Page 36 of When the Stars Rise

He takes a sip of his lime and soda, eyeing the glass shelves of liquor behind the glossy wood bar. “I never knew when to quit. I can’t just sit at a bar and have a few casual drinks with friends because there’s no such thing as a casual drink for me.” His voice sounds wistful.

I glance around the room filled with beautiful people dancing to house music and sipping cocktails and champagne on velvet sofas and at small candlelit tables.

A willowy blonde raises her glass and gives me a seductive smile, but it does nothing for me. I’m too busy obsessing over a five-foot-four brunette who keeps slipping through my fingers.

“Do you ever miss it?” I ask Dean, who’s scrolling through his phone like he couldn’t care less about all the looks he’s getting from the people in the bar. If he notices, he doesn’t let on. I guess he’s been famous for so long that it doesn’t faze him anymore.

He pockets his phone and angles his body toward me and away from the woman on his right who keeps ‘accidentally’ brushing her arm against his.

“Yeah, I miss it. Parts of it, anyway.” He presses his lips together, eyes narrowed. “Hayley said I was sober for fifteen years but that’s not true. I fell off the wagon ten years ago when my old man died. Official diagnosis was cirrhosis of the liver. Unofficially, he drank himself to death. He was a piece of shit and a sorry excuse for a father so I didn’t think his death would affect me like it did.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “I skipped the funeral and spent the day getting shitfaced instead. The next day I went to an AA meeting and started from square one again and I’ve been sober ever since. When I told Hayley about it, she said it doesn’t count. But it counts.”

It’s funny how many free passes Hayley gives Dean. I don’t get it. I really don’t.

By my count, Dean’s been given more second chances than anyone else in Hayley’s life.

“I had to rewire my brain and shit,” Dean says. “Used to be that I couldn’t be in a roomful of people if I wasn’t snorting something or holding a drink in my hand to get me throughthe night. Drugs deluded me into believing I was the most interesting person in the room. A god among mortals.”

He laughs at himself and shakes his head. “It was a long, hard fall from Mount Olympus to rock bottom, I can tell you that much. When I got sober, I had to shovel through the mountain of shit I was buried under. It’s no fun looking at yourself in the mirror and having to face all the shit you fucked up in your life.”

He gives me a pointed look. “You might know something about that. You’re doing a pretty good job of fucking things up, aren’t you?”

I take a long pull of my Negroni before responding. “Not sure you have any room to talk when it comes to fucking up relationships.”

“I’m not claiming to be a relationship expert,” he says. “Hell knows I’ve burned a lot of bridges in my life. Destroyed hotel rooms, marriages, relationships. You name it, I fucked it up. But I’ve learned the hard way that it takes a lot less time and energy to destroy something than it does to build it back up. I destroyed the person I loved most, and I have no one to blame except myself. It’s my biggest regret and probably always will be.”

“Are you talking about Shiloh?”

He laughs under his breath. “Yeah, I’m talking about Shiloh. It’s ancient history now. All the shit I put her through in the name of love.” He stares into space, eyes narrowed, like he’s seeing the past flash before his eyes. “But you can’t change or undo what’s done.” His gaze returns to me. “All you can do is try your damnedest not to repeat the same old mistakes.”

I get the feeling those words were aimed at me. “What are you trying to say?”

“You and Hayley have a lot of history, but that can only get you so far. If you keep repeating the same mistakes, I can tell you right now that you won’t have a future together.”

Hayley and I will figure it out on our own, just like we always have in the past—together. So, I don’t need Dean’s advice on something he knows nothing about.

“So you and Zoe…?” I leave the question hanging.

Not that I particularly care what Dean does with his time, but I want to steer the conversation away from me and Hayley.

“Ha. Yeah, well, we’ll see how it goes. For now, my number one priority is Hayley. I want to get her through the rest of this tour so she can take a well-deserved break.” His expression is thoughtful. “I think it’s been too much for her. Spending this much time on the road takes a lot out of you. Should’ve prioritized her mental health a bit more and called her out on all the times she said she was fine when she wasn’t.”

I consider his words for a moment. “You don’t think she’s doing okay?”

I can’t believe I’m asking Dean, but despite the grudge I’m still holding against him, it’s obvious that he genuinely cares about Hayley. It’s theonlything we have in common.

“Thought she was. That incident in London fucked with her head, though.” His jaw clenches, and he takes a few deep breaths through his nose. He looks like he’s counting to ten and trying to rein in his anger. The plastic cocktail sword from his drink snaps in two in his hand. “Those fucking assholes.”

It sounds like he’s talking about something more than passing out. “What are you talking about? What happened in London?”

“She didn’t tell you?” He looks surprised.

“She just told me she ended up in the hospital because of low blood sugar.”

“Huh. Thought she told you everything.”

I ignore the dig and prompt him for answers. “What happened?”