“No. God, no. I just…hate to see you doing this to yourself, Zack. We’re all worried about you.”
“I know. And deep down I know you guys are right.” He rubbed the broken plastic seal near the top of the bottle with his thumb, keeping his focus there. In support, I stayed silent but put my arm over his back. “Do you know if they help with that shit in rehab?”
“What? Like—”
“Like making all the fucking noise in my head quiet down. I feel like I wouldn’t want to drink if my head was quiet.”
“Maybe.” But I didn’t really know. “I don’t think theywould be worth your time if they didn’t do something like that, something helping you figure out how to avoid going right back.”
He took another drink. “I’ll make you a promise, Dani.” Finally, he looked up at me. “I’ll figure out how to kick this shit—with or without rehab—but I can’t do it right now. We’ve gotta focus on getting the next album recorded—”
“That can wait.”
“No, it can’t. We’re all so goddamned deep in debt with the label and, if we don’t strike while the iron’s hot, we’ll be has-beens before we know it. I don’t want Riot to be a one-hit wonder.”
I wasn’t about to correct him. Our second and third singles had done fairly well, taking us out of the “one-hit” realm, but I knew what he meant…and I also knew he was right.
And he wasn’t done talking. “So let’s get this album done and all that shit—and maybe I can do rehab before we go back on tour.”
“That’s not a bad idea. But I also know that nobody in the band—and probably not even the label—would care if you had to take time off to mourn…or to heal.” I felt hope just knowing he was considering it.
“Yeah, but right now I need this shit,” he said, taking another long swig. “And I wouldn’t mind if you joined me.”
When he handed me the bottle, I took it—and, even though part of me felt like I was encouraging him, I took a sip. “Tell me about your grandpa. I hardly knew him, but I really liked him.”
“He was a good guy,” Zack said and proceeded to tell me story after story about his childhood, including tales about his grandmother. Up until first grade, he and his mother had lived with his grandparents. He remembered his mother attending the community college in Dalton and then getting a job at thecorrectional facility about the time he started school. He had funny and sad stories about extended family—and I just listened and asked questions.
After a while, I realized I was getting buzzed. “Do you want some water?”
“Maybe.” Before I got up, Zack took my hands in his. “I…I’m not good at sayingthank you, but I want to try. Thanks for helping me get through this.”
“What about your mom? Doesn’t she need you?”
“No. Our fuckin’ house is packed full with relatives I haven’t seen since I was a kid—and I couldn’t take being there. A couple of my cousins were acting like nothing happened. I had to get out of there.”
I frowned. I knew everyone mourned differently, but I also understood Zack, and I got how that seeming incongruity would get to him. So I nodded. “You’ll always be my best friend, Zack. Nothing will change that.”
Although I’d said it, part of me knew that wasn’t entirely true. Just days ago, I’d been trying to push him completely out of my head for my own sake. Wasn’t I just as important?
His eyes welled with tears again, but he let go of my hands, cupping my cheeks and pulling me into a kiss that I didn’t resist. My entire body caught on fire, reminded of how every cell, every pore, every vein loved this man, regardless of all we’d been through.
But I placed my hands on his chest, gently pushing him back. This was nothing more than the alcohol fueling our emotions. At this moment, I had no doubt that Zackthoughthe loved me, but he’d proven time and time again that he didn’t—and if I fell victim to his promises again, it would be allmyfault. “I can’t do this, Zack.”
“Do what?”
My brows furrowed and I tilted my head, pulling back alittle as his hands fell to my shoulders. “Us. I am and will always be your friend, but we can’t dothis.”
After a few seconds, he reached for the bottle.Goddammit.“You and Braden are pretty serious?”
This was a crossroads, and no matter what answer I gave to Zack, there would be consequences. If I told him the truth—that no, Braden and I weren’t serious—Zack might think he could pursue me all over again, and I couldn’t do that. I had to give up the hope that we would ever work. As I looked back over our history, I knew it was true. Even when he’d only been an occasional drinker in high school, he’d chosen Ava over me and more than once had let me know I was his friend only. Those glimpses that had given me hope must have been nothing more than my imagination.
But I didn’t want to have that conversation with him—because even though he was allowing himself to be vulnerable and I felt like he was being open and honest, he was also intoxicated. I had no way of knowing if he’d even remember our conversation later.
And what I said now was also something I needed to do forme, even if it wasn’t entirely true. So I said, “Yeah, we are.”
If Zack remembered anything from today, I hoped that first he knew I was a good friend…and, second, that my love was no longer up for grabs.
And, if I were smart, I would believe the lie too. Unlike Zack, Braden had earned it.
