Purple Method

by Victoria Milne

  It took seconds to sort out Shawn’s shoulder, and then he took some painkillers and carried on as if nothing had happened. He’d be taking the painkillers for a while.

  That was something Rick had struggled with since he’d been training as a chiropractor—the disconnect between the mentality of “fix them up as quickly as possible and carry on as normal” and the “assess and administer a proper course of treatment.” He was getting there, although there was one thing he would have to change in this gym for sure if Neil offered him a job, and that was to make sure fighters were more evenly matched in terms of their weight classes to try to limit injuries. Fighting someone you were not closely matched with could often do more damage than good.

  “That fight knackered me out,” Shawn said. “Thanks for fixing me up. How come you know so much about all this, anyway?”

  “Like Ian said, I’m a chiropractor, and I run an MMA club back home.”

  “Guess I’d better listen to you, then, huh?” Shawn’s breath caught as he tried to roll his shoulder.

  “Put some ice on it as soon as you can. Once the swelling goes down, you should have the full range of movement back.”

  “Rick, can I have a word?” Neil asked and gestured for him to follow him out to the changing area. “I’ve seen enough.” He smiled. “When can you start?”

  “Are you serious?” Rick’s heart was suddenly racing with excitement. “You want me to work here with you?”

  “Yeah. It’s obvious you know what you’re doing. The fact that you’re a chiropractor is definitely a bonus. I can pay you extra to take care of any injuries and to be our cutman when we go to fights.”

  “That sounds perfect. Thank you.” Rick hugged him.

  “Why don’t you go and take a shower and get dressed and we can talk details.”

  Rick was so excited. He’d known he had the skills to make this work, and finally someone was willing to take a chance on him. He already had so many ideas of things they could change and improve in terms of taking care of the fighters and training routines. He switched on the shower and stood under the hot stream of water.

  This opportunity was the most exciting thing that had happened to him since… since Max.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Max

  IT WAS a bit scary, navigating London on his own, but Max eventually found the music store Dietmar had recommended. Thankfully, it had only been two stops on the tube in the end. He probably could have walked it. Rick had disappeared, leaving a note saying he’d gone to the gym, Sian and Kyle had gone out on their own to find someplace for lunch, and Tony had flat-out refused to go with him, choosing instead to stay in the hotel and sleep off his jetlag.

  The music store was tiny compared to Hugh’s, but they had a good selection of bass strings, and he was able to get exactly what he needed. He exited the store into the unfamiliar street. There was a posh-looking MMA gym a few doors down across the street, and it looked out of place among the takeout stores and foreign currency exchange places. His thoughts flitted to Rick and how much he would’ve appreciated seeing it.

  Sighing, he took out his cell and checked where he was. It really wasn’t too far back to the hotel, and it was a nice day, so he decided to walk back. As he approached the gym, he stopped and took a picture of it, and then leaned against the glass exterior as he sent it to Rick and messaged him.

  See what you’ve missed out on. You should’ve come with me!

  Max pushed off the glass and glanced inside the building as he shoved his cell into his pocket. There were two men near the reception desk. They had their backs to him, but one of them looked remarkably like Rick. The tall blond guy turned slightly as he shook the bald guy’s hand. It was Rick. Awesome. They could walk back together. Shoving his shoulder against the door, he walked inside and waved to Rick as both men turned to look at him. Rick’s smile dropped, and his eyes widened.

  “Can I help you?” the bald guy asked.

  “It’s okay, Neil,” Rick said. “He’s with me.”

  “Okay, well, I’ll leave you to it. It was great to see you again, Rick. Oh, I just realized we didn’t discuss dates. Can you start at the end of September, or is that too soon?”

  Start? What the hell was going on?

  “Um.” Rick glanced at Max and shifted his weight. “Is it okay if I let you know in a couple of days?”

