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Ryder sighed, running a hand through his hair. “He’s been … off lately. We’re all worried about him, but he keeps pushing us away.”
“Seems like Knox is trying to help, though,” I observed, glancing at the door again.
“Knox is probably the only one who can get through to him right now,” Sid admitted, taking a long sip of his coffee.
As breakfast came to an end, my thoughts kept drifting back to Ghost. Despite the laughter and camaraderie around the table, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. I wanted to talk to him, to help in any way I could, but he remained elusive all day.
I decided not to go to sound check, fearing my presence might upset Ghost before the concert. Instead, I retreated to my hotel room, immersing myself in research and notes as I tried to come up with a new angle for my story — one that wouldn’t exploit or hurt anyone involved.
After what felt like hours of fruitless brainstorming, I threw myself onto the bed in frustration. A mental image of Ghost haunted me, his disheveled state at breakfast a stark reminder of the pain hiding beneath the surface of his enigmatic persona. My heart ached for him, and I knew I couldn’t betray his trust by using his story for my own gain. I wasn’t willing to hurt him or the band for the sake of my career. They had all welcomed me into their inner circle, and I owed them better than that.
The concert was electric. Ghost’s raw energy and charisma filled the arena as he commanded the stage, pouring out his soul with every note. Despite my lingering concern for him, I couldn’t help but be swept away by the magic of the performance.
But after the final encore, things took a dark turn. With each drink Ghost consumed at the after-party, he grew louder and more reckless, flirting shamelessly with anything that moved. My heart clenched at the sight of him spiraling out of control, the pain I’d seen in his eyes earlier that day now buried beneath a thick layer of bravado and alcohol.
“Hey, Knox,” I said, approaching him with a worried look. “Do you think we should get him out of here?”
“Way ahead of you,” he replied, nodding at Bishop, Ghost’s towering security guard.
Bishop took hold of Ghost’s arm. “Come on, Ghost. We should get you back to the hotel before things get out of hand.”
Together, Bishop and Knox began maneuvering him through the crowd toward the exit.
“Fine!” Ghost growled, finally surrendering to their persistence with a scowl. “But I’m not done partying!”
“Of course not,” Knox muttered sarcastically. Worried about him, I fell into step beside them, determined to offer whatever support I could.
“Remi,” Knox said, glancing back at me as he reached the door. “I’m not sure you should come.”
I hesitated for a moment. “I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
Outside, a car was waiting. I shivered in the cool night air as Bishop and Knox wrangled Ghost into the back seat of the car.
Knox closed the door and then saw me standing there. “Go back to the party. He’ll be fine. I’ll make sure.”
“Is he upset with me?” I blurted out.
Knox sunk his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I’m not going to talk to you, Remi. You’re a reporter and this is private. You could really damage him with what you report.”
If Ghost was acting this way because of me, I had to know. “Is this about his step-brother? I’m so sorry I asked him about that. I’m not going to mention it at all in the media package. I don’t want to hurt him; I don’t want to hurt any of you.”
Knox’s voice was thick with concern. “Ghost is terrified that you’re going to dig up his past and publish all the dark stuff about him. He thinks you’re just another vulture waiting to pick at his scars for a juicy story.”
“God, no,” I breathed, appalled by the idea. “That’s not what I want at all. I’m here to write about the band, not hurt him or anyone else.”
And I wasn’t. Not now. My stomach churned with disgust and shame at how close I’d come to doing exactly that. Even if I’d felt conflicted, I’d still been digging into the band’s past to see if I could uncover a ghost no matter what kind of pain that ghost unearthed for the band.
Knox wavered with uncertainty. Finally, he replied, “Good, because he doesn’t need any more pain in his life.”
“Let me go with you.” My resolve hardened. “I want to assure him that I would never betray him like that.”
The car ride back to the hotel was filled with an oppressive silence, broken only by Ghost’s shallow breaths as he lay slumped in the back seat, his head resting against the window. I couldn’t help but watch him, my heart aching at the sight of this once vibrant man reduced to a shell of his former self.
The tension in the air was palpable as we pulled up to the hotel. Knox and Bishop managed to hoist Ghost out of the car, his limbs limp and heavy. They half-carried, half-dragged him to his room, trying their best not to draw attention from any curious onlookers. Ghost groaned as they eased him onto the bed, his body limp and vulnerable.
“Let’s try to sober him up,” Knox suggested, grabbing a bottle of water from the minibar. “Remi, can you help me sit him up?”
“Sure,” I said, moving to Ghost’s side and gently lifting his upper body. Together, Knox and I worked on getting him to drink some water, his hazy eyes staring blankly ahead.
