Kei came back a minute later. Alone. Face blank. "Sent her down with security. Gave her cab money."
I shrugged. "She'll live."
Kei didn't answer. Just walked to the window, stared out at the city.
Jake broke the silence. "We gotta talk about this, man."
"No, we don't."
"Yeah, we do." He stepped closer. "You're spiraling again. Same shit every tour stop. Party till you black out, fuck someone random, kick 'em out crying. Rinse. Repeat. You think we don't see it?"
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine," Holland cut in. "You were supposed to be clean six months. You promised."
"I am clean. Mostly."
"Mostly?" Jake laughed, bitter. "You snorted something last night. I saw the baggie."
"Relax. It was one night."
"One night turns into two. Two turns into a bender. Then we're back in rehab pulling you out of a hotel bathtub. Again."
I rubbed my face. "I got this."
"You don't," Kei said quietly. First words since he got back. "You never do."
I shot him a look. He didn't flinch.
Holland leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Look, tonight's huge. Vegas. Home crowd. Sold out. We can't have you half-dead on stage."
"I won't be."
"You will if you don't sleep," Jake said. "You look like shit."
"Thanks."
"Get your head straight, Cal," Holland said. "Or we're gonna have to make decisions. For the band."
Threat hung there. Quiet. Real.
I stared at the floor. Carpet pattern blurred. "Fine. I'll sleep."
Jake exhaled. "Thank fuck."
They talked setlist for a minute, same as last show, maybe swap the encore track. Soundcheck at four. No press. No after-party bullshit. Straight to stage.
Then they started filing out.
Jake clapped my shoulder. "Nap. For real."
Holland nodded. "We got you, man. Just... don't fuck it up."
Kei stayed last. Door open, hand on the frame.
"Call your mom," he said. "She's blown up my phone too. Worried."
I rolled my eyes, fell back onto the bed. Sheets still warm from the girl. "She's always worried."
