“I’ll call him. I’ll find out how he’s doing and let you know.”
“I’d appreciate that, but just so you know, he lies. He’s a junkie and junkies lie.”
“Dillon—”
“It’s true. He’ll tell you everything is fine and the bastard will actually make you believe it.”
“Still, someone should talk to him. I’ll call.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” She paused before she went on. “This won’t be forever, Dillon. When you see him again, I’m sure you’ll find some middle ground, even if it’s not like it was before.”
“I’m not seeing him again.”
“Sure you are. You’ll have to when you go back into the studio and—”
“We’re not.”
“What?”
“Recording. No plans to record another album, no plans for another tour, no shows, no appearances. Right now, Outlaw Rovers is dead in the water.”
Justine took a deep breath. “It’s just a bump. Once Ash gets straightened out, everything will be fine.”
“And how do I get him to do that? I talked to him. The guys talked to him. I walked out on him and none of it seems to matter.”
“Dillon—”
He exhaled hard. “Sorry. I shouldn’t unload on you like this. It’s not your problem.”
“But I’m your friend. So yeah, you should unload. I want you to tell me everything.”
“I’m tired of talking about it. Tired of thinking about it. Tell me about you instead.”
Justine thought about her life right now— the luxury SUV currently driving her to the hotel, where she’d have the best suite available, the concert later tonight with thousands of screaming fans, the TV appearance she had booked tomorrow, the photo shoot for a magazine happening the day after, and beautiful Ian back in a hotel room in Las Vegas, probably calling her any minute.
“I’m fine,” she said simply. “Everything’s fine.”
He chuckled. “You sure have a lot going on in your life these days to describe it as just ‘fine’.”
“Okay,” she relented, smiling. “Things are great. Kind of crazy, but great. The tour is selling really well. So well they’re sending me out on my own as soon as we finish in September. The second single did better than the first, everything’s good news.”
“And what about you? I know it can be intense when things start to take off. Are you doing okay?”
“Really good. Sometimes I can’t believe this is my life. I mean, the schedule is brutal. It makes it hard to keep…” She almost mentioned Ian, and then stopped herself, although she had no idea why. There was no reason not to tell Dillon about him. He’d probably be glad she found someone.
“Hard to keep what?” he pressed.
“Relationships,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “I’m seeing someone and he’s based in New York. It’s hard.”
The silence that stretched out on the phone lasted long enough to make her feel uncomfortable. She cursed silently. She knew she shouldn’t have said anything. Although there was no reason for Ian to make things weird between them, her gut told her that it would. And now it seemed she was right.
Dillon cleared his throat. “You’re seeing someone?”
“Yeah… um, Ian Blackwell. Do you remember him? He came out to interview you guys for Spin two years ago.”
“Ian.” Dillon said, letting it hang there.
“Yeah, Ian.”
“Wait— is he the guy… that night…?”
“Yeah, I met him then. We had a little… thing.”
“Since then?” Dillon said in a near whisper.
“No, no. We lost touch after that. I didn’t see him again until last month. He interviewed me for Spin, too.”
“So it’s serious then?”
Justine thought back to saying goodbye to Ian that morning, his gorgeous sleep-softened face, the way he played with her fingers as he suggested coming out to spend time on the road with her, the near admission at the end that he wanted more with her.
“Um, it hasn’t been all that long,” she caged. “Right now we’re just having a good time.”
“Well— I hope he’s good to you,” Dillon finally said.
Justine exhaled. He seemed fine with it after all. He was probably just surprised, and she was too conditioned from months of hoping for him to care like that. In reality, there was nothing between them but friendship and nothing for either of them to feel weird about.
“He is. You don’t need to worry about me, Dillon.”
“I always will, though.” And his words felt different, not the usual way they told each other they cared. It felt almost like he was trying to tell her something else, something more. She shook her head. He was an emotional wreck after the fight with Ash. He was feeling lonely. That’s all it was.
“I know you will. And you know I’ll always worry about you.”
“That means more to me than you’ll ever know,” he said with a sigh. And once again, it sounded like there was more to those words. But since she couldn’t read his mind or read between the lines, she let it go. He needed her to be a friend now and that’s what she’d be. She was very good at that.
After she got settled in her hotel and the requisite phone calls had been made, email had been checked, schedule had been gone over, and questions had been answered, she closed herself in the bedroom and called Ash. It nearly went to voicemail before he picked up, sounding half-asleep.
“Well, well, well, it’s Superstar Girl.” Despite his obviously wrecked state, she could hear the teasing and humor in his voice and it made her smile in spite of herself.
“Hi, Ash. How are you?”
“Not too bad, when I can clear out the hordes of adoring fans and get a decent night’s sleep. You know how it is. It’s hard at the top.”
Remembering Dillon’s words, how badly the band was doing right now, Ash’s joking flippancy almost hurt. As much as she wanted to play along with him and let him joke his way through the conversation, that wasn’t why she called, so she cut right to the chase.
“I talked to Dillon. He told me what happened.”
