Morning comes painfully with the dawn. Shouldn’t have drowned my problems in craft brew, but it’s nothing a hot shower and drive-thru breakfast burrito doesn’t fix. It’s early enough that I elect to drive up the coast on my way to the rehab center. I’m on the road before the weekend beach goers; traffic isn’t horrible, and the salt air is just what I need. My troubles are put on temporary pause for a few hours during the peaceful drive time.

I pull through an immaculate drive after following my GPS to the address Iz sent. Wow. The structure is nothing like I imagined it would be. It’s reminiscent of a Spanish mission, and appears to be more a resort in the hills than a treatment center.

After parking, I check in with the receptionist where I wait with other friends and family. We’re ushered to a large dining room and given a spiel about rules and what to expect. Don’t bring the patient drugs. That seems a given, but I’m sure it’s only a requirement to cover their asses. Be understanding of patient’s state of mind. That one’s alarming, and I perk up to listen to the on-staff doctor explain how exhausting detox can be on the body and mind. Downright torturous, really. My sympathy for what Iz has been going through alone these past few weeks grows. My resolve that I made the right choice to be here is confirmed. NDA’s are passed around. The private facility is apparently known for their discretion, and it makes sense why the label selected this place for Iz’s treatment.

The dining room where we are led and it’s set up like a showroom with tables scattered in the space, some built for large groups, while others are small. We’re invited to disperse as the patients will join in momentarily. I find a table for two near one of the windows and watch the door for Iz to enter.

I recognize the first girl who walks in. She’s the same girl whose face is plastered on movie posters for several blockbuster hits, only in this moment she’s clearly not acting. Her gaze darts around the room and she practically runs into the arms a woman I assume is her mother. Her sobs break through the awkward silence of this room of strangers and holds so much relief, so much agony, I have to look away.

I don’t watch the door anymore, and my fingers are empty without a cell phone to fill the idle boredom. All my personal items were confiscated at check-in, for the safety of the patients. As uncomfortable as it is to sit here with nothing to do, it seems a small sacrifice considering Iz is forced to do the same for weeks on end.

A throat clears at my right and I glance up. “Iz!” My lips pull wide with my smile as I stand and greet him with a hug. “How the hell are you, man?”

His chuckle, hoarse and rough, is a welcome sound. “Still truckin’. Still truckin’.” He pulls out the chair across from mine and we both take a seat. “Thanks for coming, Sean.”

“Of course.” My gaze travels over his face, examining him for signs he’s doing well. Or maybe for clues that I missed before. He’s the same in so many ways, still skinny as a rail, and his hair’s a little longer, the grays in his blond catching the light. Other than that, he’s virtually the same and I ask myself the same question I’ve wrestled with since he almost died at the Grammy’s: “How did I not know?”

“Find the place okay?”

“Yeah. GPS didn’t steer me wrong.” I smile and nod. “The facility is nice.”

“It’s not too bad, yeah?” His lips pull up with a grin.

I nod again. I probably haven’t stopped nodding, weird as that is. God damn, it’s so good to see him. Alive. Without tubes and beeping monitors. But that’s something I don’t say. Can’t really. Not without being a sentimental shmuck.

Iz nods and glances around the room. His knee bounces at a manic pace and his heel taps with each passing second. His gaze drifts to the other tables, some loud with boisterous chatter, a few silent like ours. I wish I could produce something interesting to say. I’ve already asked about the rehab center. I don’t really think it’d be encouraging to mention how well Coy plays, or what a sneaky asshole he is.

He interrupts my thoughts. “Wanna take a walk?”

“We can do that?” I glance around, and Iz’s lips pinch with disapproval. Shit. That sounded stupid. It’s just that I wasn’t really listening to all the instructions. I don’t want to break any rules or get him in trouble, but I also don’t want to treat him like some child. “I mean, sure, yeah.”

“I need a smoke.” He pops off the chair and I follow behind, down a hallway and out a back door until we’re walking the grounds. It’s absolutely gorgeous out here. Hillside with a lush manicured lawn and tons of flowers and trees lining the fence. Better than any five-star hotel, only not really. There’s no voluntary check-out.

Iz retrieves a pack of Marlboros from his pocket and taps it against his palm. He holds it out to me. “You want one?”

“I’m good.” I don’t smoke. Never got into the habit, and am thankful after watching Austin go through kicking it several times only to fall off the wagon every time he gets wasted. But Iz has always been a chain smoker. He never smoked on the bus during tours, but made up for it during every pit stop and break.

