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Carter threw his coffee cup across the room, breathing hard and watching as it shattered, and the dark liquid ran down the wall.
None of us moved.
This was classic addict behavior.
We were expecting him to freak out.
Two weeks in rehab wasn’t nearly enough time, but it would hopefully be the kickstart he needed to get us through the summer. Then we’d work on sending him back for an extended stint. Short-term, we didn’t have a lot of options. Legally, we could replace him in Europe, but it wouldn’t be the same. Carter was magic on the bass—he was a big part of our sound and fans loved him. When he was healthy and performing at the top of his game, he was both a talented musician and an enigmatic performer. When he wasn’t, it was a nightmare.
“This is bullshit.” Carter glared at us. “This is the first time I screwed up in a really long fucking time. I’m not some kid you get to order around.”
“You asked us to do this,” I reminded him. “It’s not like babysitting you is fun.”
“Then don’t fucking do it.”
“If we hadn’t been, the show last night would’ve been canceled and we would’ve been out a few hundred K,” Ross said.
“Fuck you.” Carter headed for the door, but Kellan got there first, blocking his path.
“Don’t make this into a full-blown intervention,” Kellan said quietly. “If we have to call your lawyer, you know it’ll be ugly.”
“Leave him out of it,” Carter snapped.
“Then go sit down.”
The two of them eyed each other as long seconds ticked by.
Finally, it was Carter who backed down.
“Where are you sending me?” he asked, resting his forearms on his thighs. It was like the fight had magically drained out of him and now he was just tired. “Malibu?”
“That’s where you were last time. You liked it there.”
“Food was good,” he agreed.
“So you’ll go?” Ross asked.
“Doesn’t look like I have a choice.” He shrugged.
“Hey, you could always talk to my mother about her spending instead,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
He grimaced, since he knew all about my current issues with my mother.
“No thanks. I’ll stick to rehab.” He gave me a half-hearted thumb’s up, and I prayed we were doing the right thing. It didn’t feel like it, but nothing felt right anymore. Not in a long time, but especially not since Minneapolis.
12
Presley
No no no no.
I stared at the pregnancy test in horror.
This couldn’t be happening.
It had been exactly five weeks since I’d slept with Zeke.
Two weeks since I’d started feeling queasy.