Ash sighed. When he spoke again, the charming jester was gone, and his voice was hard. “Yeah? He told you he walked out on me?”
“Yes. And he told me why.”
Ash said nothing, but she could hear him breathing heavily through the phone.
“Ash, you gotta fix this.”
“Leave it, Justine. I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’re losing everything that ever mattered to you. You need help.”
“I said I’m fine! I’ve been using to relieve some stress. It’s nothing I can’t handle. Dillon’s blowing it way out of proportion because he’s a control freak.”
“And what about JD and Rocky? Because they’re freaked, too. Everybody loves you and they’re scared.”
“I’m okay, Princess. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“I am worried. You and Dillon aren’t speaking. Ash, that’s— after everything you guys have been through, for it to come to this, things must be really bad.”
He blew his breath out in a gust. Maybe she was imagining it, but she could feel his sadness. Losing Dillon was hurting him, however he was trying to spin it now. “Okay, Beautiful,” he finally said, the suave lilt back in his voice again, “if it will make you stop worrying, I’ll quit the hard stuff.”
“You’ll go to rehab?”
“I don’t need rehab.” The facade cracked for just a second and she could hear the edge in his voice again. “I can quit it any time I want, angel. I’m not some junkie, despite what Dillon might have told you. Maybe I got a little carried away, but if it gets everybody off my back, I’ll lay off.”
Liar. She pressed her eyes closed against the sudden burn of tears. Dillon was so right. Junkies lied.
“You promise?” she finally forced out.
“Cross my heart and hope to die. I can’t have yo
u worrying about me, Sweetness. You’ll get premature wrinkles and ruin your career.”
She chuckled in spite of how miserable she felt. “Well, if the threat of my wrinkles is what it takes, then fine. Do it for my face. I’m counting on you.”
He laughed, sounding tired and so far away. “Anything for you, my queen. And hey, Justine?”
“Yeah?”
“I really am proud of you. I knew you would set the world on fire. Didn’t I tell you so?”
Now she was crying in earnest, but she swiped at her cheeks and kept her voice steady. “You did. Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Nah,” he sighed. “You never needed me. Just come out with me the next time you hit LA and buy me a drink and we’ll call it even.”
“Deal.”
“Besides, I want to be seen behind the velvet rope with the hottest woman in rock. It’s good for my street cred. We’ll start scandalous rumors and drive Dillon insane with jealousy.”
She laughed weakly. She knew she’d failed in trying to reach him, but she wanted to leave things in a good place, and with Ash, joking always worked. “You could have your way with me on the bar and Dillon wouldn’t care. It’s not like that.”
Ash was silent for a moment. “So that’s what you think, huh?”
“That’s what I know.”
He made a little sound in his throat and then went quiet for a minute. “Hey, do you remember when I told you we needed to become friends because we shared him now?”
“I remember that.”
“Well, he’s all yours now, Justine. So take good care of him, okay?”
“Ash, wait a minute—”
“Hey, I’ve got some stuff I gotta do. I’ll talk to you soon, okay, angel?”
And then he was gone.
August 2010
When the phone call came, Dillon wasn’t even surprised. It wasn’t Jon Verlaine. He’d moved on and cleaning up the wreckage left by Outlaw Rovers wasn’t part of his job description. Instead, it was some mid-level junior exec who Dillon had never met. The call woke him up and he was massively hung-over, so he said very little. There wasn’t anything to say, really. The stumbling, stuttering young kid explained in formal, stilted language he was clearly reading from a legal document on his desk that Nightfall was choosing to terminate its contract with Outlaw Rovers, as was their option, outlined in Chapter 5, Paragraph 27, Subitem 3 in the contract he’d signed. They were free to seek new representation but all distribution rights to works recorded while with Nightfall remained in the possession of Nightfall, with all attendant royalties to be distributed as per the rider to the contract dated June 27, 2009…
Dillon stopped listening after the first few words, but he let the guy finish his little speech, because it was a shitty call to have to make and he didn’t want to make it worse for him. When he finally finished, he asked Dillon if he had any questions.
“No questions,” he rasped, and ended the call. The bottle of whiskey from the night before was thankfully not yet empty and still on the floor next to the bed. He reached for it and took several long pulls, until the burn of it washed away the phone call, Ash, the yawning chasm of the rest of his life, and everything else he couldn’t bear to face. He kept drinking until he sank back into sleep and left it all behind.
December 2010
Justine dropped her carry-on bag and fell backwards on the couch. A whole glorious week back home in LA. Months of non-stop travel and performances had left her exhausted, mentally and physically. The solo tour was a hit, but it was exhausting, and her brief hiatus until after Christmas was just what she needed. A week of nothing to do but sleep and recharge. Ian was due to arrive from New York in a few days, so she’d have Christmas and several uninterrupted days with him, too.
Before she could fully relax, though, she was going to track down Dillon and find out what was going on with him. He’d finally answered one of her emails.
Hey, sorry I’ve been out of touch. Just taking a break after all the bullshit. I’ll call soon.
