Ian

A week. A whole damn week’s gone by since I last saw or talked to Chelsea. Since that awful day in the studio when she treated me like someone she barely knew. Even the memory of it is enough to make my jaw clench, my hands tightening to fists. I thought what we had was stronger than that, but Chelsea took the first chance to leave me in her dust while she soaks up all the publicity. She hasn’t made the first attempt to reach out to me—and I know, because I haven’t let my phone out of my sight in a whole damn week.

Speak of the devil, my phone chimes and I leap across the couch to pick it up, only to scowl at it and throw it back. Another useless email.

“This girl must be something special,” Serge says, absently tapping out a rhythm with his feet and fingers. That’s the thing about drummers: they never fucking stop. He’s constantly full of energy, of music, bouncing off the walls. Right now it’s only pissing me off and I’m wondering why the hell I invited him over.

But I know the answer. Because Serge is the reason I’m clean. Because if it weren’t for him nearly dying all those years ago, I never would have gotten my shit together. And if he weren’t here right now, I’m not sure I could keep my shit together.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I haven’t actually told Serge about Chelsea. I just asked him to come hang out because I’m having a rough time. We’ve got the kind of friendship where that’s all that needs to be said. If I got the same call, I’d be at his house in a heartbeat. We keep each other out of trouble, clean, and most importantly, alive.

“I’m talking about you, waiting by your phone like some lovesick teenager. So, who is she?”

I roll my eyes, but there’s no use in denying it. Serge knows me better than just about anyone in the world.

“Chelsea Garten,” I growl, her name like acid on my tongue. How could I have been dumb enough to fall for her? I knew she was nothing but trouble, a good girl looking for a quick roll in the hay with a bad boy. But that’s all I am. The bad boy she fools around with. Not the guy she settles down with. Not the guy she goes public with. The dirty secret that she keeps hidden away.

Serge whistles lowly, his eyes going wide. “That girl you just made an album with? Bro.”

“I know,” I groan. You never shit where you eat. We both know that. “But she’s… I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. It’s over.”

“Is that so?” he asks, an eyebrow arched, a smirk on his lips.

“Don’t give me that look. Yes, it’s over. As much as I wish it weren’t, she clearly doesn’t want anything to do with me because if she did, I’d know it by now. It’s not like I’m hard to find.”

“And yet you’re still jumping for your phone every time it makes a noise.”

“Well, I did just finish an album.”

“Yeah, but you’re not waiting for a call from the label or your manager. You’re waiting for a call from her,” he says, green eyes sparkling with laughter that he knows better than to let out if he doesn’t want to get punched.

“I can do both,” I mutter petulantly. It’s obvious he’s right though. He’s won. And he chuckles under his breath, earning a glare from me.

Serge puts up both hands in defense. “I’m sorry, man, but it’s just great to see you like this. I haven’t seen you this worked up about a girl in… well, maybe ever. Seems like she’s good for you.”

I roll my eyes, my fists clenching again. “Doesn’t really matter if she doesn’t want anything to do with me, does it?”

Before he answers, my phone rings from the other end of the couch and my eyes dart to it. It’s facedown, so I can’t see the caller ID without picking it up and turning it over, but I want to prove Serge wrong. If I just let this call go to voicemail, then I’ll prove that I’m not just waiting with bated breath for a word from Chelsea.

But the longer the phone rings, the more I’m itching to answer it. Serge just cocks a brow at me and grins big and I know he’s won this one too. I’m already leaping to the other side of the couch and hitting the answer button before I register that it’s Merrill showing up on the ID.

“Hey,” I say, not even bothering to sound upbeat or any of that bullshit.

Serge looks at me with a question in his eyes but I just shake my head and he frowns.

“Hey there, rockstar,” Merrill says brightly and I squeeze my eyes closed tight, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“What’s up, Mer?” I’m really not in the mood for pleasantries.

“I finally got word back from the label about the record…” he says, his tone not giving much away. I haven’t had much reason to hope this past week, but without my consent, a little spark flares to life, making me hold my breath as he continues.

But he doesn’t continue.

“And?” I say, my voice tight and harsh. Normally I might care about snapping at him like that, but not when he’s being an insufferable jerk. He doesn’t need to beat around the bush, but he likes drawing it out for the suspense or some nonsense.

“And they love it! They’re jumping on the tour; they’ve got the next three weeks lined up. Fourteen shows. All you need to do is show up at the airport in two days.”

I almost don’t believe it. I nearly drop the phone in shock and Serge is looking at me with concern like I might have just gotten news about the death of a relative, but I can’t even manage a smile to let him know it’s all right because I don’t fucking believe it. Good things never happen to me like this.

“Ian?” Merrill asks after I’m silent a full two minutes.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be there,” I say, still on autopilot. It’s not hard to just agree to something even if you don’t think it’s going to happen. Maybe especially if you don’t think it’s going to happen.

“Attaboy. Send you the details this afternoon.”

“Sounds good,” I say, still on autopilot. Merrill hangs up and I drop the phone to my lap, cold shock still working through my veins. Is this really happening? Am I really getting another shot?

I’m determined not to let her out of my grasp this time if I can help it.

“So… what was that?” Serge asks, his face still full of concern. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

“They booked the tour,” I say, the words without meaning through the hazy whirlpool of my thoughts. There’s too many swirling through my brain right now to actually latch onto any of them, but the one pervasive message is Chelsea. I’ll get to see her again whether she likes it or not.

Serge lets out a loud celebratory whoop and leans over to clap me on the back. “That’s great, man. Congrats. I knew you could do it. When’s it start?”

“Gotta be at the airport in two days.”

He makes a face. “Don’t tell me you’ll be flying commercial with the plebs.”

That finally breaks through and gets a chuckle out of me. I shake my head, a grin cracking my face. “Unlikely. With me and Chelsea I’m sure it’ll be private. You’re welcome to join if you want. I know it’s been a while, but I miss having you on the road with me.”

Before his OD and my going solo out of necessity, Serge and I were inseparable, on stage and off. But after that close call, he’d called it quits. It was a wake-up call to both of us, but not enough to get me out of the biz.

“No can do,” he says, shaking his head, his eyes looking a little regretful. “The only way I stay clean is to stay away from that whole scene. I’m much happier at the civic center, you know that.”

I nod, even though the rejection stings. No matter how far we’ve come, and how much I don’t want to go back to those old days, I still miss having my best friend around. It’s never the same without him. Though performing with Chelsea is as close as I’ve come since those days. And this is almost better because I’m clean which means I can actually remember all the good shit that happens.

I understand why Serge can’t come though. I know the temptation can get too strong sometimes, especially when you find yourself in familiar situations that you normally used in. Readjusting to tours and shows without smack was a big adjustment and Serge doesn’t have the experience I do with shoving down the temptation and carrying on. He’s smarter about it. He just removes himself from all opportunity. And he’s got a good gig teaching music at the civic center. If you ask him, he’ll tell you it’s the best gig he’s had in his music career. He loves working with those kids. So I don’t press the issue. He can stick back if he wants. That’ll just leave me more time with Chelsea.

If she’ll face me.