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The knock comes again, rattling the door in its jamb. Guess I’ve got to face the music.
I shuffle over and open the door, but it’s not Merrill’s short, bespectacled face greeting me. It’s Serge, looking just as tired as me, but concerned, not broken.
“You good?” he asks, looking me in the eye.
I nod. “I haven’t touched anything.”
He grins and wraps me in a big bear hug. “Attaboy.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy as hell to see him. He’s my best friend and my partner in sobriety. If anyone
can get me through this hell, it’s him. But I don’t know how he managed to cross the entire country since I called him.
He shrugs, looking a little sheepish. “It was only nine thirty on the West Coast when you called. There was a ten forty-five out of LAX and I booked it right away. Four and a half hours later, here I am.”
I shake my head, still not really believing it. “But isn’t this going to be rough for you? Being around all this?”
“Let me worry about me. Are you gonna invite me in, or what?”
It’s only then that I realize we’re both still standing in the doorway and I step back, letting him in.
We head into the living room area of the suite and I put on the coffee pot. We both look like we could use it. Serge sinks into one of the couches and sprawls across it with a groan.
“Man, I swear plane seats get more cramped every time I’m in one.”
I shrug and he laughs.
“Right, you wouldn’t know, would you?”
“It’s been a while,” I admit, pouring us both a mug of black coffee. “Sorry, I don’t have anything to put in it.”
He shrugs. “Gotta be better than the instant shit at the civic center.”
“Jesus, they only give you instant? Remind me to make a donation. That’s a travesty.”
He chuckles and waits for me to take a spot on the other couch before he levels me with that look, and I know we’re about to have a talk I don’t really want to have, even if I need to.
“So, tell me everything that happened.”
I blow out a long breath before launching into the story of Chelsea ambushing me in my dressing room with what she found.
“And it wasn’t yours?”
“Hell no,” I say, too defensive, but Serge just nods and I relax. He actually believes me. It’s so nice to have someone actually be on my side. To actually take me at my word. He accepts me because he knows I’ve got no reason to lie to him. Serge and I have been to the deepest depths of rock bottom together and there’s no shame or judgment between us.
I’m so fucking glad he’s here.
“And this girl? What about her?”
“What about her?”
“Well, is she worth fighting for?”
“That and more,” I say. “I’m in love with her, man. I can’t… The thought of not having her…” My voice cracks and I choke back tears. We may have been through some shit together, but Serge doesn’t need to see me bawling my eyes out at sunrise.
“All right,” he says, conviction in his tone. “Then we need to find out how the hell that shit got in your bag.”
“I don’t know. It seems weird, doesn’t it?”