He lights up, takes a drag, and nods over to a set of chairs. I follow him and when we sit this time his knee doesn’t bounce.

“The view is nice.” I nod to the open skyline past the trees.

“Yeah.” Iz chuckles and the rough timbre of his amusement is cut short by a terse smile. “Off Track was all too happy to shell out the big money. Spared no expense to make me disappear.”

His words hint that our label doesn’t care as much for his recovery as they do to make his mistake go away. I can’t say I disagree, but it’s uncomfortable either way.

“It’s okay, Sean. I know what I am to them. Not your fault.” He inhales and purses his lips, letting a stream of smoke escape between them.

“I’m still sorry it went down this way.” The truth.

He shrugs as though it doesn’t matter. “I was never meant to be more than temporary, kid. Lasted longer than I ever thought it would. Best year of my life, believe that?” His smile is wide, and his eyes dance.

“Bullshit.” I shake my head and laugh. “Surely you had good times when you were younger. Was that before or after the turn of the century? I can’t remember.” I scratch my head and scrunch up my face. Giving him grief about his age feels right and I’m rewarded with a burst of laughter.

“Oh, we had some times. Fucking phenomenal times. But I thought my glory days were over. That I’d never step on a stage again. Fuck, if you don’t make it as a musician before you turn fifty, you give up hope. But you guys . . . ugly ass fuckers.” He pauses to take a drag from his smoke, pointing it at me as he exhales. “You gave me my dream. I’ll never forget that.”

I don’t know what to say to that. How to respond without being insensitive. I never realized how much it meant to him, and now that I think about it, we all took him for granted. He was there when we needed a drummer—one of our roadies who knew how to play, so it was a natural fit. One that didn’t take much work on our part.

I finally settle on, “We really miss you, man.”

Iz laughs, a deep throaty chuckle before placing the cigarette between his lips for another inhale. “No. Not true. You might, but Trent and Austin don’t.”

“They do.” I don’t know why I lie, but I do. Maybe it’s because I wish they cared more. Or that I still have hope they do. They’re only reacting with blame. With hurt by what Iz did at the Grammy’s. How it’s thrown our band for a loop.

Iz doesn’t smile at my words, though. His lips pinch as if they pain him, and I instantly regret lying.

Silence stretches between us. Birds chirp. The sun shines. The day goes on as if nothing ever happened. As if addiction hasn’t altered everything in this man’s life. Like it hasn’t changed everything for Three Ugly Guys. But I guess without it, I would never have met Jess. That thought only brings an onslaught of shame as I shouldn’t be thinking about her—about someone else’s girl—especially when I’m supposed to be here for Iz.

“So, things are going good though?” The question slips through my mouth and God, if it doesn’t sound tactless, even to my own ears. “Fuck,” I grumble. “Sorry.”

“Peachy.” Iz laughs and lights up another cig before stretching out his long legs and leaning back into his chair.

That’s how we sit. For the next twenty minutes. Him smoking and me failing miserably at small talk. Turns out I lack the knowledge of what to say when things get uncomfortable. Oh, and Iz and I don’t have much in common besides music.

“Hey, Sean,” Iz says after about his sixth cigarette. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

Straightening in my chair, I lean forward and rest my forearms on my thighs. “Anything, man.”

He nods, snuffs out the butt on the ground between us, and meets my gaze. His eyes widen and his jaw works back and forth several times before his lips open to speak. I barely catch the words they’re so soft. “Buy for me?”

“What?” Realization of what he’s asking floods me with disappointment. He’s using me. He never wanted to see me or any of the guys today. He only wanted someone gullible enough to feed his addiction. And the winner of that prize would be me. God, I’m such a fucking idiot. Shaking my head, I spring from my chair and stalk away.

“Wait! Sean!”

I shouldn’t stop or turn around. I should keep walking and drive straight home—leave this entire mess behind, but that’s not what I do. I stop and I turn around. Anger at being played the fool furrows my brow and I throw my hands in the air as he approaches with sorrow in his gaze. “What the fuck, Iz? What the ever loving fuck?”

“I’m sorry.” Anguish etches every wrinkle with his frown.

I want to believe him, but how can I trust him? “What are you sorry for? Sorry that I won’t buy you drugs, or sorry you asked?”

“A little of both.” His gaze drops to the ground.

“I’m out of here, man.”

