I pull the top off my container of noodles then get to work adding toppings. I need to tell Ethan, but I can't look him in the eyes while I do it. It's not that there's anything wrong with me seeing Kit, or sleeping with Kit, but I can't excuse lying to my brother about it.
Deep breath. "Ethan, I have to tell you something."
I try to keep my eyes on my cilantro, my strips of meat, my spoon. But my gaze goes to my brother and his girlfriend. She's squeezing his hand, an I hope this is okay look on her face.
His blue eyes are curious, confused.
"Promise you won't be mad." I stir my noodles. "I didn't do it to hurt you."
"Pipes, I can't promise that without an idea of what it is." He looks me in the eyes. "What is it?"
Mal nods to me go ahead.
Violet does the same.
Maybe this is okay.
Maybe.
I hold Ethan's gaze. "I've been seeing Kit."
Ethan's eyes go wide. "Seeing?"
"Dating. And sex too. I mean, I don't want to offer details, but we were having sex." I stir my soup until the broth is spinning.
Anger flares in Ethan's eyes. He grits his teeth. He must be fighting his desire to storm off to beat Kit up. Not that he'd make much headway. The bassist must be halfway to San Francisco by now.
"Honey, listen to her before you freak out." Violet rubs Ethan's bicep.
"Sitting here, fixing soup. What about that is freaking out?" He looks at me. "You thought I'd freak out?"
I nod. "Don't you want to? A little?"
"A lot," he admits. "Did he hurt you?"
Yes, but not the way Ethan means. "He ended things."
Ethan's voice is demanding. "That's not an answer."
"He's been a gentleman." I take a bite of my soup. It's hot but it's good. Comforting. "I... He left because he didn't want to hurt me later. It's complicated."
"Did he say that?" Violet asks.
"No. He said he didn't want us to be together." It sounds clear out loud. It sounds like I'm neck deep in wishful thinking. "But I... I think he wants to be with me. Just... I don't know. His mom ODed. She's in the hospital. And he went to be with her. But no one is with him. No one is there to hold his hand."
"You're a sweet kid," Ethan says.
Mal nods.
"You're really not going to kill him?" I ask.
"If he was here and I saw that look on your face, yeah, but as it is." Ethan nods to Violet's hand on his arm. "I have too much motivation to stay out of jail." Ethan looks to me. "How long has this been going on?"
"We've been talking, intimately, since New Years Eve. We slept together for the first time the night of that dinner in LA with Joel. That was the first time I..." My cheeks flush.
"Shit, really?" Surprise flares in Mal's eyes.
"You pushed her into his arms." Ethan shakes his head.
"It would have happened either way," I say.
Violet squeezes Ethan. "You're not going to have this attitude about sex with our kids."
"I'm not?" Ethan raises a brow.
"We're going to teach them that sex is a normal, healthy part of life. That it's fine to sleep with anyone, as long as it's consensual and safe," Violet says.
Ethan folds his arms. "Maybe."
"You guys need to decide on the number too?" Mal cocks a brow. "Maybe spitball some names."
"I think two." Ethan flips Mal off. "But I could be convinced to go with one or three."
Violet smiles. "Two is perfect. But Mal is right." She looks to me and mouths sorry.
"It's okay. You two give me hope that love is out there." I take another slurp of my noodles.
Violet and Ethan share a too cute for words look.
"Shit." Ethan shakes his head. "No wonder you two kept talking and sneaking off. Fuck, I can't believe I didn't pick up on it." He looks at me. "Fuck, he must have liked you a lot. I made it pretty clear anybody who touched you would never speak to me again. Forget about staying in the band."
"You're not kicking him out, are you?" My stomach twists. This seems like it's going well, like my brothers are acting sane and reasonable, but that can change.
Violet clears her throat.
"Last I checked, we vote on everything," Ethan says. "Not up to me."
I laugh. "Thanks, Ethan."
He shrugs. "Don't thank me. Thank democracy."
