14. Chapter 14 Damon

Chapter 14 Damon

I stared at the baggie in my hand, the innocuous plastic and white powder within mocking me with its sickly call. It had been months since I'd last held temptation in my palm like this, months since I'd felt the itch crawling beneath my skin, the hunger gnawing at my bones.

But here I was, teetering on the edge of the abyss, ready to throw away everything I'd worked so hard to build. My sobriety, my sanity.

My relationship with Phoenix.

Shame curdled in my gut, hot and acidic. She had no idea how close I was to falling, to shattering into a million jagged pieces that no amount of love or devotion could put back together.

I'd been hiding it well, the cravings, the restless energy that had me pacing the floors at night like a caged animal. I'd smile and nod in all the right places, play the dutiful, supportive boyfriend even as the lying made me want to claw my own skin off.

But the truth was, I was drowning. The pressure of the album leak, the media scrutiny, the constant, nagging fear that I was losing Phoenix to her obsession with her mother's death...it was all too much.

And so I' d fallen back on old habits, old vices. The ones I'd sworn I'd left behind in the gutter, just another forgotten relic of my fucked-up past.

Storm had been the one to give it to me, slipping the baggie into my palm with a knowing look and a murmured, "You look like you could use a little pick-me-up, kid."

I should have told her to go fuck herself. Should have marched to the nearest toilet and flushed the shit, watched it swirl away along with the temptation.

But I hadn't. Instead, I'd pocketed it with shaking hands, hating myself even as the familiar rush of need flooded my veins.

And now, here I sat. Alone in the studio while Phoenix was out chasing down another lead, another thread in the tangled web of her father's deceit. The weight of the baggie was like a lodestone in my pocket, pulling me down, down, down into the muck and the mire.

Voices warred in my head, a cacophony of recrimination and justification.

Just one line. One tiny bump to take the edge off, to quiet the static in my brain for a little while. No one would know. No one would get hurt.

But even as the thought formed, I knew it for the lie it was. Because one bump would turn into two, into three, into a full-blown bender that would leave me wrecked and reeling. And Phoenix...

God, Phoenix. She'd never forgive me. She'd look at me with those devastating eyes, betrayal and disappointment carving deep furrows into her brow. And I'd deserve it, every ounce of her scorn and disgust.

I was weak. A coward who couldn't handle the heat, who crumbled at the first sign of adversity. What kind of partner was I, if I couldn't even keep my own demons leashed? What kind of man?

Self- loathing rose like bile in the back of my throat, bitter and burning. I clenched the baggie tighter, the plastic edges biting into my palm hard enough to draw blood.

I should call Phoenix. Call my sponsor, tell someone, anyone, how close I was to the edge. But the words lodged in my throat, trapped behind the iron bands of pride and fear and sick, gnawing need.

And so I sat. Frozen in indecision, in self-hatred so thick it coated my tongue.

The door to the studio burst open, startling me so badly I nearly jumped out of my skin. I shoved the baggie into my pocket, my heart rabbiting against my ribcage as I turned to face the intruder.

Talia stood in the doorway, her eyes wild and her hair a riotous tangle around her skull. "Damon, thank fuck. We need to go, now."

I blinked at her, uncomprehending. "What? What are you talking about?"

She crossed the room in three strides, hauling me up by the elbow with a strength that belied her slim frame. "It's Phoenix. She's in trouble."

Ice slithered down my spine, a sick, swooping dread that made the world tilt and blur at the edges. "What do you mean, she's in trouble? What happened?"

Talia shook her head, already dragging me toward the door. "I don't know all the details. She called me, freaking out. But couldn't tell me anything else before the phone cut off."

My blood ran cold, crystallizing in my veins until I felt brittle, ready to shatter at the slightest touch. "Where is she?"

"The old shipyard, down by the docks. She said to come alone, but like fuck am I letting her face this shit without backup."

I was already moving, shrugging out of Talia's grip and sprinting for the door. "Let's go. Now. "

We piled into my car, the tires squealing as I peeled out of the parking lot. My mind raced, a hundred worst-case scenarios playing out in lurid technicolor behind my eyes.

Phoenix, broken and bleeding. Phoenix, a lifeless husk with empty eyes. Phoenix, lost to me forever, another casualty of her father's twisted machinations.

"Faster," Talia bit out, her knuckles white where she gripped the dashboard. "Fucking drive faster, Cross."

