The sheets beside me were cold. A quick scan of the room confirmed what my body already knew. I was alone. Groggy, I reached for my phone on the bedside table and pressed the side button. The blackout curtains were still drawn, and the sudden glow of the screen felt like staring straight into the sun.
“Motherfucker,” I muttered, blinking hard.
Once my eyes adjusted, I saw Bodhi’s message. A radio interview. He’d be back before we needed to head to the venue.
Relief and dread tangled together in my chest. With Bodhi gone, I had a window. A narrow one. Enough time to find Ghost and see if he had any meds left. If he didn’t, I’d figure something else out. I had to. But for now, I could at least try Plan A.
I rolled out of bed and headed for the door, still in the joggers and ratty T-shirt I’d slept in. I didn’t bother brushing my teeth or taming my hair. Time mattered more than appearances. If this didn’t pan out, I’d need every spare minute to come up with a backup.
I was halfway down the hallway, lost in my own head and trying to remember Ghost’s room number, when someone slammed straight into my chest.
“Fucking he—oh. Hey, Iggy.”
Clara crouched to retrieve the phone she’d dropped and looked up at me with a grin. Her eyes flicked over my wrinkled clothes and the disaster on my head.
“Going anywhere nice?”
“Uh—”
I stopped myself before I could blurt out something stupid. This was... actually perfect.
“I lent Ghost my cleansing wipes last night,” I said, gesturing vaguely at my face like that explained everything. “Just wanted to grab them back. Which room was his again?”
She didn’t even hesitate. “Four-two-two. Down the hall.”
“Great, thanks.”
I squeezed her arm and slipped past her before she could think to ask anything else, picking up my pace now that I had a destination. She hadn’t mentioned him being out, which meant there was still a chance.
Four-one-six.
Four-one-eight.
Four-two-oh.
“Perfect,” I muttered, stopping in front four-two-two and knocking.
It opened a few moments later. Ghost stood there shirtless, slim frame and tanned skin on display, glasses slightly crooked like he’d just pushed them on. The faint indentations on his cheeks told me I’d dragged him out of sleep.
Objectively, he was attractive. Subjectively, with Bodhi firmly rewiring my brain, I felt absolutely nothing.
“S’up, Iggy,” Ghost said, his voice rough with sleep. “Everything okay?”
I shoved a knotted strand of hair behind my ear and shifted my weight, suddenly hyperaware of my own body. My stomach felt like it was folding in on itself.
“Yeah... all good,” I said, my voice pitching a little higher than usual.
Ghost yawned and scratched absently at his stomach. “What did you need?”
“I, uh—” I cleared my throat, which had gone inexplicably dry. “I was just wondering... did you have any more of the, uh, Tramadol?”
“More?” His eyebrows shot up. “They’re gone already?”
I nodded, staring somewhere around his collarbone.
“Yeah, um. There wasn’t that many in there, and?—”
“Still,” he cut in, frowning. “I thought they’d last longer than a couple of days. How many were you taking?”