Except that he hadn’t called soon or answered any of her follow-up emails. She understood that he was probably in a bad place after being dropped from the label, and talking to her wasn’t likely to make him feel better about things, since Nightfall was now her label and Jon Verlaine was her A&R man. Still, she just needed to see him and make sure he was okay. Then she’d let him crawl back into his hole for a while and lick his wounds, if that’s what he wanted.
It was too late to call him tonight. She’d flown home immediately after her last appearance, not wanting to spend one more unnecessary night in a hotel, even though home these days was sort of a loose concept. She’d bought the new house on a brief trip back to LA at the end of the summer, when the second single went platinum and she felt secure enough about the money to take the plunge. She and Emily had consulted online about furniture choices and Emily and her mother had come down for a week to set it up and get it livable. She’d come through town twice for brief weekend stays, but that was the full extent of the time she’d spent in her new place. This week would finally give her a chance to settle in.
Shoving off the couch and ignoring the fatigue working its way through her body, she headed into the kitchen to see what she had to drink. She was just popping the top on a beer she found in the fridge—Emily’s favorite kind— when her phone rang. Hoping it was Ian saying he was coming sooner, she frantically dug it out of her bag. She missed the call by seconds and cursed softly. Especially when she saw who it was—Dillon. Finally.
Hitting “redial” she turned to the cabinets to see if Emily had left her any food to go with the beer.
“Justine.” Dillon’s voice hauled her up short.
“Dillon? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Ash. He’s at Cedars-Sinai.”
The blood drained out of her face and she fumbled blindly to the side to set the beer bottle down before she dropped it. “Wh-what happened?”
“He OD’d. It’s… Jesus, Justine, it’s not good.”
She sucked in a deep breath of air, trying to get her heart to beat again, because it felt like it stopped. “Where are you now?”
“Here, with him.”
“I’m on my way.”
“I can’t ask you to leave the tour—”
“I’m in LA. I just got back. I’ll be there in half an hour.”
Dillon’s voice was nothing but a raw whisper when he finally replied. “Thank you.”
Throwing her keys at the valet at Cedars, she sprinted through the entrance marked “Emergency.”
She accosted the first nurse she came across. “My friend is in the waiting room. How do I find him?” The woman’s eyes widened slightly when she recognized Justine, but thankfully she pulled it together quickly.
“The waiting room for the ER is straight down this hallway and on the left. Here, I’ll take you.”
“No, that’s okay,” she shouted over her shoulder as she raced down the hall to find Dillon.
He was there in the waiting room, sitting on the couch, head bowed and hands laced behind his head.
“Dillon.”
He looked up and she knew before he said a word. His haggard face, his empty eyes, said it all. Ash was already gone.
Ash was buried on a Wednesday. LA was as relentlessly sunny and perfect as it always was, taking no notice of the fact that Ash Thoren’s star had just flamed out.
Justine picked up Dillon that morning. He’d pulled himself together a little, shaving, putting on a dark suit, but he looked terrible and she was worried sick about him. JD and Rocky made it back to LA and stood with them at the graveside, awkward, miserable and unspeakably sad. Ash’s mother had come, supported by her Latin lover boyfriend, who was closer to Ash’s age than hers. Dillon avoided her, so Justine did, too. His father wasn’t there, that she could see.
The graveside was packed with people. None of them had been there with Ash at the end of his life, but they all knew and mou
rned him now. There was a lurid fascination with his story— the beautiful, gifted rock star who couldn’t handle the fame and set fire to himself trying. Now all these people wanted to stand around and weep for the tragedy of it all when none of them had been there trying to stop him. Justine kept her eyes on Dillon to avoid getting angry. After all, it wasn’t a new story in Hollywood. It had happened before and would happen again, which was cold comfort.
Ian had offered to move his flight up and come, but she didn’t want the first time she introduced him to Dillon as her boyfriend to be at Ash’s funeral. He’d arrive at the end of the week as originally planned, and she was oddly grateful to have this day alone with the remaining Outlaw Rovers. It felt right. Well, as right as anything could on such a wrong day.
The service was like bad theatre, lines read from a script that had nothing to do with real life. How could all those trite sentiments about a life cut short have anything to do with Ash, with the manic, troublesome enigma he was? The minister had never met him, so he couldn’t know about Ash’s intense magnetism, the way he made you fall in love with him even as you hated him. He’d never seen Ash strut across a stage holding the beating hearts of thirty thousand people in the palm of his hand. He hadn’t been there to see Ash attack a song the same way he attacked his life, with all the passion and energy he possessed. All he knew was this glossy steel box and the cautionary tale it contained. When it was over, everyone came to shake hands with the band and then they disappeared to discuss the tragedy in rapt tones over brunch, deconstructing Ash for an afternoon’s entertainment.
Finally, they were alone. Rocky slid an arm around Justine’s shoulders and squeezed. “This wasn’t the way to say goodbye to him. What do you say we hit a bar and raise a glass?”
JD shrugged. “It’s what Ash would have done.”
“It’s what Ash did do,” Dillon said.
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