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One morning, after I’d shot up for the third or fourth time, I woke up in the back of Rhys’s truck, and saw the gleaming crystal waters of a lake. We were in Montana, us and three other guys, on our way to a gig two days later, with time to spare, so we stopped. The sun glinted off the water and I stood up in the truck bed, feeling a bit mossy, but fine. Nothing like a hangover. Nothing like snorting, or pills. Just a little floaty. Fine.
I stood, and I spun in a slow circle, my arms out to the sun and the wind and the flat of the land. And when I looked, it was like I could see the entire world, stretching away from me in every direction. Standing there, I was at the center. I mattered. The music mattered. Rhys and our friends mattered.
I wanted to be at the center of my own life again. I wanted to matter. For the music to matter. I wanted all of it. And I wanted it with Theo.
I grabbed some of the stuff from Matty’s bag and started making a cake. I needed to think, but I needed something to do with my damn hands that wasn’t smoking. It seemed like almost everyone I knew in recovery had at least a pack-a-day habit. But if I was going to try and do this again, then I needed my voice. Besides, a tiny voice in the back of my mind added, Theo would kick your ass if you got lung cancer.
I made the box of vanilla cake with only one minor incident of the cakes sticking to the counter because apparently I needed some kind of rack. I felt calmer, just seeing something I’d made sitting on a plate in front of me. So I made the other box of cake, a chocolate one. And I stacked them all together—chocolate, vanilla, chocolate, vanilla—using both tubs of frosting, until I had a very tall, slightly wobbly cake. I swiped my finger through the frosting and ate it, but the chemical bite of the sugar was too much.
I’d take beignets over boxed cake any day.
I ate some more of the Sour Patch Kids, the roof of my mouth raw from them long before the sweetness came. And I knew what I had to do.
If I wanted to make a life with all the things I loved at the center, then I needed a way to get Theo back.
* * *
—
The traffic coming into the city had been terrible and my nerves were frayed by the time I found a place to park about five blocks away from Huey’s, and I sank down at the bar with a huge sigh.
“Whit.” Huey nodded solemnly at me. Too solemnly.
“Did, uh. Did Rhys call you?”
Huey froze. It would’ve been imperceptible if I didn’t know him so well, but I saw it.
“No. Should he have?”
“Oh. No. What’s up?”
He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, biceps bulging over his broad chest.
“What’s up with you, kid?”
“Is this like that ‘Who’s on first’ thing you think is funny?”
Huey raised his middle finger at me mildly, and got me a ginger ale, saying nothing. I sighed.
“I didn’t stumble. I just had a bad week, that’s all. I had Rhys come and take my truck. Thought he might call you to try and babysit me or something.”
Relief flashed over Huey’s face and he squeezed my forearm.
“Nah, but he should’ve.”
I shrugged. If Rhys didn’t call Huey, that meant he wasn’t that worried. That he thought I’d be okay. A small flame of satisfaction kindled in my stomach.
“Wait, then why did you look all grim when I walked in?”
“Not grim,” Huey said, frowning deeply, and I smiled. “I just heard the news about your boy and I wasn’t sure if there was some…scandal or whatever you musician types get up to.”
“News? What news? Scandal? What?”
Huey narrowed his eyes. “About him leaving the band.”
At my silence and wide eyes, Huey dug his phone out of his pocket, tapped on something, and slid it over to me. There, in the arts and leisure section, was Theo, his silvery-blue eyes, rimmed in kohl, staring out at me, beautiful and haunting.
“Reluctant Rock Star Rends Riven,” the headline announced. My heart was pounding and I skimmed the article for quotes. “I love my bandmates. I love the music we’ve made together. I loved being a part of Riven. But now it’s time for me to make something on my own,” Theo had said. And, “I’ve been so unimaginably lucky to get to do what I love for a living. I hope fans might still want to listen to my music in the future.” And, in response to the interviewer’s hopeful question, “Is there discord in the band?”: “No, no way. I just have things I need to do alone—or, I don’t know, maybe not alone. I hope not.”