I obliged, the needle on the speedometer climbing steadily as we wove through the city streets. My heart pounded in my ears, a deafening drumbeat of fear and adrenaline.

Hold on, baby. I'm coming. Just hold on.

We made it to the docks in record time, the old shipyard looming like a rusted behemoth against the gray sky. I was out of the car before it had fully stopped, Talia hot on my heels as we sprinted toward the hulking warehouses.

"Phoenix!" My voice echoed off the corrugated metal, high and sharp with terror. "Phoenix, where are you?"

Silence. A heavy, cloying thing that pressed against my eardrums like cotton.

And then, a scream. A high, piercing thing that shattered the air like glass, ripping through me like a bullet.

Phoenix.

I ran. Faster than I'd ever run in my life, my lungs burning and my muscles screaming. Toward the sound, toward the source of that awful, gut-wrenching cry.

I rounded the corner of a warehouse, and the world stopped. Everything stopped, the very air freezing in my lungs as I tried to process the scene in front of me .

Phoenix, on her knees. A man I didn't recognize standing over her, a gun pressed to her temple. And Cyrus fucking Rowe, standing a few feet away, a small, cold smile playing about his lips.

"Well, well," he said, his voice like oil, like rotted silk. "The cavalry has arrived."

I didn't think. Didn't hesitate. I launched myself at the man with the gun, a roar tearing itself from my throat as I barreled into him.

We went down in a tangle of limbs, the gun skittering across the concrete. I felt the impact in my bones, in my teeth, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop, not until Phoenix was safe.

Dimly, I heard Talia screaming. Heard the meaty thud of fists on flesh, the grunts and curses of a fight.

But all I could see was Phoenix. Her eyes, wide and terrified. Her hands, shaking as they scrambled for purchase on the filthy ground.

I reached for her, my fingers brushing hers. And then pain exploded in my skull. The world tilted, went gray at the edges.

The last thing I saw before the darkness claimed me was Phoenix's face, streaked with tears and contorted in a scream.

And then, nothing. Nothing but the void, and the sickening knowledge that I'd failed her.

Again.

I groaned, the sound muffled by the thick gag wedged between my teeth. Pain pulsed through my skull in sickening waves, radiating out from the point of impact where they'd struck me.

For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was, what had happened. Everything was a blur of adrenaline and fear and Phoenix's screams echoing in my ears.

Phoenix.

My eyes flew open, panic surging through my veins like battery acid. I had to get to her, had to save her from whatever fresh hell Cyrus had dragged her into.

But as I blinked away the lingering fog of unconsciousness, I realized I couldn't move.

Rough ropes bit into my wrists and ankles, securing me to a chair in the middle of what looked like an abandoned office. The air was thick with dust and the coppery tang of old blood, the only light filtering in through grimy, cracked windows.

Voices drifted in from the next room, low and tense. I strained my ears, my heart rabbiting against my ribcage as I tried to make out the words.

"...don't know what you think you're playing at, young lady, but it ends now." Cyrus, his voice cold and clipped. "This pointless crusade of yours, this misguided quest for 'truth'...all it's going to do is get people hurt. People you claim to care about."

"Don't you dare." Phoenix, her words shaking but edged with steel. "Don't you fucking dare try to use Damon against me. This has nothing to do with him."

Cyrus laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "Doesn't it? He's the reason you're here, isn't he? The reason you just couldn't leave well enough alone?"

I heard Phoenix's sharp intake of breath, could picture the way her chin would jut out in defiance. "I'm here because you're a monster. Because you've lied and cheated and killed to get what you want, and I'm not going to let you get away with it anymore."

"Oh, Phoenix." Cyrus's voice dripped with mock pity. "You stupid, stupid girl. You have no idea what you're talking about. You can't begin to fathom the forces you're playing with. "

"Then enlighten me, Dad." The last word was a sneer, a challenge. "Tell me what really happened to Mom. Tell me why Marcus disappeared."

Marcus. Cyrus's former partner, the one who'd vanished without a trace all those years ago. A cold, sinking dread settled in my gut.

"Marcus got sloppy. Careless. He let his vices get the best of him, and he became a liability." Cyrus's tone was bored, disinterested. As if he was discussing the weather, not the potential murder of his former friend. "As for your mother...well, sometimes sacrifices have to be made for the greater good. She never could see the bigger picture."

Phoenix made a sound somewhere between a sob and a scream, a wordless cry of anguish that ripped at my heart. "You sick fuck. She was your wife. She loved you."

