“So,” he said, still staring at the glass. “You ready to tell me what the fuck’s going on?”
I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes and sighed. I couldn’t put this off any longer. Tonight had made that painfully clear. Folding my arms across my chest, I turned to my best friend. He watched me without rushing, patient in the way only someone who knew me inside out could be.
“I knew Iggy before the tour,” I said carefully, tracking his reaction. “We met in rehab.”
His eyes widened, his grip tightening around the glass of water. “I’m sorry—what?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Got the shock of my life when he showed up here.”
Riff took a long drink, buying himself a second to process. He’d always been like that when it mattered. Loud and reckless on the surface, but capable of slowing down when the moment called for it. Thinking before he spoke.
“So... is this, like, a stalker situation?” he asked, eyebrow lifting.
I huffed a laugh. “Nah. He was just as surprised as I was.”
“Okay.” He nodded, rubbing at his jaw. “That actually tracks.”
“How?”
“You and Iggy,” he said, like it should’ve been obvious. When I didn’t respond, he went on. “You never let people in, man. Took you months to warm up to me and Mick when we were kids. You went back and forth with Ghost and Thump for ages.” He shrugged. “Then Iggy shows up and suddenly you’re inseparable. Either you already knew him... or he was just special.”
That made something warm settle in my chest. “A bit of both,” I admitted.
Riff smiled and bumped his shoulder against mine. “So. Tell me about him.”
“You already know him.”
“I mean before,” he said. “Rehab Iggy. The meet cute. All that shit.”
I rested my chin in my hand and stared past his shoulder, letting myself drift.
“Well,” I said slowly. “It started with a garden.”
What felt like hours later, though it couldn’t have been more than twenty or thirty minutes, I’d told him about the Willow. Not the private details. Not the parts of Iggy’s recovery that weren’t mine to share. Just the spaces in between.
Sitting by the lake. Walking the gardens in weak winter sunlight. Playing piano in the music room while he listened. Letting him paint my face like I was a blank canvas. Exploring forgotten rooms on an unused floor of the manor. The night he’d held me while the cravings got too loud to ignore. Hot chocolates by the fire when sleep refused to come.
I replayed every memory through new eyes. With the knowledge of who Iggy was now, and what he meant to me. And somewhere in the telling, I realised I was falling in love with him all over again.
We’d only ever meant to be friends. And he was, truly, my best friend. Loving him was just a bonus.
“Look at you,” Riff teased, nudging my shoulder. “I told you. You’re a fool in love.”
I nodded, because there was no point pretending otherwise.
“I guess that means he’s also an addict.”
Right. Because that was the part we actually needed to talk about.
I hummed in confirmation and rotated the whiskey glass slowly, listening to the ice clink softly against the sides.
“Does that have something to do with the fact you’re sitting here staring down a full glass of whiskey?” Riff asked.
I sighed and pushed the glass away from me. “Iggy’s been relapsing,” I said quietly. “Slowly. And I didn’t see it until it was already happening.”
“Fuck,” Riff muttered, dragging a hand through his wavy hair. “What happened?”
“He’s been taking painkillers,” I explained. “Ultram. Ghost gave them to him.”
