Relief floods through me, but it’s fleeting. I read between the lines of what she isn’t saying. Jax is alive and detoxing, but that is all. It would be enough if he didn’t have less than twelve hours before he needed to be on stage performing.
I spend some time sitting on the corner of the bed, watching Jax sleep through the withdrawal process that the nurse is attempting to expedite and gnawing on my bottom lip.
The others are in the living room when I retreat. Enzo leans against the wall, arms crossed, his frustration stillevident. Dylan sits on the floor, head in his hands, while Marcus paces.
“This is fucked,” Enzo mutters, his voice low and sharp. “He’s barely holding on, and we’re supposed to be on stage tonight.”
“It’s not that bad. The nurse said he’s doing okay,” I say, my throat tightening. “But we’ll figure it out. We have to.”
“Harris fucked us,” Enzo snaps, his anger flaring again.
“There was nothing else he could do,” Marcus responds, his voice threaded with exhaustion.
The room falls silent again, all of us caught up in our own thoughts and worries. Jax’s fight isn’t over, and neither is ours.
CHAPTER 9
FRACTURED HARMONY
MARCUS
The hours grind forwardwith relentless pressure, each second ticking louder as we edge closer to the show. Less than eleven hours remain, and the weight of that deadline presses down on all of us like an invisible vise.
The suite, as luxurious as it is, feels suffocating—a gilded cage filled with anxiety, exhaustion, and barely contained tempers. I move between the rooms, trying to keep everyone in sight and manage the chaos that’s ready to boil over.
Lily is doing her best to hold us all together with soft words and reassurances, but I can see the toll it’s taking on her. She’s stretched thin, her movements frenetic and her face pale, the exhaustion written in the dark smudges under her eyes. She grips her phone like it’s her lifeline, but the cracks in her composure are starting to show. She has alternated between checking on Jax and texting with Harris for the last hour and it’s wearing her down.
Dylan paces the room, his usual carefree demeanorlong gone. His brown hair is a mess, and his attempts at humor are only making things worse. “Hey, at least there aren’t any groupies throwing their bras at us right now, right?” he quips, his voice lacking its usual charm.
No one laughs.
“Shut up, Dylan,” Enzo snaps, his dark eyes flashing, and his voice more abrasive than usual. He leans against the arm of the sofa, his posture rigid, like a spring wound too tight. His black hair falls into his face, and he brushes it away with a sharp, angry motion.
Dylan stops mid-step, turning to glare at him. “I’m trying to lighten the mood here. Maybe you could try not being such an asshole for once?”
“Well, you’re not helping. So maybe, for once, you could just keep your jokes to yourself,” Enzo fires back.
Lily’s head pings back and forth between Enzo and Dylan while they bicker. I watch as her shoulders slump further, like weight is being added to her already overburdened form.
“Enough!” I snap, my tone sharp and pointed. I flick my eyes to Lily, then stare down Dylan until he bows his head. My gaze moves to Enzo, and he squares his shoulders, like he’s preparing for a fight. He cocks a brow at me in challenge. “This. Isn’t. Helping. Anyone.” My firm words silence them, but the tension lingers in the air like a storm cloud. I step towards Lily, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and trying to comfort her. “We need to focus. We’ve got a show in a few hours, and we can’t fall apart now.”
The nurse steps out of Jax’s room, heading toward the kitchen with a quiet and calm efficiency that contrasts sharply with the storm brewing between the four of us.
Lily catches her eye, her voice soft but trembling as she asks, “How’s he doing?”
The nurse pauses, her calm expression betraying none of the chaos she’s undoubtedly heard just a few feet away. Her tone remains measured, professional. It’s clear why Harris chose this woman to perform an illegal detox on a famous rockstar. “He’s stable for now, but there’s only so much we can achieve in twenty-four hours. He’ll need constant monitoring over the next few days to ensure he doesn’t relapse or deteriorate further.”
I peer past her, through the ajar door and into the room. Jax lies in the bed, barely more than a shadow of himself. His dark hair is still clinging to his sweat-slicked forehead, and his breathing, though steady, is shallow. Nothing looks like it has changed at all since he’s been here. I keep my thoughts to myself, though, knowing they’re more likely to tip someone over the edge than help anything.
“We need to get through the next few hours,” Lily murmurs to herself, her voice soft but determined. “Then we can figure out what comes next. We have this one show, then three weeks.” She nods her head at her words, like she can physically enforce them and will her positivity into existence.
I squeeze her against my side and rest my chin against the top of her head in an offer of silent support. The four of us stand in the living room long after the nurse pops into the kitchen and returns to Jax.
Hours crawl by, marked only by the nurse’s steady routine of popping out of the room to grab items from the fridge and wordlessly returning to Jax. The rest of us taketurns sitting in the room, but there’s little we can do beyond that.
While Enzo takes his next turn with Jax, Dylan paces the entire living room, anxiety radiating off him with every step.
"Why don't you sit down, Dylan?" Lily says gently, her voice trying to smooth his anxious edges. "You’re starting to make me dizzy with all these circles," she jokes.