"No, she loved her music. Her 'art'." Cyrus spat the word like a curse. "And when it came down to it, she loved that more than she loved you. More than she loved being called ‘Mommy', or even Mrs. Cyrus Rowe, the obedient little arm candy."

"Shut up." Phoenix's voice was ragged, raw. "Just shut the fuck up."

"What's the matter, sweetheart? Can't handle the truth?" Cyrus's words were mocking, taunting. "Maybe you should have thought of that before you started digging. Before you dragged your junkie boytoy into the middle of our family drama."

I bristled at the insult, my fingers flexing against my bonds. I wanted to break free, to storm in there and wrap my hands around that bastard's throat until he choked on his own forked tongue.

But I couldn't. I was helpless, useless. A liability, just like Cyrus had said.

"Leave Damon out of this." Phoenix's voice was low, dangerous. A warning. "This is between you and me. It's always been between you and me."

"Silly rabbit." Cyrus tutted. "You still don't get it, do you? There is no 'you and me'. There's only what I want, and the lengths I'll go to get it."

A pause, heavy and charged. I held my breath, my heart pounding so hard I was sure they could hear it in the next room.

"And what I want, Phoenix, is for you to drop this nonsense. To come home, take your rightful place at Rowe Records, and I'll forget any of this ever happened."

Phoenix's laugh was brittle, disbelieving. "You're insane if you think I'll ever work for you again. If you think I'll just sweep all of this under the rug and play happy families."

"Oh, I think you'll do exactly that. If you know what's good for you." Cyrus's voice dropped, low and menacing. "If you know what's good for your friends. For Damon."

I went cold all over, my blood crystallizing in my veins. The baggie in my pocket, that treacherous little parcel of powder and oblivion, suddenly felt like a lead weight.

"What are you talking about?" Phoenix asked, but I could hear the tremor beneath the bravado. The fear.

"I'm talking about all the nasty little secrets that could come spilling out if you don't toe the line." Cyrus's tone was smug, self-satisfied. "Your tragic little stint in rehab after the incident with that guitar player. And let's not forget your lover boy's colorful history with substance abuse. I'm sure the tabloids would have a field day with that..."

No. No no no. This couldn't be happening. Cyrus couldn't know about the drugs, about how close I'd come to falling off the wagon.

But even as the denials formed on my tongue, I knew it was useless. Cyrus had eyes everywhere, tendrils of influence that snaked through every dark corner of Miami's underbelly.

Of course he'd know. Of course he'd use it against me, against Phoenix.

"You son of a bitch," Phoenix breathed, horror and revulsion thick in her voice. "Is there nothing you won't stoop to? No level you won't sink to, just to keep your claws in me?"

"Oh, my darling girl." Cyrus chuckled, a low, oily sound that made my skin crawl. "I think we both know the answer to that."

Silence fell, heavy and oppressive. I strained against my bonds, desperate to get to Phoenix, to pull her away from this poisonous spider's web and never look back.

But it was futile. The ropes held fast, the chair creaking but not giving an inch. I was trapped, a fly caught in amber while the world burned down around me.

"No."

Phoenix's voice rang out, clear and defiant. My heart stopped, then started again at a gallop.

"Excuse me?" Cyrus asked, danger threading through his tone.

"I said no. I won't do it. I won't be your puppet, your little wind-up doll." Phoenix's words were shaking, but I could hear the resolve beneath them. The steel in her spine. "I'd rather take my chances with the truth than live a lie under your thumb."

"Phoenix, think about what you're doing." Cyrus's voice was low, warning. "Think about Damon. About his career, his future. Do you really want to be responsible for destroying all of that? For dragging him down with you?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, hot tears of shame and frustration leaking from beneath my lids. Cyrus was right. If Phoenix defied him, if she kept digging into the past...it wouldn't just be her life that imploded. It would be mine, too .

My secrets, my sins, laid bare for all the world to see. The record deals, the tours, the hard-fought sobriety...all of it would be ashes. And it would be my fault. My weakness, my inability to keep my fucking demons in check.

I was poison. A cancer, eating away at everything good and pure in Phoenix's life. She'd be better off without me, without the taint of my failures dragging her down.

The cold, creeping tendrils of certainty wrapped around my heart, my lungs. Squeezing, constricting. I knew what I had to do. The only way to keep her safe, to save her from the fallout of my own fucked-up choices.

I had to let her go. To push her away, to make her hate me if that's what it took. To fall on my own sword, so she could rise from the ashes untouched.