Mal and Ethan share a knowing look. I'm not sure I like it, but I am sure there's nothing I can do about it.
Violet slides closer. "I get it if you want to go to your room and cry your eyes out. Or if you can't bear to talk about this anymore. But if you want to talk about it... maybe you could explain what happened."
I nod. I want that. "Let me start at the beginning."
It takes half an hour, my entire soup, and two cups of coffee, but I manage to explain everything. I skim over the sex, but I include most of the other details—our text flirtation, him rescuing me from Rory's party, the way he made me feel like I mattered, his insistence that we shouldn't, that he wasn't good for me, his insistence that I honor my passion, the last few weeks of just being together, the awful look on his face when he got that call.
The break up.
Violet nods along with every word. Mal and Ethan listen too, but I can tell they're fighting with their desire to go punch Kit for breaking my heart.
Explaining everything helps put my thoughts in order.
It's obvious to me now, what I have to do. "I want to go to San Francisco."
Violet chews on her bottom lip. "I know this hurts, Piper. And it's not fair. But breakups are unilateral decisions. If he wants it to be over, it's over."
"But he doesn't want it to be over," I say.
"Even so. He ended things." Violet's voice is soft, sweet. "I know how you feel, but you need to give him space."
"But what about how you left Ethan? What if he'd never tried to get you back?" I ask.
Violet tilts her head, thinking it over.
"It's not the same," Ethan says. "I forced Vi's hand. She didn't want to leave. It took me a while to figure that out. And she needed that time too. It was good for us."
"Was it?" Violet brow furrows then relaxes. "No, it was. I needed that space."
Okay, that's nice for them. And really, I am happy they're happy. But they don't get it.
"Even if it's over, we're still friends," I say. "Someone needs to be there for Kit."
Mal glances at his phone. "Joel's leaving in a few hours."
"But is Joel going to hold his hand?" I ask.
"You really are as stubborn as your brothers," Violet teases. "I guess it's genetic."
I nod. "If it was Ethan, wouldn't you go?"
"Of course," Violet says.
I look to Ethan. "And if it was her?"
Ethan nods.
Mal looks at me. "You sure? What if you show up and he asks you to leave?"
"Then I'll leave," I say.
"And you'll be okay with that?" he asks.
No, but it's better than doing nothing. It's better than letting my friend take on this burden alone.
I hold Mal's gaze. "I guess I'll have to be okay with that."
Chapter 34
Kit
It's just past three A.M. when I finally get to the hospital. Public transit isn't running this time of night, not that they're of much use for the final third of the airport to suburban hospital journey. My phone is dead. That means no rideshare. Only cabs, and not all of them are willing to go this far out.
Even at this time of night, the emergency room is crowded. There are crying babies, screaming children, and stoic adults staring at each other like all hope is lost.
My father is in a chair in the corner. He looks exactly like he did last time I saw him—must have been the Christmas before last. Same wavy dark hair, same chiseled jaw, same dark eyes. Only difference is he's wearing a suit instead of a sweater.
Anger bubbles in my veins as I move closer. This isn't his fault, not exactly
, but it's not like he's done shit to help Mom.
I hate how glad I am that he's here. I hate that I want him to sit me down and explain that shit is going to be okay.
I hate that part of me believes he can fix this.
My head is so full it's buzzing. The lack of sleep doesn't help. I need to see Mom, then I need to get into a bed. This will all be clearer in the morning.
I cross the lobby and tap my father on the shoulder.
He looks up at me. "Christoper. You're here."
"Yeah." My fingers curl into fists. I try to fight it, but it's useless. My hands are trained to follow their instincts.
"She's not in the ER anymore. She was admitted a few hours ago." He pushes himself up from his chair and nods to the East wing of the hospital. "It's past visiting hours, but we can sneak in for a few minutes."
Of course we can. Dad has the charm and looks to get entry everywhere. That's half the reason why we're here. If he wasn't so good at getting into women's pants—
I know that's not it, not exactly, but I don't have the energy to dive into the nitty gritty.
