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Tate opens the door and is shoved to the side as Gregg forces his way into the house. He groans to himself and shuts the door then follows Gregg into the living room. His friend comes to a stop and looks around the open plan space. He slowly steps around the dozens of people sitting on the floor and on the expensive couches. He stops under the mezzanine level, grimacing when he sees yet more bodies upstairs. He turns around, grabs Tate by the arm, and leads him back outside.
‘Who the fuck are all those people?’
Tate shrugs. ‘Not sure.’
‘Excuse me? What the hell do you mean you’re not sure? Your house is full of drunk strangers.’
‘It’s a party.’
Gregg pulls the bottle from Tate’s hand and gestures towards the house. ‘It’s Tuesday. Who the fuck has a party on a Tuesday? And while we’re at it, what the fuck is Eddie doing here?’
Tate takes the beer back from Gregg. ‘What do you want?’
Gregg turns to face him and crosses his arms. ‘You’ve been ghosting everyone for nearly a month. I know we all need space after touring but you’ve never been off the radar like this before. And no offence mate, but this drunken, rock star, hobo look isn’t doing anything for me. When was the last time you slept? Or ate? Or had a shower? Or did anything except drink? You look shite.’
‘You want a drink?’
‘No I don’t want a fucking drink, Tate.’ He peers in the window and gestures at the crowd inside. ‘They’re destroying your house. I’m surprised your neighbours haven’t called the Garda on you. I can barely hear myself think.’
‘You going to call your old mates in to break up the fun?’
‘You really think I want them to see what I stepped away from a fucking good career for?’
‘No one’s forcing you to work with me. You can go back to fighting crime and putting the fucking world to rights.’
Gregg laughs and takes a few steps back. ‘At this moment in time I’m sorely tempted. What the fuck is going on with you, Tate? We’re friends. Talk to me. Has something happened?’
Tate finishes his drink and drops the empty bottle in the flowerbed. ‘Nope.’
Gregg points to Eddie’s BMW parked beside Tate’s pickup. ‘I thought you were easing off on contact with Eddie? We all agreed we’d knock that on the head.’
‘I changed my mind. What the fuck is the problem? We have the month off. I’m relaxing.’
‘You know we’re due to fly to Germany in two weeks, right? You seriously telling me you’re ready for that? Cause right now if you walk on stage looking like that, people will be asking for their money back.’
‘Give it a rest, Gregg.’
He turns back to the house, but Gregg grabs his shoulder and spins him around. ‘What are you taking?’
Tate shrugs out of Gregg’s grip and pokes him in the chest with his finger. ‘How about you mind your own fucking business.’
He turns away again, but Gregg steps in front of him, blocking his escape. ‘What are you taking?’
‘Get out of the way.’
‘Not until you tell me. In all the years I’ve known you you’ve never been this far gone. I just want to help.’
Tate tries to sidestep around Gregg but he’s not backing down. ‘I don’t need help. Move!’
‘No.’
‘You’re seriously pissing me off, Gregg. Get the fuck out of my way or—’
‘Or what?’
Tate punches Gregg in the jaw. He may have been letting himself go to shit lately but he’s still strong enough to send his friend stumbling back against the wall. Any regret or shame is overshadowed by the desperate need to get Gregg away from here. He doesn’t want Gregg to witness this sorry fucking show. He’s falling apart. He can see it happening, but there’s nothing he can do about it. He just hit his best mate but the only thing he can think about is getting back inside so he can wallow in his own fucking misery.