“Wait. No,” he says, and when I stop, his gaze cuts through my soul, along with his words. “You’re all I have left.”

I shake my head. No. No way. I won’t allow him to guilt me for this. Not after what he just asked. “I’m all you have? No, Iz. That’s not true. You have life. You have this day. You’re a fucking talented drummer. And you know what? You’re wasting all of that.”

“I fucked up.”

“You did. So make it right.”

He shrugs and shakes his head. “I don’t know how.”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“It’s hard.” He sighs and I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. If I weren’t so angry I might be.

“Of course it is. But fuck, Iz, do the work. You have so much left to offer the world. And people like me, and Austin, and Trent? We’ll be here for you. We want you to get clean. Fuck, I want you back in the band. But none of that shit’s gonna happen if you keep using.”

He holds my gaze, pulls out another cigarette, and places it between his lips while he reaches for a lighter. “Maybe it’s not worth it, you know? Maybe it’s better I don’t get clean. Better I’m not around anymore.”

A scoff explodes from my lips. “You’re a damned fool to think that.”

“Maybe.”

I hold his stare as he lights up his cigarette and shake my head. “I guess that’s the decision you gotta make, Iz. But from my point of view, it’s a damn selfish way of looking at the world. I care about you, man. That doesn’t go away if you do.”

With a deep exhale he nods. “Thanks, Sean. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Be better.”

“I will.” He nods again. “Will you come next week?”

“I’ll try.”

I don’t make a promise I can’t keep, and there’s a flicker of hurt in his gaze before he steps close, pulling me into a quick embrace. “See ya around then, brother.”

It’s no different than the way we’ve parted before. But that was before, and the endearment brother, something I’ve used for all of my bandmates because we are a family, it pricks at my resolve to leave.

“See ya around, brother.” I pat his back and turn, making my way back through the house and to the front receptionist.

“Can I please get my things back?” It seemed inconvenient they’d make us check everything, but after my time with Iz I completely understand why.

“Certainly, Mr. Willis. Visit went well?” Her smile stretches wide on her face.

“Peachy.” I steal the answer Iz gave me, along with his grim smile.

She nods, her smile not dimming, but her eyes widen with my lack of enthusiasm. Pulling out a set of keys, she unlocks one of the drawers lining the back of the desk area and glances over her shoulder before returning with my items. “I know it’s not my place to say, but thank you for coming.” She passes me the container holding my keys, wallet, and sunglasses. “He’s talked about you all week. I’m a huge fan.”

“Okay.” I slide the shades over my eyes. A dick move, but I don’t need a fangirl right now. I need peace of mind. That’s what I came here looking for, and yet I’m leaving with even more discord.

“Just know it means a lot to Iz. We weren’t sure you’d come. Well, Danielle and Susan bet you wouldn’t. I actually won ten bucks.” She laughs before slapping her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. That’s completely unprofessional of me. I ramble when I’m excited. And, well, I’m a big fan.” Her eyes are wide and that smile’s back, only this time I see it for what it is, she’s just a fan of our music. And maybe I can use that little nugget to get the answers I really need.

I glance down at her name tag. “How long have you worked here, Kim?”

She beams with the question. “Five years this May.”

“That’s great.” I nod and place one hand on the counter between us while tipping my shades up onto my head with the other. “What’re the chances he gets clean?”

“Oh.” She nods, her smile not as bright, and she shrugs once. “I can’t say because I don’t really know. Each patient’s progress and treatment plan varies.”

“But not taking that into account, a ballpark average. How many end up either back here or . . . ?” Dead. I don’t say it but by the fall of her smile, I don’t have to.

“I won’t sugarcoat it. It’s not easy. The patient has to want to get better. Even with that, they’re constantly working against a body and brain that chants, ‘Use, use, use,’ every second of the day. He can obtain sobriety. He can have a good life. That’s what we believe in here. But the more people in his corner, the better.”

“Thank you for taking good care of him, Kim.”

“Of course. It’s my job.” She smiles. “Will we see you next week, Mr. Willis?”

“It’s just Sean.” I cough to hide my laughter at her reaction to my request. If she was fangirling before, now she’s practically jumping out of her skin. It doesn’t last, though. “I’m not sure I’ll be back.”

Her disappointment is clear with the disappearance of her smile, but she’s a persistent one, not letting me off so easily. “Okay. If you change your mind, family and friends visiting is every Saturday. At ten.”