My head is spinning. I'm fucking tired. Walking straight is taking all my energy.
I need sleep. Or coffee.
Dad moves past me, to the front desk. He smiles at the nurse working admissions, an older woman in pink scrubs. He turns on the charm, whispering something as he shoots her fuck me eyes.
It works. She smiles, nods to the door, and motions one minute.
I shouldn't complain. I'm getting what I want.
Dad motions for me to follow him into the hallway. I do. It's bleak, too white, too bright, too squeaky.
We stop in front of Mom's room. He goes to pull open the door, but I stop him.
"She's asleep." I can see her through the window. She looks peaceful. Calm. High.
He nods. "It's been a rough day."
"Yeah."
"I found her in bed when I got home. She wasn't moving. I called an ambulance, they rushed her here, pumped her stomach." He plants his hand on my shoulder. "Kit, you listening?"
Sort of. My head is still spinning. I nod yeah.
"It wasn't enough to be intentional, but she'll still have to do a psych evaluation in the morning. If they don't rule it a suicide attempt, she'll be out."
I nod. I know the drill. It never happened to me, but I saw enough friends OD to know the fucking drill.
The hall is squeaking again. Those are footsteps. The nurse in the pink scrubs is walking towards us.
She looks at me with pity. "I'm sorry about your mother."
I nod. I don't need her pity. Or her sympathy. I need Mom to give a fuck about this, to care enough to go to rehab and get clean.
But it's not like I can talk. I've been clean for less than a year. I wouldn't bet on my future.
"Your mother is going to be okay for now," the nurse says. "But at the end of the day, if she doesn't stick with rehab, this will eventually kill her."
I nod. Yeah. This is stuff I know.
Dad nods back to the nurse. "Thank you. For everything. We shouldn't take any more of your time."
The nurse smiles, charmed. Then she's offering me a look of sympathy. "Good luck, son."
I turn over the words in my head. "Mom agreed to rehab?" That can't be possible.
"She hasn't been conscious much of the night." He pats me on the shoulder again. "But tomorrow—"
Bullshit, she'll agree tomorrow, but I'm too tired to fight right now. And it's not like he really believes Mom is going to go to rehab, get clean, and stay clean.
"You want to stay, wait for her to wake up?" he offers.
I do. Don't particularly want to talk to him, but I want to stay with mom. I nod. "I'll get coffee."
"It's only the vending machine at this time."
Doesn't matter. "You want anything?"
"Black coffee." He pulls out his cell to make a call.
I don't stay long enough to figure out who it is. I head back to the lobby. It's still crowded, but now it's a blur of faces and noises. None of them make an impression.
There's a pattern on the floor. That doesn't make an impression either.
The coffee machine is around the corner, halfway down the hall. It's the standard machine in every hospital and bus station. It's going to be shit coffee, but I need the energy.
I get two cups of black coffee and move back to the waiting room.
Dad is sitting in that same chair, only now he's sitting up straight.
As I hand off the coffee and sit next to him, I note the signs this is wearing on him. He has dark circles. His eyes eyes are tired. His perfect suit is wrinkled, and his shirt isn't tucked in—that never fucking happens.
He's still a handsome guy, but he looks like he hasn't slept in days.
Probably hasn't.
I probably look worse.
Dad takes a sip of his coffee. "Thanks."
I nod no problem. I don't have anything to say to him.
He motions to my left arm. "New ink?"
"I guess." I got the left sleeve a year ago, but that's new to him.
"It's nice work."
I look at my father and cock a brow. "You would know?"
"I was young once. Made mistakes."
"A tattoo is a mistake now?"
"When I was your age, only bikers and criminals got tattoos."
"And rock stars?"
He chuckles. It's the same deep chuckle I have. "You never see your kid as a rock star. As anything but the little boy who went as a police officer for Halloween."
