Page 28 of Unholy Confessions (The Paper Rings Trilogy #1)

Montgomery

T his has been the longest night of my life. I'm so fucking tired, scared, emotionally drained, and not sure what the rest of my life looks like. "I was thinking about breaking it off with him," I croak, my throat wrecked from all the tears I've cried.

"I know," Skylar rubs my arm as she lays next to me in my bed.

"I feel guilty, like maybe I wasn't supportive enough."

"You were so supportive, Montgomery. You can only be as supportive as someone wants you to be, and we both have to admit that over the past few months, RJ has pushed you away. You can't keep making yourself smaller to accommodate what he's got going on."

In my heart, I know she's right, but I just don't know how to feel, or what to do.

I swallow roughly, and I'm about to speak when there's a loud knock at my door.

Equal parts scared and hopeful that it's RJ, I hop up and run, her hot on my heels.

I don't even check to see who it is, I just throw the door open.

I'm unprepared for it to be Hayden standing there in front of me.

"Oh my God, Montgomery are you okay?" He asks, sweeping me up in his arms.

I'm confused as to why he's asking. It's not like I've made any type of post on social media about what happened last night, and unless he was in the house with us, there's no way he can know. "What do you mean?"

He pulls away. "He's going to rehab."

"What?" I shriek. What the fuck happened in the time since I left last night.

Without me asking him to, he comes in and holds up his phone. I grab it out of his hands, and read with my mouth agape.

EXCLUSIVE: Grey Skies Guitarist RJ Thompson Enters Rehabilitation Facility

Rock star seeks treatment as band prepares for European tour

NASHVILLE - Grey Skies lead guitarist RJ Thompson, 22, has voluntarily entered a rehabilitation facility to address substance abuse issues, his representatives confirmed early this morning.

The announcement comes just six weeks before the band's highly anticipated European tour, which is expected to draw over 500,000 fans across 15 countries.

Sources close to the band suggest the decision was made after what one insider described as "a wake-up call that couldn't be ignored any longer. "

"RJ is committed to getting the help he needs," said Grey Skies' management team in a brief statement. "The band asks for privacy during this difficult time and appreciates the continued support of their fans."

Thompson, who has been dating high school sweetheart Montgomery Winston, for the past seven years, has previously admitted struggling with the pressures of fame.

The rehabilitation facility, which sources say is a premier addiction treatment center in Malibu, typically offers 30 to 90-day programs. It remains unclear how Thompson's treatment will affect Grey Skies' upcoming tour dates, though the band's label insists all shows will proceed as scheduled.

Fans have flooded social media with messages of support using the hashtag #StayStrongRJ, while others express concern about the band's future. Grey Skies' last album, "Fractured Light," debuted at number one on the Billboard 200 and has been certified platinum.

Neither Thompson nor his brother, EJ were immediately available for comment.

My hands are shaking so badly I can barely hold the phone. The words blur together as I read them again, trying to make sense of how this became public knowledge when I was just with him hours ago. My chest feels tight, like I can't get enough air.

"Montgomery, breathe," Skylar says, taking the phone from my trembling fingers. "Sit down."

But I can't sit. I can't breathe. I can barely think. "How did this happen so fast? I was just there. He was... God, he was so fucked up, but rehab? When did he decide on rehab?"

"Maybe his family intervened," Hayden suggests, and I suddenly remember he's still here, standing in my living room like he belongs here. Like he has any right to be part of this conversation.

I fumble for my own phone, scrolling frantically through my contacts until I find RJ's number. My finger hovers over the call button for a moment before I press it, pressing the phone to my ear so hard it hurts.

It goes straight to a generic voicemail message. Not even his voice. Just a robotic woman telling me the number I've dialed is not available.

"Fuck," I breathe, ending the call and immediately trying again. Same result. "His phone's off."

"Or disconnected," Skylar says gently. "Some facilities require patients to give up their phones during intake. That happened with my dad."

The reality of it hits me like a slap. He's really gone. He's actually in rehab, and I had no idea it was happening. After everything we've been through, after the fight last night, after walking out on him, he made this massive decision and I wasn't even a consideration.

I try calling again. And again. Each time, that same sterile voicemail greeting, like RJ Thompson never existed at all.

"This is insane," I mutter, pacing back and forth across my living room. "I need to talk to someone who knows what's going on."

Without really thinking about it, I scroll to EJ's number. RJ's older brother has always been the responsible one, the one who handles crises and makes the hard decisions when their dad can't. If anyone knows what's happening, it's him.

He answers on the second ring.

"Montgomery." His voice is tired, strained. "I was wondering when you'd call."

