Chapter 9

No one partied like rockstars in Vegas.

We were celebrating the recording of our second album and our number one hit single, Filthy Pain. Bandit organized a massive event at the gaudiest hotel on the strip, complete with top-notch booze, hot as fuck celebrities and models, and the best damn coke I’d ever sniffed in my life. And I’d sniffed a lot of it.

With our growing fame came more fans, and press, and money than I’d ever had in my life. Luxury houses, fast cars, and a troupe of bodyguards. A whole team of them, including Dawson and Lennie, who were standing watch over us as usual. Not that we let our detail stop us from doing what we wanted.

Which was more parties, more men, more drugs of every kind.

Coke was my comfort zone and one that I could readily afford now. It gave me the energy to keep going, to wake up and rock out, on stage and off, one late night after another. It made me forget that I was sometimes hesitant in social situations. And it had the added benefit of obliterating—temporarily—the stupid urges I had rattling around for Ronin.

Which was fucked up. Ronin saw me as his BFF, not a man he wanted to get down and dirty with. I told myself to let it go. But this year, it had only gotten worse. He was all I wanted.

Too bad my heart—and my dick—never listened to my brain.

I glanced across the crowded party and watched Ronin making out with one of the stunning models. In the past, the sight would’ve turned me on and gotten me off. And that would be that. But recently? I didn’t want to look at him touching someone else. It made me want to punch a hole through the nearest wall. And the thought of so many strangers touching Ronin, the one person who was always mine, was fucking with my head. Both of them.

I pulled out a baggie and dumped the white powder on the table in front of me. Checking my pockets, I realized I’d forgotten to grab my snake, my metal straw. Whatever. I used my driver’s license to divide up the coke into several lines, plucked out one of the straws from my drink, leaned over, and inhaled.

It was my third pull tonight and fuck, it was good. Some of the best shit I’d ever had.

I snorted the rest of the powder and wiped my nose. Euphoria cascaded through my body, one lightning wave after another. I didn’t notice Ronin or my feelings. I was too stoned to worry about anything.

“Take it easy, Faise. We have all night to party,” Brodie warned me as he surveyed the room. “Hey, do you know that guy talking to Van?”

I looked across the room and squinted. “No fucking clue. And shouldn’t you be more concerned with finding some rando to suck your dick rather than mooning over our manager?”

“Fuck off,” Brodie sneered.

“Ooh, testy,” I quipped. “Too bad Van’s straight.”

At least, I thought so. I didn’t know. Van kept his private life, private. Never saw him hook up with anyone since we’d started working together, man or woman. He was always working.

“Don’t start,” Brodie warned.

“Take a hit, you’ll feel better,” I suggested. “You’ll forget about you-know-who.”

Brodie shook his head. “Been there, tried that.”

I looked over at Van again. He was kinda handsome. If you liked older guys. Which Brodie did. And our frontman was shit at hiding how he felt. He had the same pained expression that I was probably, inadvertently, wearing earlier. Like he was about to walk over and tear into the person making a play for the man he so obviously had the hots for.

Holloway suddenly appeared and jumped on top of me and Brodie, crushing us into the sofa. “What’s up bitches?”

“Get off me, weirdo,” I pushed at him until he rolled onto the floor.

I glanced up, mid-laughter, and spotted Ronin headed our way with his latest fuck buddy in tow. Great. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out another baggie and emptied it on the table in front of me. I felt everyone’s stare and noticed Brodie and Holls looking at me with concern.

I shook them off. It was no big deal. The guys did their share of drugs too. Brodie was popping sleeping pills lately like rock candy. Who the fuck was he to judge?

“I know what I’m doing,” I snapped at them.

Unfortunately, the cocaine didn’t mix well with the bourbon I’d drank. And the orange pills I’d slid under my tongue before we got here. That last snort pushed me right over the edge, my head pounding, my stomach throbbing painfully. I started puking before I could even sit up.

“Faise, what the hell, are you—oh shit.” Brodie’s voice was muffled, like he was yelling from far away.

“Let’s get him to the head.”

Ronin.

The room was spinning, but Ronin was here, so I knew I’d be safe. My mouth filled with bitter bile, and I wanted to ask for water, but I couldn’t form the words. Someone was holding me up, both arms, and then I puked again and fuck, it was coming out of my nose and everything.

I came to in a low-lit bathroom, the smell of vomit and air freshener making my stomach roil again. But this time, there was a toilet within reach. One of my arms was still pinned, though, and I started to panic, pulling away.

“Calm down, boo. I’m trying to help hold you up.”

It was Ro. Thank fuck.

“I’m d-done. I’m… good. S’all gone,” I muttered as I made to stand up. “M’ fine.”

When Ronin led me out of the stall, Holls and Brodie startled.

“We need to get him out of here. Now,” Ronin demanded. “Get Van and Dawson.”