Dimly, I heard Phoenix's voice, strong and clear and so fucking brave it broke my heart.

"No, Dad. I won't let you manipulate me anymore. And I won't let you use Damon as a bargaining chip. We're done here. Forever."

My heart sank. She was done with me. Phoenix had finally seen me for who I really was - a liability, a weakness to be exploited. I was no longer a valid weapon against her because she'd realized I wasn't worth fighting for.

Footsteps, quickening with purpose. The slam of a door. Silence.

Then Cyrus's voice, low and venomous. A mobster to his goon. "Cut him loose. Let him crawl back to whatever gutter he came from. We're done here."

The bite of a knife, the slither of ropes falling away. Rough hands hauling me up, the world tilting and spinning. The taste of blood and bile, the burn of shame.

I stumbled out into the light, blinking against the sudden harshness of the sun. My legs shook, threatened to buckle. But I locked my knees, forced myself to stand. To start walking.

Away from the shipyard. Away from Phoenix, from the devastation I'd wrought on her life.

My hand dipped into my pocket, numb fingers closing around the baggie like a touchstone. A promise from this devil to myself.

Just one line. One taste of oblivion, to numb the pain. To dull the jagged edge of my failures, just for a little while.

But even as I let the familiar heat spark and flow in my veins, I knew it was a lie. There was no hiding from this, no absolution to be found at the bottom of a baggie.

I'd lost her. Lost Phoenix, the best fucking thing that had ever happened to me. And it was no one's fault but my own.

The days after the shipyard blurred together. I tried calling Phoenix, but she never answered. My texts went unread. I told myself she just needed time, but deep down, I knew. She was done with me. And so, I turned to the only comfort I had left - the sweet oblivion of cocaine.

I stared at the soundboard, the dials and sliders swimming before my bloodshot eyes. The baggie on the console mocked me, its contents already half depleted.

Beside me, Zane lounged in a leather chair, a joint dangling from his lips and a dreamy smile on his face.

"This shit is fire, man," he mumbled, his words slurring together. "Fucking genius. The lyrics, the sound...it's raw. Real."

I grunted in response, my fingers moving over the strings of my guitar on autopilot. He was right. The music we'd been making the past few days was some of the best of our career.

Dark, haunting melodies that spoke of loss and betrayal, of love turned to ashes in the wake of secrets and lies .

Phoenix's face flashed through my mind, tear-streaked and devastated as I'd walked away from her at the shipyard. The memory was a serrated blade, carving me hollow with each passing day.

But I couldn't stop. Couldn't put down the pen, or the baggie. Because as long as I was writing, as long as I was riding the twisted euphoria of the high...I couldn't feel. Couldn't face the yawning chasm of despair that threatened to swallow me whole.

"This deluxe version of the album is going to blow them all away," I muttered, more to myself than to Zane. "Cyrus won't know what fucking hit him."

Zane chuckled, the sound dry and rasping. "Dude's going to shit himself when he hears this. It's going to make his little pop princess protégé look like a joke."

I flinched at the mention of Cyrus, my hand clenching around the neck of my guitar. The man who'd orchestrated my downfall, who'd used my own weaknesses against me like a master puppeteer pulling the strings.

The man who'd cost me Phoenix, the only light in my otherwise pitch-black existence.

A surge of anger blazed through me, white-hot and seething. I welcomed it, embraced it. Anger was good. Anger was fuel, a fire in my veins that burned away the aching emptiness.

Reaching for the baggie with shaking fingers, I tapped out a line on the glossy surface of the console. The razorblade glinted under the fluorescent lights, winking at me like the edge of a promise.

Just one more.

One more hit, to keep the demons at bay. To keep the music flowing, the words poured out of me like blood from a wound.

I bent over, the straw hovering millimeters from the fine white powder. My heart jackhammered against my ribcage, sweat beading on my upper lip. So close.

So fucking close to sweet oblivion.

The studio door slammed open, ricocheting off the wall with a bang that made me jump. The straw clattered to the floor, the powder scattering in a fine mist.

"What the fuck?"

I whirled, ready to unleash holy hell on whoever had dared to interrupt my ritual. The snarl died on my lips, my blood running cold as I registered the figure framed in the doorway.

Phoenix.

She stood there, chest heaving and eyes blazing with a fury that seared me to the bone. Her gaze raked over the room, taking in the empty bottles, the overflowing ashtrays. The baggie, and the spilled coke, damning in its blatancy.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" she hissed, her voice low and shaking. "Drugs, Damon? In the goddamn studio?"