"EJ, what the hell is going on? I just saw the news about RJ and I don't understand?—"

"He checked himself in about three hours ago," EJ interrupts, and I can hear the exhaustion in every word. "Dad and I flew him out to the facility to make sure he went."

"Three hours ago?" I sink onto my couch, suddenly dizzy. "But when? How? I was just with him last night and he was a mess, but he didn't say anything about rehab."

There's a long pause, and I can hear voices in the background. "Look, Montgomery, I can't get into all the details right now. What I can tell you is that he's safe, he's getting help, and this was his decision."

"His decision?" My voice cracks. "EJ, he could barely string two sentences together when I left. How could he have made this decision?"

"Because he hit rock bottom," EJ says simply. "And sometimes that's what it takes."

The words sting because I know they're true. Last night, seeing him like that, knowing I couldn't help him anymore—maybe that was rock bottom for both of us.

"How long?" I ask, though I'm not sure I want to know the answer.

"Five weeks. He'll be out in time for the European leg of the tour if everything goes according to plan."

Five weeks. Five weeks without talking to him, without knowing if he's okay, without being able to fix things between us. Five weeks of wondering if he even wants to fix things.

"Can I visit him? Or call him? I need to know he's?—"

"No visitors for the first two weeks," EJ says firmly. "And no phone calls. Montgomery, I know this is hard, but he needs to focus on getting better. That's the only thing that matters right now."

The line goes quiet except for the sound of my own ragged breathing. In the background, I can hear Skylar whispering something to Hayden, but their voices sound like they're coming from underwater.

"Is he going to be okay?" I whisper.

"I don't know," EJ admits, and the honesty in his voice breaks something inside me. "But this is his best shot."

We hang up after that, and I'm left staring at my phone, feeling more lost than I did when I walked out on RJ last night. At least then, I was angry. Now I just feel empty.

"Hey," Hayden says, sitting down next to me on the couch. Too close. "You don't have to go through this alone."

Before I can react, his arm is around my shoulders, pulling me against his side. His touch feels wrong, invasive, nothing like the comfort I need right now.

"I'm here for you," he continues, his voice low and intimate. "I know how much you care about him, but maybe this is an opportunity for you to focus on yourself. On what you really want."

His hand starts rubbing circles on my back, and I stiffen. There's something in his touch, in his tone, that makes my skin crawl. Like he's not here to comfort me as a friend, but to take advantage of my vulnerability.

"Hayden, don't." I try to pull away, but his arm tightens around me.

"Montgomery, you deserve better than this. Better than someone who puts you through hell and then disappears into rehab without even telling you." His other hand comes up to cup my face, tilting it toward his. "You deserve someone who puts you first."

"Stop." I push against his chest, harder this time. "This isn't appropriate. I need you to leave."

"I'm just trying to help?—"

"No, you're not." I stand up abruptly, putting distance between us. "You're trying to swoop in while I'm vulnerable, and that's not okay. I need you to go."

Hayden's face flushes red, and for a moment I think he's going to argue. But then Skylar clears her throat from across the room.

"You heard her," she says, her voice ice cold. "Time to go."

He looks between us, his jaw tight with embarrassment and anger. "Fine. But Montgomery, when you realize what kind of person RJ really is, when you get tired of being his second priority, you know where to find me."

The door slams behind him, and I collapse back onto the couch, suddenly exhausted all over again.

Skylar pulls me into a hug. "You want me to stay for a few days? Until the media circus dies down?"

I nod, not trusting my voice. Through the window, I can see a news van pulling up across the street, and my heart sinks. This is going to get so much worse before it gets better.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do now," I admit. "Do I wait for him? Do I move on? Do I pretend none of this happened?"

"You don't have to decide anything right now," Skylar says. "Right now, you just focus on taking care of yourself. One day at a time."

One day at a time. It sounds impossible when five weeks stretches out ahead of me like an eternity. Five weeks of not knowing if the man I love is getting better or falling apart. Five weeks of not knowing if there's anything left to salvage between us.

Outside, more news vans are arriving, and I can see photographers with long lenses setting up across the street. My phone starts buzzing with notifications—texts, calls, social media mentions. Everyone wants to know how I'm handling my boyfriend's very public breakdown.

The truth is, I'm not handling it at all. I'm drowning in it, and for the first time since last night, I'm not sure I'm strong enough to keep my head above water.

But I have to try. Because five weeks from now, when RJ gets out of rehab, I need to know who I am without him. I need to know if the girl who fell in love with him is still here, or if she got lost somewhere in the chaos of loving someone who couldn't love himself.

Five weeks to figure out the rest of my life.

God help me.