“How?”
He paused.
It was easy to say never again after a life-threatening event. He probably even meant it in the moment. But I’d known people in addiction before, and stopping was the easy bit. Not going back was the hardest part, and that required a plan.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
“We can do some research together, if you want. But you have to do it for you,” I said, stepping out of his arms now that I had something to focus on.
“How about I do it for you today, and work on doing it for me tomorrow,” he compromised with a small tilt of his lips.
“Deal.”
I needed to talk to Ruby. She’d know how to go about finding someone to help with Toby’s detox, and maybe there was some kind of rehab we could do remotely.
Or maybe we needed to cancel the tour to get him healthy.
The first step would be cutting off his supply. I glanced at the syringe. How can something that looked so medical be so destructive?
“For fuck’s sake, Otis. Dry out and take a shower. We have a show tonight.”
Calix’s grumpy voice filtered in from the front of the bus. Tobias stiffened in my arms.
I understood his reaction. Their blow up this morning had been awful, add to it that Tobias had promised…
“Who gave you the drugs?” The question came out with more accusation than I’d meant it to, but I distinctly remembered Calix saying Toby promised not to use needles. If that was Calix’s boundary, there wouldn’t be a single person on tour unaware of the rule, which meant…
“I’m going to kill her.”
“What the fuck is going on in here?” Calix stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over the position Toby and I stood in, the yellow case tossed haphazardly on the floor, and the syringe in the basin. His face darkened, but I didn’t have time for his tantrum because I’d fixed my sights on a permanent solution to the problem.
Without another word, I stormed out of the bus, focused on a gathering of people on the other side of the parking lot.
“Hey, Tatum, what’s up?” Brock, Blood Dirt’s drummer, asked as I stomped past.
I didn’t acknowledge him because the target of my fury had just stepped into sight. Wrapped in red leather and balanced on six-inch stilettos, Lainey looked like any red-blooded man’s fantasy. Without hesitation, I stepped up into her space and drove my fist into her face with a satisfying crunch.
Maybe I should have felt bad for the sucker punch, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins just chanted loudly to hit her again.
“What the fuck?” she squealed, cupping her eye and backing away from me.
Strong arms banded around my waist, hauling me off my feet as I cocked my arm for the next punch.
“You fucking cunt. You almost killed him.”
“I didn’t do shit.”
Brock’s fucking caveman arm tightened around me as I lunged for her.
“Let me go! No needles. Everyone knows the rule. You sold him shit that almost killed him. I’m taking that out of your ass. No one hurts my band.”
Brock’s hold tightened until my ribs creaked, and I wheezed in pain. I whipped an elbow back, then grunted in frustration as he caught it easily.
“Take your hands off her right now.” The voice was cold. Menacing in a way that shouldn’t have made my heart skip a beat. He stood close enough to take matters into his own hands if Brock didn’t listen. Tobias stood half a step behind him, pale but alive.
“She’s trying to kill my bassist.”
“I haven’t decided yet whether I’ll let her.” Calix’s eyes were fixed on Brock’s arm around my waist, and after a moment, his grip loosened enough for me to wriggle free.