  “Sure. Like I said. The job’s yours. Let me know when works for you. I’d better get back. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  Job? Max had always wondered what people meant when they talked about their blood running cold, and now he knew. Was Rick leaving him?

  “Okay, thanks, Neil,” Rick said.

  Max shoved open the doors, his muscles rigid as rage careened through him. His throat was so tight he could barely get the words out. “Something you want to fucking tell me?” His entire body was trembling. An elderly couple crossed the street, giving them a wide berth. Right now Max was beyond caring who witnessed this. Rick’s face was flushed with guilt. It told Max everything he needed to know. “What, were you going to disappear and hope I didn’t notice, or were you going to wait until just before you left to break up with me, huh? Do I mean so little to you that you’d move halfway around the fucking world without giving me a second thought? Doesn’t our relationship mean anything to you?”

  “Max, come on, be reasonable. We can figure something out. I wasn’t going to break up with you—”

  “Fuck you. I’ve been nothing but honest with you, and you hide something like this from me?”

  “I didn’t even know Neil was going to offer this to me until a few minutes ago.”

  “You didn’t even fucking tell me you were meeting him. Don’t you trust me at all? No, you know what, I don’t give a shit whether you trust me or not. I don’t care what you think. How could you not tell me about this?” Tears were falling down his face, and Max wiped them away with his sleeve.

  “Opportunities like this don’t come along very often,” Rick said. “Do you know how many local MMA gyms I’ve applied to and been turned down—?”

  “No, Rick, I don’t, because you never fucking told me.” Had he been so blind? “How could you not tell me about this when it’s obviously so important to you?”

  “What did you expect?”

  Max walked away from him, blood pounding in his ears, but Rick grabbed his arm.

  “You expect me to talk to you about my career and what I want in the future? We didn’t even have a future all the time you wouldn’t tell your friends about us, all the time you wouldn’t let me tell Isla or my parents about us, let alone anyone else. Did you expect me to give up on my dreams, on what I’ve worked so hard for, for a future we’ll never have all the time you’re hiding away? You’ve come out to your friends, but what about everyone else?”

  He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You didn’t tell me that you were planning to move to London because I might threaten your future? What about this, Rick, if the press find out about us, about the fact that we’re together, then I may not have a future, period. Do you even care how much I’ve risked for you? For us to be together? I came out. For you.”

  “A few days ago. I couldn’t put my life on hold on the off chance that you might come out at some point in the next fifty years. And even now, you’re still not out completely.”

  “You said you understood,” Max said quietly. “You said you’d keep it secret.”

  “I do understand, and I have kept it secret.” Rick closed the distance between them and stared at him. “I want us to be together, but it was becoming impossible to keep things the way they were. Don’t you see that? I have this one chance to make something of myself. One chance. You’re a talented musician, Max; you’ve proved that with what you’ve been able to do with the bass. You’ll have plenty of opportunities, even if the press do find out. You’re too good not to. Why are you still so scared?”

  “Purple Method is my life. I could lose everything. Why can�
�t you understand that?”

  “There has to be some compromise if we have a future together.”

  “Like me being okay with you living in London?”

  “Like you understanding that my career is as important to me as yours is to you.”

  “You didn’t even respect me enough to discuss it with me, or even to tell me. I’m not a fucking mind reader.”

  Max couldn’t believe what he was hearing. That Rick had hidden something so important from him. Everything had been so perfect last night; were they really on the brink of breaking up for the sake of their careers? He couldn’t bear to look at him.

  Max turned and ran.

  “Max, wait!”

  Ducking around a corner, Max hid in a sheltered doorway. He had no illusions about being able to outrun Rick. As he struggled to catch his breath, his heart hammered in his chest. Had he dreamed what just happened? Had they broken up? He buried his head in his hands. His face was wet from tears, and more were coming. Years of tension, guilt, and frustration pouring out. He was losing the one thing that was more important to him than his music, and why? Because he’d been scared. Because he and Rick had been at different places in their lives when it came to what they were looking for in a relationship. In a partner. He’d been so excited about what their future might hold that he’d been blind to where Rick’s head was at. He felt so stupid for letting himself feel so deeply for Rick, for assuming they were on the same page.

