.”

His voice is hypnotic, speaking to that part of me I’ve tried to push down the entire time I’ve been in recovery. It is hard being sober. Just one line would keep me level so I can be a regular person.

“I can’t,” I whisper, though my eyes keep straying to the cocaine on the table. I want it. Just a taste. Then I can go back to working on my recovery.

The woman on the floor lines up more coke, takes the bill from Tech, and does another line. “This is quality shit. You don’t want it to go to waste.”

No. No I don’t.

Just one line.

That’s it.

Just one.

Grabbing the bill from her hand, I lean over the table and plug one of my nostrils and place the tube to the other and sniff the line of coke.

That familiar feeling courses through me, making my heart race and lightness settle throughout my limbs.

“Fuck me,” I whisper, regret immediately forming a knot in my belly. But not enough remorse that I don’t lean forward and take the second line that the woman lines up for me.

Tech laughs and pats me on the back. “You’re fucking partying with us today. You can always work on your sobriety later. Come on, we’re doing shots.”

My mind is spinning, the high of the coke already settling in me. A shot glass is pressed into my hand, and I automatically toss it back, sinking back into the good old days where I didn’t have to be so fucking rigid. Where I could have fun and do what I want .

I can always continue my recovery tomorrow. One night won’t kill me.

After we take at least five shots each, I’m fucking blitzed out of my mind, my brain empty of everything, except my own name.

I’m not sure how long I rest against the couch—it’s long enough for me to hear Tech and his friend in the room fucking, her moans piercing my eardrums. When they come back, Tech pats my leg and shakes an orange bottle. “Got something for you.”

He taps two pills into my palm and hands me another shot glass full of vodka.

“Thanks,” I slur, tossing the pills back and immediately chasing them with the vodka. “You know, we could have partied together. Got some bitches, had some fun.”

Even though I’m fucked up, when I focus on him, I pick up the change in him. He looks fucking evil, pissed beyond reason. His face is red, blue eyes boring into me with hatred so strong it’s almost palpable.

His nostrils flare as his lip curls up in a sneer. “Why the fuck would I have partied with you when I hate your fucking guts?”

I try to pull out of the spiral of sleepiness and being fucking loaded to pay attention to this conversation. Something about it nags at me, something I should understand, but I can’t focus. My high is strong, stronger than it normally was since I’ve been clean for so long.

Clean. I was clean, fucking sober. But now, I’m tainted all over again, too weak to leave when I saw all that coke.

Tech slides closer to me and wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in until his lips are right beside my ear.

Alarm bells ring in my head from his close contact, from him touching me, but my hands feel too heavy and clumsy to push him off, and I can’t break his hold.

I’m trapped with discomfort warring with being wasted off my ass.

“You were on the right track, getting sober and shit,” he says in that low voice that no longer sounds hypnotic. “Knocking you off that pedestal, showing you that you’re fucking weak is amends enough. Now we’re fucking even, you fucking dick.”

Before I can pull myself out of the spiral of pain and regret, my high takes ahold of me, and I sink into sleep, feeling like the lowest piece of shit on the planet.