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Kasen’s shoulders sag. “We’re not dating. She’s my dealer.”
Miles stands so fast, his chair tips over. Without a word, he grabs his coat and storms out of my house. Tristan, Robbie, and I all exchange a glance, clearly worried about him, but Kasen needs us more right now. He’s falling apart, tears now streaming down his face and his hands shaking in his lap.
“I can kick it on my own. It’s not that bad yet. I only used it a couple of times.”
“You just said you’d go to rehab,” Robbie gently reminds him, and I’ve never been so grateful for him because I’m struggling to be the leader right now. Looking at Kasen is reminding me too much of my mom’s breakdowns when she swore she was done and would get clean. She did, but only for short bouts of time. It never lasted, and I don’t think it’ll last with Kasen either. There are too many temptations in our world for him to do this on his own.
Kasen shakes his head, like I suspected he would. He didn’t really mean it when he said he’d go to rehab. He said it because he knew that’s what we wanted to hear.
He’s a drug addict in the throes of it. And if there’s anything my mom taught me it’s that addicts lie, even to the ones they love.
The hours pass, and Miles doesn’t return. Kasen continues to go back and forth between agreeing to rehab and saying he can do it on his own. Robbie, whose heart is bigger than his brain, offers to help him through his withdrawals and make sure he gets back on his feet. He doesn’t realize that’s a futile attempt. Kasen is beyond our simple help. He needs more. He needs a professional. But arguing won’t change things. Kasen needs to want help or else it’ll be a waste of time, just like his last round of rehab.
Tristan is quiet through most of this, which isn’t exactly surprising—my brother isn’t a big talker—but I still worry about him. He was old enough to remember Mom when she was like this, and if it’s affecting me, I’m sure it’s affecting him. He helps Kasen into Robbie’s car and then leaves with just a simple hug. I don’t know where he’s going, and I don’t ask. I probably should, but Tris deals with things in his own way, usually between the legs of a willing woman or writing a song that will end up breaking all our hearts and being a chart-topping hit.
I collapse on my couch, feeling like the weight of the whole damn world is on my chest. I check the time on my phone and make a snap decision to go to Becka’s. It’s late, but not too late. She should still be up. I send her a text to make sure. I’m not going to be great company, but I need her. I need her soothing voice and hands. I need her warmth so I don’t feel so lost and helpless like I do sitting in my big house all by myself.
Becka responds almost immediately telling me to come over. She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I’m in my car and heading to her place without a second thought.
She opens the door and immediately opens her arms inviting me in for a hug. I wrap her in my arms and hold her tight against me feeling all my worries ease while I hold her close. I’m not sure how long we stand there in our embrace, but she doesn’t rush me. Her small hands slide up and down my back in soothing motions, and my shoulders eventually drop from their tense position by my ears.
When we finally break from our hug, she pulls me inside her condo. “Want anything to drink?”
I shake my head. “I just want to hold you.”
Her smile is soft as she climbs onto the couch and cuddles up next to me. We lie there together, not talking, just touching. I slide my fingers through her silky brown hair, feeling immensely grateful that I was able to fix things between us because this is exactly what I needed.
Eventually I break the silence. “How’d it go with Will?” She tenses slightly in my arms, and my body tightens up bracing for more bad news.
“I couldn’t tell him,” she whispers. She tilts her head where it’s resting on my chest so that she can look me in the eyes. “He broke up with Gina.” That takes me by surprise. They seemed so happy at our concert.
“He was a mess when I got there. I’ve never seen him like that, and I couldn’t tell him our happy news when he’s so miserable.”
I want to believe her, but a part of me is worried she’s not telling him because she doesn’t think this will last. Maybe I’m just feeling exceptionally raw after the day I’ve had, but urgency spreads through me. Am I the only one who’s one hundred percent invested in us?
“Where do you see our relationship going?” I ask.
She sits up slightly and stares at me, her eyes darting between mine. I’m not sure what she’s looking for, and I’m too emotionally drained to hide what I’m feeling, so I don’t.
She brushes her thumb over my cheek like I’ve done so many times to her and then cups my jaw. “I’m in this, Trent. For the long haul. I’m going to tell Will. I know it’s important to both of us that he knows. I just didn’t want to add to his plate. I’ve really never seen him that bad before. His house was a disaster, and there were beer cans everywhere.” She wrinkles her nose. “And he stunk like he hadn’t showered in days. Will’s not a vain guy, but he’s always been clean. Who I saw tonight was not my brother.” She stares intently in my eyes. “I promise I’ll tell him once he’s not such a mess.”
“Okay.”
There’s nothing else to say. I have to trust her, and her eyes are shining with sincerity, not the insecurities I’ve seen in the past. I let it go, and we spend the rest of the night cuddled up on her couch until we both fall asleep. I’m so emotionally drained I expect to sleep deeply, but instead I wake up often throughout the night, pulling Becka a little tighter against me each time until she’s practically draped on top of me. She hums softly and nuzzles her face against my chest, which eases some of the tightness in my body. By the time the sun starts to rise, my lids close heavily, and sleep consumes me, my last thought about Becka and how thankful I am that at least everything with us is fine.
29
The past month has gone by in a blur of prep for the release of the Rapturous Intent documentary, and I’ve felt like the worst sister because I’ve barely been able to check on Will. He started seeing his therapist again, which was a huge relief, but I still feel like I’ve failed him a little bit. Not to mention I still haven’t told him about Trent, even though I’m feeling better than ever about our relationship. So when Will called me asking if I was free this afternoon, I made sure my schedule was cleared so I could get lunch with him.
I walk into my favorite restaurant in Santa Monica and immediately see my brother at a table near one of the front windows. I make my way through the nearly empty tables, grateful there aren’t too many people here who might potentially recognize him. That’s the downside of being related to someone mildly famous—we almost always get interrupted whenever we go out by someone asking for an autograph.
Although I suppose it’s a blessing that I’m already used to that since it’s a million times worse whenever Trent and I go out, even with his bodyguard running interference. Which is probably why he prefers to spend most of our time inside, which doesn’t bother me in the slightest since that almost always leads to sexy times.
Shaking my head in an attempt to clear my suddenly dirty thoughts, I get to the table at the same time that Will stands up to greet me with a hug. He looks so much better than the last time I saw him in person. His eyes are clear instead of vacant and haunted. His smile is present, albeit reserved, and he even looks healthier—his skin has a healthy glow about it instead of the sickly pallor he was sporting after he broke up with Gina.
“Thanks for coming,” he says.
“Are you kidding? I feel terrible that it’s taken us so long to get together. Work has been insane. We have that huge documentary releasing next week, and it’s been nonstop PR.” I don’t mention that I’ve also spent every spare moment wrapped up in Trent. “So, how are you? You look a lot better than last time I saw you.”
