I shrug, foreign moisture welling in the corners of my vision. “I haven’t talked about him in a while.”
“Is there a reason for that?”
I turn to look at her, but there’s no judgment in her eyes. Just pure, innocent curiosity—a desire to understand, to listen to me. It’s… strange. But not bad. Just different.
“It hurts. To think about, to talk about. So I just don’t.”
Her chin dips ever so slightly, but she doesn’t speak. She just sits there, staring at me with that open expression, waiting for me to be ready. To open up on my time.
I sigh, running a hand over my face. “I love my little brother. I loved him when he was alive, and I love him now that he’s gone.”
I stare hard at the rolling waves, their untamable nature reminding me so much of him. “Rush... He loved a lot of different things. Fame, money, women… but most of all, he loved getting high. It wasn’t until the band got big that he started dabbling in the hard stuff, but once he got a taste, he couldn’t give it up. For years, I tried to help, to get him into rehab, but it didn’t do any good.”
“I’m sure it meant a lot to him, Riot. Even if he didn’t say it, I’m sure it meant a lot that you cared.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” I sigh, casting my eyes to the spot her hand rests on my arm. “I always think back to that day. What I would have—should have—done differently. And the fucked-up truth of it all? There wasn’t a single thing I could have done thatwould have changed Rush’s fate.” A joyless smile tips my lips. “Not a goddamn thing.”
Three years ago…
“Riot! Come sit down. We were just about to?—”
“I can see exactly what you were about to do,” I snap, eyeing the pile of white powder on the tabletop with distaste. “What the fuck, Rush? You promised me.”
“I know, I know. But Greg scored this amazing…”
I stop listening at this point. Where—and who—he got the drugs from is not my concern. He promised me he was getting clean. Swore on our parents’ graves.
“We have a show tonight, Rush. You really shouldn’t be?—”
“Doing this. I know. You’ve said it a million times.” He rolls his baby blues as he lowers his face to the coffee table, one finger pressed against his right nostril and a rolled-up fifty in the other.
“Fucking Christ, Rush!” I snap, storming over and flipping the table on its side before he has a chance to inhale.
Rush fixes me with an incredulous gaze before it switches to malice. “What the fuck, Riot! Do you know how much that cost me?” he screams, scrambling on his hands and knees to try to save some of the powder. He starts digging in the carpet, picking up dirt, hair, and scraps of white powder in his palm.
I hate me for it, but I’m overcome with pity as I watch on. At the thing my little brother has been reduced to. For a fucking chemical.
“Rush, come on,” I murmur, reaching out and grasping his shoulder gently.
“Fuck you!” He reels around, bloodshot eyes shooting hate up at me. “Just leave me the fuck alone, Riot. I don’t need a fucking babysitter anymore, in case you haven’t noticed.”
At that moment, the door slams open, and Rebekah saunters into the apartment. She plops into Rush’s lap, dangling a bag of X in front of his nose. His face lights up, and he kisses her hard, forgetting I’m in the room.
“The fuck is wrong with you?” I demand. “He’s already messed up. He doesn’t need any more of that shit.”
She rolls her eyes, dipping a long nail into the powder and holding it to Riot’s nose. It was fine for a couple of years, but then the pair of them discovered X. After that, it was never the same. And now it’s like this.
“Stop being such a killjoy, Riot,” Rebekah says. “Have a bump and chill out.”
“Fuck you,” I snarl. “You both fucking disgust me.” I turn on my heel, my rage making it impossible for any guilt to shine through. “Do whatever the fuck you want. I don’t care.”
The last thing I hear before the door slams is a heavy sniff.
I shake my head, staring at the closed door for several moments before eventually heading downstairs. My driver takes me straight to the stadium even though we don’t have to be on stage for another two hours. I don’t care—I just need to be somewhere away from my idiot little brother for a while. I need to cool down.
Two hours later, I’m back to a semi-clearheaded state and ready to apologize for what I said when I stormed out of the apartment. Only… Rush isn’t here.
I call him, and when that doesn’t work, I send a series of texts, each more frantic than the last—all apologetic. All go unanswered. I try Rebekah next, but she doesn’t pick up either. By now, it’s an hour after showtime. The crowd is restless, and my brother is nowhere to be found.