  HE WASN’T sure how long he’d been hiding in the doorway, but it had to have been hours. His legs felt weak, as if the life force had drained from them along with his tears. Max wandered the streets, in a daze as he followed the directions on his cell, and found himself outside the Scarab Lounge, but couldn’t face going inside, even though it was almost time for their sound check. He turned away and saw there was a bar next door, so he went in there instead. He was desperate for a drink and a dark corner to hide in.

  There were quite a few metalheads in there wearing Death Charm T-shirts. It was weird being in a bar before a gig and nobody recognizing him. Right now, he was grateful for it. The last thing he needed was an audience while he fell apart.

  His cell started to ring incessantly, and Max switched it off without checking who had tried to call, and he didn’t even care. Losing Rick was the only thing he cared about right now. Screw Purple Method. Screw being a million miles from home. He’d never felt so lost and alone.

  Five pints of beer and several shots of tequila later, the pain of losing Rick still hadn’t numbed. If anything, it had made it worse. How could Rick have done all of this without telling him? Was the reason Max was here in London because of Rick’s interview? Fucking hell. Neil… he was the one who had gotten Rick started in martial arts, he remembered now. He lifted his hand to his face and his beer glass went flying. The glass ended up on its side and beer cascaded onto the floor. The bartender glared at him.

  “Sorry,” Max mumbled and tried to act as sober as he could. He didn’t want to have to find another bar to sit in. Hiding here in plain sight had worked well so far. While the bartender cleared up his mess, Max stumbled out to the restrooms.

  There were two guys in there who eyed him suspiciously, but Max ignored them and went straight into the cubicle. They were whispering, but Max could make out what they were saying. One of them was a drug dealer and the other was buying enough weed for him and his friends, by the sound of it. Max had never tried anything stronger than cannabis, but right now the thought of erasing the last day from memory was very appealing. What was that stuff Kyle took sometimes? He couldn’t remember. He’d always looked fine afterward, though. Hearing one of the guys leave, Max came out of the cubicle and made a decision. He’d buy something to help him forget. His life was falling apart, and he didn’t want to be conscious enough to witness it.

  “You selling weed?” Max asked casually as he washed his hands.

  “Who’s asking?”

  “Look, I’m only in London a couple of days, and my dealer is back in the States. Can you hook me up or not?” The guy seemed to decide Max looked trustworthy enough, and he was able to buy some. “You got anything stronger? Something to help me forget about the shitstorm of today?”

  “I’ve got this.” He held out some tabs. “It’s pretty good. It’ll give you a nice trip and will do what you want.”

  “Give me a couple of those as well. How much is that?”

  Max handed over the amount the guy asked for and shoved the weed and the tabs into his pocket. Heading back into the bar, he was relieved to see that the bartender who had witnessed him throwing his drink across the table was nowhere in sight.

  Max took one of the tabs from his pocket, put it into his mouth, and swallowed as he headed outside. The sooner he forgot today the better.

  He steadied himself by grabbing the doorjamb on his way out and blinked as the glare of the sun stung his swollen eyes. Stumbling off in the direction that looked most familiar, he soon realized he was going the opposite way from his hotel. He turned around to walk back the other way, saw he was outside another bar, and decided to go in there instead.

  “Max!”

  What the fuck? Had the drugs kicked in already? That was quick. He was hearing things now?

  “Max, babe, thank God.”

  Max staggered to the side and swung his arms wildly as someone grabbed him around the waist. “Get off me,” he screamed as his arms were restrained.

  “It’s okay. Calm down, I’ve got you.” Sian cupped his face, and her image faded into darkness as he slumped to the ground.

  “WHAT THE hell happened to him?”

  Was he dreaming? The hazy, distant voices became louder as Max regained consciousness.

