He shakes his head. “We both know you’ll need more than one.” He twists the cap off anyway. He drops two into his palm, then two into mine. We don’t look at each other as we tip them back. Just toss them. Swallow dry.
Micah rubs his face. “You can’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what?” I ask, even though I know exactly what he means.
“This.” He gestures at me—my swollen lip, the torn shirt, the bruises blooming across my ribs. “The fighting. The drugs. The disappearing forhours. I had no idea where you were. I texted you, called you.” He shakes his head. “I agree with Adriana, for once in my goddamn life. You’re spiraling.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “You’re on death’s door, man.”
I shrug and take another sip of coffee. “I’ll get past it.”
Micah’s jaw clenches.“Get past it?Jude, you fuckingOD’dlast week. You beat the shit out of someone last night.”
I stare into my mug. “He talked about Nicholas.”
Micah flinches. The name always does that. My little brother died when a drunk driver slammed into our car onChristmas Eve one year. Luckily, I had been knocked out and didn’t see anything. Considering I was beside him in the backseat. But Vanessa saw, and she spent years in therapy because it was...brutal. I can’t even count the amount of times she’d sneak into my room in the middle of the night and just cry in my arms as I held her. A deep anger sprouted inside me after that night, and I haven’t shaken it. Despite the hours of anger management and therapy.
“Still doesn’t mean you should’ve broken his face,” he sighs, pulling me back from my thoughts.
“I don’t give a single fuck,” I mutter.
Micah drags a hand through his hair, but he chooses not to respond to that. The pills begin to soften me, and the raw pain behind my ribs dulls to an ache that’s almost manageable. My limbs feel looser. My heartbeat steadies.
Micah watches me closely. I know he can’t stand that we’re stuck in a chemical dependence together. Every day, multiple times a day, we need them to function. His eyes linger on my knuckles. “You’re scaring me,” he whispers.
I swallow hard and sip my coffee. “I’m sorry.”
This part of New York City smells like exhaust and rain-soaked concrete. Everything is slick, loud, and alive in a way I’m not. I shove my hood up, step over a pile of cigarette butts, and light one of my own. The bitter smoke scratches its way down my throat. My hands shake around the lighter. They always do in the mornings—withdrawal, nerves, whatever parts of me are still fighting to stay alive.
Thank fuck the paparazzi hasn’t found me. We ditched the bus, and Finnick and Kami texted the band group chat saying that they were heading home for a bit. I assume it’s because I fucked up so bad that we’re pausing the tour. I’m likely about to find out.
By the time Micah and I reach the tinted limo, Nolan’s waiting outside. Adriana’s leaned against the door, one hip cocked, scrolling on her phone like always.
“Finally,” Nolan says, his tone dripping in annoyance.
I grunt.
He laughs. “We’re heading to the label. A few updates. Adriana’s cooking something special for you.”
Great. Yet another plan I never agreed to.
I climb into the back, slam the door harder than I need to, and let my head fall against the cool window. When I push up my sleeve, the faint scars along my forearm catch the light—track marks, half-healed cuts, reminders of every night I tried to disappear.
Little trophies of failure.
The ride stays quiet except for Adriana’s nails tapping across her screen. When we pull into the underground garage of our label, she dives right in. “So. New angle.” Her voice echoes off the concrete. “The presslovesa redemption arc. ‘Troubled rockstar seeks help.’ Very sympathetic.”
I nod without looking at her, stepping out of the car and wincing at the harsh lights. “Whatever, Adriana.”
“It’ll be good for your image,” she says smoothly. “We’ll announce you’re taking a break from tour to focus on your health. A chance to reset. Micah will stay with you for support.”
Micah snorts beside me.
Adriana’s gaze narrows on me like she’s actually worried.
I exhale smoke and shrug. A car drives past, looking for a spot, and I watch its headlights sweep over the wall. “Just tell me where the fuck I’m supposed to pretend to heal this time.”
Nolan and Adriana exchange a look. “You’ll love this one,” Nolan says. His grin sharpens. “Quiet coastal town. I think you’re familiar with it.”
Adriana tilts her head. “Seaside.”
