We’d lived practically on top of each other in the Willow, and Iggy had ended up knowing things about me that even the guys—my best friends, my brothers—didn’t know. The idea of having the keeper of my most private confessions right there, within arm’s reach every day... it twisted something sharp in my chest.
I had a job to do. A tour to get through. A sobriety I was barely holding together on a good day. I didn’t have room in my head for Iggy too.
Still... I could admit I felt like a bit of a douchebag for freezing him out. Iggy had been the closest thing I had to a real friend in the Willow. Someone I could lean on when therapy scraped raw, someone who got it when the cravings clawed up my throat. Someone I’d tried to be there for in return.
As I was leaving rehab, just a few days before Iggy, he’d grabbed my hand and slipped something into it. Something I stared at the entire time I was in the car with Clara and Riff, headed back to the real world. It was a beaded bracelet, like the ones he always wore stacked up his wrists. Black and white beads, with a single pink one meant to sit right over the pulse point. And tucked between them, lettered beads spelling out two words:stay sober.
At the time, it felt like a promise. Like hope. Something solid to hold on to when things got shaky.
But now that Iggy washere, just a wall away from me in this hotel, it felt like a command. A responsibility. An extra weight pressing down on my shoulders. Like there was an extra pair of eyes on my sobriety, waiting to see if I slipped.
It wasn’t fair to think that way. I knew that. Iggy was just as new to sobriety as I was. Just as unsteady. Just as likely to be silently panicking behind that bright pink hair and nervous smile. He’d probably seen my face and felt relieved, thought he had a comrade in arms on this fucked-up recovery journey. And instead of meeting him halfway, instead of offering even a fraction of the comfort he’d given me back in the Willow, I pretended I didn’t know him. I watched the spark in his green eyes flicker and go out, and then I closed the door in his face.
Ignoring him felt wrong. Necessary, but wrong. And I felt like absolute shit.
I silenced the alarm and pushed myself upright, dragging a hand down my face like it might scrub off the leftoverembarrassment—and the guilt sitting heavy in my chest. When a knock sounded at the door, my heartbeat kicked up, and I looked over, pulse thudding in my throat. Could it be Iggy? He was only next door. Maybe he’d gotten over the shock of last night, and now he was here to rip me a new one for it.
“Dude, are you up? I’m starving. Let’s eat already.”
My shoulders slumped in relief at the sound of Riff’s voice, muffled through the thick door.
“Yeah, I’m up.”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and pushed to my feet, crossing the room to open the door. Riff stood there looking like he’d rolled straight out of bed and into the hallway, shoulder-length hair sticking up everywhere, T-shirt twisted, and sweats creased to hell.
“Couldn’t wake up a bit before seeking out food?” I asked.
“Nah.” Riff yawned, scratching his stomach under his shirt. “My stomach’s always awake.” His eyes dragged lazily down my body and back up. “You coming like that, or were you planning to get dressed?”
I looked down at myself, bare except for a pair of black Calvin Klein boxers barely containing my dick and balls, then back at him. “Two minutes.”
He stepped forward like he meant to wander in, but I shut the door in his face before he could cross the threshold. A thump followed as his body met the wood. “Agh, you fucker!”
I chuckled as I grabbed my case and pulled out some gym shorts and a hoodie, getting dressed swiftly so as not to leave his highness waiting for too long. Riff was a bitch to be around when he was hungry, and given that I’d yet to have a cup of coffee, I wasn’t in the mood to deal with his whining.
He was still rubbing his forehead when I reopened the doorand stepped out. “Fucking asshole,” he mumbled as we followed the hallway towards the elevator.
When we walked into the hotel’s first-floor restaurant, Mick and Thump were already out on the terrace. They were mid-debate about some sci-fi series they’d binged on Netflix, but their conversation fizzled out as we approached.
“Morning,” Mick said, sticking out a hand for a fist bump. I hit it and slid into the chair to his left, immediately grabbing the carafe and pouring myself a cup of life-saving coffee.
“G’mornin’,” I muttered before taking a sip. Sweet, caffeinated mercy. I let out a quiet sigh.
“Get off me!” Thump screeched as Riff ruffled his hair on his way to the chair across from me.
“No Luc?” I asked Mick.
He shook his head. “Nah. Not yet.”
“You know the princess doesn’t wake up before noon,” Thump said, leaning back and tipping his face towards the sun like a lizard on a rock.
“Well, he better get down here soon if he wants to eat.”
All four of us turned towards the terrace entrance, where Clara stood with her arms folded.
“We’ve got shit to do before the show tonight,” she continued. “And I want everyone packed before we leave. We’re heading to Amsterdam tomorrow.”
“Aye aye, Captain!” Riff grinned, giving an over-the-top salute.