  “What are we going to do?” a panicked voice said. “You’re supposed to be onstage in less than a half hour.”

  “Tony, no, you can’t—”

  A torrent of freezing water splashed over Max’s head, and he yelped as the icy drops pierced his skin. The cold liquid flooded his mouth, and he leaned forward, choking in his fight to take a breath.

  “What the actual fuck, Max?” Tony shouted. Tony grabbed his chin and forced Max to look at him, then swallowed hard. “Have you taken something? Tell me you haven’t taken something. What the fuck. Your pupils are fucking huge.” Tony’s fingers scraped off his chin, and the wall behind him sent tremors through Max as Tony punched it, and then Tony screamed, “What the fuck were you thinking? Why would you do this? What have you taken? Tell me what you’ve taken, Max.”

  Max coiled into a ball, his damp clothes clinging to his skin. His heart was beating fast, and the more Tony shouted at him, the worse it became. He squeezed his eyes shut and clasped his hands over his ears.

  “Hey, Max.” Kyle’s voice was soothing, and he gently lifted Max’s fingers from his ears. “You’re okay. Tony’s going to stop shouting now. Can you look at me?”

  Max slowly opened his eyes. Kyle was smiling, and Max blinked to focus on him.

  “Is it okay if I sit down here with you?” Max watched, mesmerized by Kyle’s slow, smooth movements. It was strangely calming. “You know, sometimes when I’m tripping I like to draw. Here.” Kyle handed him some paper and a pencil. “You want to try?”

  “We haven’t got time for this,” Tony hissed, and Max focused on the paper, the shadows on it reminding him of something, but he couldn’t quite figure out what.

  “We need to calm him down. He won’t be able to perform otherwise. The last thing you want is him having a bad trip, and he was freaking out back there.”

  “How long will it last?”

  “Maybe twelve hours, I reckon. If he’s taken what I think he has.”

  “Twelve hours? We can’t put him onstage like that. What the fuck are you thinking?”

  “Tony, I’ve played on acid before—I think that’s probably what he’s taken—and I don’t think you even realized.”

  “But he’s not used to it—”

  “We’ll b
e there to take care of him. It’ll be okay. Our set is only thirty minutes.”

  “Max.” Max stared at Kyle as he came closer. “Do you think you can play your bass?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” He felt fine, other than being a little spaced-out. A bit drunk still, but that icy water had sobered him up a lot. “How long till we go onstage?”

  “We need to go now. Think you can manage it?”

  Max nodded, and Sian handed him a dry set of clothes. He changed as quickly as he could, aware of the fact that Tony didn’t take his eyes off him. “I’m fine, Tony, really. I don’t think it’s even working. I’m just a bit drunk.”

  “Why did you take it? Was it Rick? Did you take it ’cause of him?” At the mention of his name, Max’s stomach plummeted to depths he hadn’t realized existed. A heavy despair took hold and crept up until his entire body was numb and trembling.

  “There’ll be plenty of time to talk about it after,” Sian said, putting her arm around Max and guiding him out of the dressing room. “This gig’s too important. You have to get yourself together. This affects Kyle and Tony as well, not just you. I know you’re very upset about Rick, but you’ve got to get through this set. As soon as we’re done here I’ll get us the biggest tub of ice cream I can find, and we’ll find someplace quiet to talk. Okay? I’m here for you. We all are.”

  Max nodded numbly. Had she spoken to Rick? How did she know he was upset about him? What had he said to her?

  As they reached the edge of the stage, Tony still looked concerned.

  “You start to feel funny during the set, you go straight over to Kyle, got it? He’ll take care of you until I can get there.”

  “I’ll be fine, Tony. Stop worrying.”

  “Okay.” Tony nodded but didn’t look convinced.

  “It’s time, guys,” they were told. “If you want to go out whenever you are ready.”

  Max grabbed his bass and ran onto the stage.