I didn’t loathe the way he talked and talked and talked until I wondered how he ever had anything left to say. I didn’t hate the way his musical laugh filled a room, or the inappropriate jokes he cracked when things grew too heavy. I didn’t mind the appreciative squeaks he made throughout meals, like a kid discovering a new favourite food every time we sat down. I didn’t even care when I found myself knocking on his door each morning, coaxing him out of bed so he wouldn’t miss our first session of the day.
Somehow, I’d come to expect Iggy at my side. And when he finally appeared, smiling too brightly and speaking a mile a minute, I realised I even sort of liked it. Like Dr Williams, he brought an unexpected warmth with him. One I hadn’t anticipated finding in rehab. It made recovery feel less terrifying. Possible, in a way it hadn’t at the start.
“Bodhi.”
I blinked. Once. Twice. The room snapped back into focus, and I realised every pair of eyes was on me. Ricky cleared his throat and smiled. It was the knowing kind. The kind that said he’d clocked my absence but wasn’t about to shame me for it. No, this was an ambush of opportunity. A hope that today might finally be the day I said something real.
“Would you like to share?” he asked gently. “What changed for you?”
A part of me wanted to punch him.
He’d framed it like a choice, and technically it was. I could’ve declined. Could’ve stayed quiet. But I felt the weight of his unspoken request. To open up. To bleed a little in front of a room full of strangers who were meant to understand. And maybe they would. At least in theory.
Still, shame prickled at the back of my neck. This wasn’t the first time I’d zoned out, and I couldn’t remember every story that had been shared over the past few weeks. I doubted anyone expected me to remember theirs either, but the guilt lingered anyway.
“Um . . .” I started, then stalled.
My gaze drifted to the green wingback chair across the circle, drawn there without conscious thought. To the pink-haired man who’d bulldozed his way into my life and carved out a space for himself, at least for the duration of our twelve-week sentence.
Iggy had straightened in his seat. His emerald eyes caughtthe afternoon light, bright and intent. I didn’t know what he saw when he looked at me, but I imagined it was something close to fear. Uncertainty.
Is this okay?
Can I do this?
Is it safe?
And thankfully, he seemed to know what I needed, even without words.
Iggy gave a quick nod. Barely there. Small enough that it felt like a secret just between us. But it was enough. The tightness in my chest eased, the chains around my voice slackening for the first time since I’d arrived at the Willow.
The words came.
“So, well, I’m a, uh... musician,” I said, shifting in my seat. “I started a band with some friends when we were eighteen. At first, it was just for fun. We had dreams of making it big, sure, but it didn’t feel serious yet.”
I glanced around the circle, forcing myself not to shrink under the attention.
“We played small clubs, bars, battle-of-the-bands nights. That kind of thing. And every time I stepped onto a stage...” I huffed out a breath, sinking back as the memory took hold. “Fuck. It was exhilarating. Standing under those lights, playing to whoever we could pull in. Ten people, a hundred—it didn’t matter. We played like we were trying to fill an arena.”
Across the circle, Iggy planted his socked feet on the floor and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His mouth hung open slightly, lips parted like he couldn’t quite believe I was talking. Honestly, neither could I. This was more than I’d said to anyone outside Dr Williams’s office in three weeks.
“We worked our asses off,” I continued. “Pooled whatever money we had for studio time, just to record a demo and send itout. But before we even booked a session, an exec showed up at one of our gigs. Said he was scouting local talent. Asked us to record with them.”
My mouth twitched as I pictured it. Younger versions of Riff, Mick, and me screaming and laughing in an alley behind a dive bar, convinced we’d just been handed the world. Ghost and Thump weren’t even in our lives yet.
“The label liked our sound, so we recorded our first EP. Then they sent us on tour as an opening act for a well-known band in the States, and it was like everything exploded overnight. People knew our names. Our faces were everywhere. Fans sang along to lyrics we’d written in our tiny bedrooms.”
I paused, inhaling slowly.
“I think that’s when the drinking really picked up. The drugs came later. At first it all felt... casual. Weed at parties. Coke when we were on our third show in a row and barely functioning.”
Heads nodded around the circle. Understanding. Familiarity. Iggy worried at his lower lip, fists clenched on his thighs.
“The best part was playing with my friends,” I said quietly. “Even as things got bigger, it still felt like we were kids jamming in a garage after school.” I rubbed at the back of my neck, fingers catching in hair that had grown too long. “And then something shifted. We just kept growing, making more money than any of us knew how to handle. Our contract ended, and we signed with one of the biggest labels in the world.”
My chest tightened.
“Suddenly we were headlining. Selling out venues bigger than anything we’d ever imagined.”