“On it,” Brodie replied and turned away.

“I said m’fine. K,” I mumbled. “S-stop t-talking like I’m not here. I’m right here, Ro. Why c-can’t you s-see me?”

Then I looked up and caught my reflection in the mirror above the sink. My face wasn’t just covered in vomit. There were streaks of crimson paint running down my nose, around my lips and chin.

But the overwhelming smell, the copper. No, it wasn’t paint. It was blood. So much blood. But nothing hurt. Not even my stomach. I was floating too high. Beyond pain.

“So f-funny,” I pointed to my reflection. “B-bloody beard.”

No one else was laughing.

“S’ funny, right? I l-look like D-Dawson with the r-red beard. Red face,” I snickered. “But only with Holls.”

“We need to get him to a hospital,” Ronin snapped, his voice cracking.

God, I’d never heard him so angry before. Or scared. Maybe both? I was too high to figure out which. Then the room spun faster and faster, so out of control that I couldn’t see clearly anymore. Or catch my breath.

“I’m gonna… l-lie… d-down.”

Ronin

I sat by Faise’s bedside in the hospital as he lay sleeping. He was hooked up to monitors and machines.

He looked like death and death stared back at me. It was scary as fuck.

Chills wracked my body. The incessant trembling started three hours ago in that club bathroom and hadn’t settled since. Glancing at his face, I noticed a streak of blood on his jaw that the hospital staff had missed. With a gentle hand, I reached for a tissue and wet it, wiping it off, being careful not to wake him.

He was stable now and breathing normally. But doctors had warned me and the guys that it was a close call. A near fatal overdose. His septum was damaged. Which accounted for all the blood.

But it wasn’t just his nose. Doctors suspected he might have a stomach ulcer, since there was more blood mixed in with his vomit.

Jesus Christ, how did we end up here?

Thank fuck Dawson and Van got us out of that club without pause. Vegas had plenty of private hospitals and they’d seen to Faise right away.

But I didn’t know what I was going to say to Faise when he woke up. Partying was all good and fun, but he’d taken it to the extreme this year. His moods were the same way, going from uncontrollable laughter one moment to aggressive anger the next. There was something going on with him. I could see it in his eyes every time he looked at me.

A struggle, a secret. One he didn’t share.

For the first time in seventeen years, I didn’t know what to say to my best friend. How to help heal whatever was going on inside him.

“How’s he doing?”

I turned at Brodie’s voice to find him, Holls, Van, Dawson, and Lennie standing behind me. What had started out as a night to celebrate one of our career milestones had ended up here. I still couldn’t believe it.

“He’s stable,” I replied, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “But he’ll probably be out of it for another few hours.”

Holls stepped up and placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Why don’t you take a break and go get something to eat. We’ll be here.”

I didn’t know what time it was, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had anything to eat or drink. But I didn’t want to leave Faise.

“I’m staying. Could one of you get me a sandwich and coffee?”

“I’ll get it,” Lennie offered. “Anyone else?”

“Just coffee. Thanks, Len,” Brodie replied as he walked to stand around the other side of the bed, Van by his side.

Brodie looked over at me, his hazel eyes welling up. He blinked and wiped his eyes, shaking his head. It wasn’t often that our frontman got teared up. And when Van placed his arm around Brodie, our lead singer didn’t hesitate to turn and bury his face in our manager’s shoulder.

Van’s worried blue gaze hit mine and I let out a shaky breath.

“He needs rehab,” Van whispered. “This has been going on for a while now, but it’s gotten out of control.”

I didn’t like the idea of being separated from Faise, but Van was right.

Faise needed help. Help that I couldn’t give.

Two days after his overdose, Faise admitted himself to a rehab center in California. For three long months, with no visitation. It was the first time he and I had been separated from each other in almost two decades. And the distance between us was so damn painful I was afraid I was going to head down the same path as him. I’d been hitting the alcohol hard to counter my state of depression, but it only made my sadness worse.

We should’ve been out on tour at this point, but we’d delayed it until Faise was ready. So, it was weird for me to have so much time on my hands. I hung out with Brodie and Holls. But with Faise gone, Wayward Lane was incomplete. Truthfully, I was incomplete. I still played and practiced but it was habit more than anything.

The need to keep busy, to keep my mind from swirling out of control about all the what ifs about my bestie. But the passion, the energy that I took for granted in my music, was missing.

I didn’t realize until Faise left that he was more than my BFF. He was my muse.

And something else I didn’t know how to define.

New questions and unexplained feelings about my relationship with my best friend were now staring at me in the face.

But, in typical rockstar fashion, I shoved that shit away and threw myself back into the party scene. I fucked my way through town, clubbing, drinking, trying anything and everything to forget the reality of the past few months.

The reality of life without Faise.

I was never alone, but I sure as fuck was lonely.