Page 8 of Up In Smoke

But he’s never asked me to intervene directly until now. I suppose he was always only a state away before, so would rush to LA whenever Jesse got in over his head. That’s not really an option nowadays.

I’m honored he would trust me to take on this responsibility in his place. Like when I’m at work, I have every confidence I can do this for him. It’s not like I have to deal with Jesse’s emotions, just his physical wellbeing. All I care about is helping Adam.

I don’t give a shit if I piss Jesse off or even if he likes me, so that makes it easier to shoulder this burden.

“I’ve got this,” I tell him, and I mean it. “I’ll keep you posted, okay? As soon as I know anything, I’ll call.”

Adam exhales. “If he’s just hungover, I’m going to kill him. But that message he left…”

Part of me wants to hear it to make my own assessment. But if it’s got Adam this rattled, I don’t really need to.

“Try not to worry,” I say, knowing it’s useless, but I still feel the need to say it anyway.

“I’ll do my best,” he replies with a hollow laugh. “Right, I better hang up and let you go. Thank you, man. I mean it.”

“That’s what friends are for,” I say sincerely before closing the call.

Five minutes later, I’m running out of my apartment door with a granola bar and a bottle of iced tea in lieu of the brunch I’d been half-heartedly contemplating before. I know all too well from work how fast circumstances can change, so I’m able to keep my adrenaline in check as I kickstart my car and head for the interstate. Still, it’s kind of crazy that an hour ago I had a long day of nothing much stretched ahead of me, and now I’m hitting the gas on a rescue mission.

Part of me is praying that Jesse has just stayed up too late partying and gotten in his feelings, kind of like I did.

But another part of me knows Adam can’t brush that kind of behavior off anymore. Where does it end? At what point do I start to encourage my friend to step away and protect himself and his own family first instead of always letting his pain-in-the-ass little brother swing in like a wrecking ball?

I’m almost past Newport when it occurs to me that I’m about to see Jesse Silverman in person for the first time in…what? Ten years? More? I couldn’t help but watch that terrible reality show he did, but that doesn’t count. The producers obviously edited the footage within an inch of its life and it’s no surprise that they made Jesse out to be the irresponsible, selfish bad guy.

But I remember that sweet kid who used to save my favorite candies from his Halloween bucket to give to me later becausemy parents didn’t believe in trick or treating. The kid who once stubbornly walked all the way across town to the veterinarian with a wounded kitten bundled up in his arms. The kid who always tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal when his brother’s friends let him play their video games every once in a while, but I’d always see how shiny his eyes would get as he snuck awe-inspired glances at us.

I genuinely don’t know the asshole is who keeps my buddy up at night with worry. The selfish prick who’s extremely lucky never to have hurt anyone while driving under the influence. The irresponsible jerk who flushed hundreds of thousands of dollars down the drain after his acting career flatlined.

Chances are, I’m probably going to meet him in about thirty minutes, if he’s even home. Adam seemed to think he was, but that might have just been a guess. He could be in some drug den or on a park bench for all I know. But if Idofind him…if we do come face to face for the first time in over a decade…who am I going to see? The arrogant Hollywood washout?

Or is the kind-hearted boy I once knew still inside him somewhere?

There’s only one way to find out, I suppose. I’m nervous, but I put that down to the responsibility I’ve got on my shoulders. I promised Adam that I’d take care of this, and I meant it. No matter what, I’m going to do everything I can to ease this burden for my friend.

Whether his brother likes it or not.

CHAPTER 3

Jesse

I wakeup in a pool of my own vomit.

Even by my standards, that’s low.

I groan, my head pounding and my body shivering as I try and swallow. My throat feels like sandpaper and my tongue tastes like three-day-old hamburger. The cold puke is all down my front and on the carpet, but at least I didn’t choke on it, I guess?

Fuck, my head is killing me. The sunlight is too bright even though the blinds are closed. I just want to curl back into a ball and disappear again, but the slightest movement reminds me of the cracked ribs I earned last night. I whimper, feeling extremely sorry for myself. Between that and the painful hammering in my skull, I’m not going to get back to sleep now anyway.

Actually…is there hammering outside of my skull as well? Is some asshole doing DIY on a Sunday morning? I blink and try and listen over the ringing in my ears. Maybe it’s not hammering but banging…on my door.

Someone’s calling my name.

“Go away,” I slur, my face still mashed against the floor. I can’t think of anyone else it could be other than my landlord, and I don’t have any money to pay rent, so he’s wasting his timeas well as pissing me off. “Leave me alone,” I beg, too quiet for anyone else to hear but myself.

But the pounding doesn’t stop. In fact, it gets louder and more intense, only making my head hurt worse. Nausea washes through me and I heave up another round of bile, tears leaking from my eyes as my ribs protest big time.

“Fuck OFF!” I scream, feeling like I’m breathing fire. A fresh wave of misery and humiliation crashes through me.