“Thank you.” I slide my shades back over my eyes and step away from the counter. Back outside, the immaculate doors give the illusion this is a home and not a prison. Except the doors are kept locked to protect the people inside from the danger of what exists outside. How is it that some function just fine while others like Iz can’t help but fall prey to addiction and drug use?

It could easily be me. Or Trent. Or Austin. Just because Iz is so much older than us doesn’t make us immune. The attendant’s suggestion, “more people in his corner,” riles up anger that I came by myself today. Austin and Trent should have been here too. I shouldn’t be dealing with this alone.

Shifting my car into reverse, I glance out my rear window but the view is partially blocked by the giant ass framed photograph I impulsively bought last night. It brings a smile to my face, though, knowing I was able to put some good into the world with my money. I’ll hang it in my room so I never forget. My life isn’t only about making music or bringing joy; I can do so much good with the success I achieve.

The drive home is not as therapeutic as the trip here. Traffic is horrible, and with each passing mile, my mind fills with worry. Not just this shit with Iz, but the head game crap Coy pulled last night with Jess. All my respect for that man is lost, and having to play onstage and live on a bus with him for three months feels about the closest thing to torment. I want to tell Austin and Trent, but I’m worried Coy has them fooled. He almost had me too, and had it not been for my pre-show jitters, I would not have been on that patio to witness his true colors.

He and Austin are already tight. Coy plays into his need for attention with the ladies, and if I say anything, I doubt Austin will care. Not that he won’t believe me, but he won’t find it such a big deal. He’s the type to brush things off unless they affect him personally. He won’t want to find a new drummer, either. Not like I do. Not really.

Trent’s one who will listen, I hope. At least with Lexi’s help, he might. Only she’s on tour for another month and a half and I don’t want to interrupt the few days they have off together. I’ll wait, I think, until Trent’s back from their long weekend together before telling him exactly what I saw.

But what did I really witness other than Coy being a dick? Part of me doesn’t want to admit the satisfaction I’d feel if I could break them up because then I’d have to admit it’d mostly be in hopes of pursuing Jess for myself. That’s the resolution I hope for most, and that’s plain crazy.

Even still, it’s not right the way he hurt her with his cruel words. He raised his hand, but would he have hit her? Is he that kind of monster, or is his abuse limited to verbal blows and intimidation? What would have happened had I not been there? The sight that sticks with me most is not the fear I witnessed in Jess’s eyes, but her resignation. As if she was willing and ready to take the punishment.

The closer I get to the house, the more clueless I become. Holding the button on my steering wheel to alert Siri, I call home. My parents are probably two of the very few adults under sixty in the US who do not have cell phones. As the connection rings and rings, I lose hope that one of them will pick up.

“Hello!” Dad’s familiar voice thrums through the line and I breathe a sigh of relief. He always listens, and more than that, he gives the best advice.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Sean! Honey, it’s Sean! What a nice surprise, or at least I hope it is. Everything okay?”

“Eh.” Unable to lie, but also not sure where to start, I go with the honest truth. “It’s okay.”

“Tell me about it,” he says, and I do. I tell him about Jess and how I can’t get her out of my head. I tell him about Coy and last night at the gala. I tell him about Iz, and how I feel duped after today’s visit. I even tell him about the photograph.

“Sean, you’ve always worried for the world, even when the world didn’t care. It’s a heavy weight to carry.”

“I don’t know how to change that.”

“I would hate it if you did. The world needs you as you are. And maybe this Jess, maybe she needs you too.”

I want her to need me. I downright want her, but that’s wrong because she’s not available. “But what about Coy.”

“Coy will be the man he is, and you can’t change that. You don’t have to make Austin and Trent see it, either; he’ll show them on his own.”

“So, I have to put up with his shit until what, he hurts Jess and screws over my friends?”

“I’m not saying that. One day at a time, kid. But you going on a witch hunt all balls to the wall will only put you more at odds with your friends. Sounds like you’ve got enough of that as it is.”

I think back to their reaction when I told them I spoke to Iz. “Yeah.”

“Hey, don’t give up. Not on Jess. Not on Iz. Not on the guys. You know in your heart what’s right. Let that guide your actions.”

“You have a lot of faith in me.” Especially when I don’t have much in myself.

“You’ve made it this far without letting them change your heart, Sean Willis. You’re stronger than you know.” His confidence guides my thoughts back from those of worry to ones of action. He’s right about one thing: if I haven’t let the world tear me down yet, I’m sure as hell not about to start now.