Last thing I should be is a cop, but I do remember that year. I remember how excited we all were about the costume. Mom and dad took me out trick or treating. And they dressed up in matching princess and Prince Charming costumes.
They loved each other once.
And now he barely gets home in time to catch her ODing.
I'm not holding my breath about Dad helping Mom.
But him rushing here, insisting on staying by her side all night... it means something.
"I'd show you," he says. "But it's on my ass."
I shoot him some side eye. "What is?"
"A skull and crossbones."
"No fucking way."
"Ask your mother." He chuckles. "She was horrified by it. Which was the right call. It's not good work."
"No fucking way," I repeat myself.
He nods.
"When?"
"One night in college, with my buddies. We were drunk and young and stupid." He points to the lines of my sleeve. "This is nice. Intricate. Intentional." His lips curl into a smile. "And I'm sure women like it."
That much is true.
"Not that you ever needed help in that department. Even back in kindergarten, you were a heartbreaker."
"I was not."
He nods. "This girl, Sally, she was in love with you. She told you and you ignored her. She was crushed. Her mom called to try to get you to apologize or explain, but you were too young to understand."
That sounds familiar. Vaguely.
He chuckles. "That was a long time ago."
"Been a long time since you've been around."
His posture stiffens. "It has."
"Is this going to change things?" I'm not holding my breath.
"Maybe. Rehab didn't do much for your mother the first time, but this might be different."
What? "Mom never went to rehab."
"That Christmas when she went to Aspen with her sister."
I shake my head. That was a long time ago, ten years now. But the timeline makes sense. She was sharper after that. For a while, a few months at least.
"I can't say I've been the world's best husband, but I love Linda. I want her to be healthy."
"You could try not rubbing your affairs in her face."
"Your mother and I have an understanding."
Bullshit. He has an understanding. But I'm not interested in this conversation.
Mom went to rehab.
She fucking cared.
She tried.
My head is spinning.
Can't think about this anymore.
I pull out my e-reader. "Gonna finish this book."
Dad nods. "You don't have to wait. I can call you when your mother wakes up."
"I know." But I want to.
It's morning when I give up and take a cab back to my parents' place. The house is as big as I remember it. It's four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a drought-be-damned green lawn, and a pool in the perfect backyard.
And it's the same inside. Same family photos on the walls. Same cozy cloth couches and rustic dining chairs. Same widescreen TV. Same collection of tearjerkers in the bookshelf.
Fuck, my head is heavy. My heart too. Everything is heavy. And it's spinning.
I go straight to the bathroom, my bathroom, strip, and step into the shower. The water pounds my back, neck, head. It's cold at first. Then warmer. Then hot.
It's hot enough to burn, but I do nothing to change the temperature. I need to wash today off. To wash my entire fucking life off.
There's the same shampoo, conditioner, and soap in here. Same as last time I was here, two Christmases ago—was just out of rehab and in no mood to travel last Christmas.
The shower isn't doing it today. It doesn't feel like that warm, comfortable embrace.
I need that.
My thoughts go straight to Piper. To her gorgeous blue eyes and her sweet smile and the way she pushes through her flushed cheeks to ask for what she wants.
I want her here.
Want her in my arms.
That's not happening.
I shake my head as I turn the shower off. I want comfort and I'm thinking of Piper.
Usually, I think about getting high.
I'm sure I could find Mom's stash if I applied myself. Could get out of my head by the end of the hour.
But I don't want that.
I still want to live up to the guy she thinks I am.
Fuck, I'm tired.
I dry off then sling my towel around my hips. Last thing I need is the maid screaming over the naked man in the house. Lord knows how many maids Mom has been through since I was here last.
The hallway is the same. Beige carpet, wedding photos and my grade school artwork on the walls. I still hate the clown I drew in third grade. Not only is it creepy as fuck, it's also shitty. Good for a third grader, sure, but not something that needs to be on the wall.
Dangerous Crush: A Rock Star Romance (Dangerous Noise Book 2) Page 24