Shame washed over me, hot and cloying. But I shoved it down, summoning the tattered remnants of my bravado. "It's not what it looks like..."

"Save it." She sliced a hand through the air, cutting off my feeble protest. "I'm not an idiot. I know you've been using again. I could see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice every time you blew me off or ignored my calls."

Beside me, Zane shifted uneasily, his posture radiating discomfort. "Phoenix, listen..."

Her glare cut to him, sharp as a scalpel. "Shut the fuck up, Zane. I'll deal with you and your enabling bullshit later." Her attention snapped back to me, her eyes hard as flint. "What I want to know is why. Why now, after everything we've been through? After all the promises you made?"

I flinched as if she'd struck me, the accusation in her tone flaying me open. "You wouldn't understand..."

"Understand what? That you're a coward? That you'd rather drown yourself in coke and whiskey than face your demons head on?"

Each word was a barb, hooking into my flesh and tearing. I welcomed the pain, the viciousness of her contempt. It was what I deserved. What I'd earned, with my lies and my weakness.

"Phoenix, please..." My voice cracked, the facade of indifference splintering under the weight of her disappointment. "I never meant to hurt you..."

"But you did." Her words were leaden, dull with exhaustion. "You promised me, Damon. Swore on everything holy that you were done with this shit. That I could count on you to be there, to be my rock when everything else was falling apart."

She laughed, a cold, humorless sound that raked over my skin like razor wire. "But I guess that was just another lie, huh? Another pretty fiction you spun, to keep me on the hook. To keep me blind to what a fucked-up mess you really are."

Phoenix's words echoed in my mind: 'You promised me, Damon. Swore on everything holy that you were done with this shit.' I remembered that night, telling her I was okay, that I didn't need my sponsor anymore. 'I won't use again,' I'd sworn. 'You can count on me.' Another lie to add to the pile .

Tears glittered in her eyes, bright and accusing. Each one was a dagger to my heart, a killing blow that left me gasping.

"No, baby, it wasn't like that. It was never like that." I reached for her, desperate to make her understand. To chase away the anguish twisting her beautiful face into a mask of betrayal.

But she recoiled as if my touch were poison, her arms coming up to wrap around her middle. A protective gesture, shielding herself from me. From the cancer of my presence in her life.

"I can't do this anymore."

The words fell like stones between us, heavy with finality. The air left my lungs in a rush, the edges of my vision blurring.

No. No no no. This couldn't be happening. She couldn't be...

"Phoenix, wait." I lurched forward, my hand outstretched in supplication. In desperation. "I can fix this. I can be better, I swear. Just...just give me another chance..."

But she was already shaking her head, a sad, resigned smile curving her lips. "I've given you so many chances, Damon. So many opportunities to prove that I mattered more to you than the drugs, than the self-destructive spiral you can't seem to claw your way out of."

She drew in a shuddering breath, visibly steeling herself. "But I can't keep setting myself on fire to keep you warm. I can't keep pouring my love, my faith, into a black hole that will never be filled."

I opened my mouth, ready to beg, to plead, to promise her my tainted fucking soul if only she'd stay. If only she'd give me one more shot at redemption.

But the words wouldn't come. They lodged in my throat, choking me with the bitter tang of failure. Because she was right.

I was a black hole. A vortex of need and desperation and ugly, gnawing hunger that consumed everything in its path. I would devour her from the inside out, rip her to shreds with the jagged edges of my brokenness.

She deserved better.

Deserved a man who could stand tall beside her, who could be her strength, her solace. Not a pathetic junkie who clung to her like a life raft, dragging her into the abyss of his own making.

"I'm sorry." The words were ashes on my tongue, inadequate and small in the face of the devastation I'd wrought. "I'm so fucking sorry, Phoenix."

She nodded, a single tear tracing a gleaming path down her cheek. "I know you are. But sometimes...sometimes sorry isn't enough."

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked out of the studio. Out of my life, taking the shattered remnants of my heart with her.

I stood there, numb and reeling in the deafening silence she left behind. Zane was saying something, his hand heavy on my shoulder. But I couldn't process the words. Couldn't feel anything beyond the howling void where Phoenix had been.

My gaze fell on the scattered powder, the empty baggie. The instruments of my damnation, my undoing.

Slowly, methodically, I reached for them. Let my fingers close around the cool, unyielding glass, the razor's edge.

I had nothing left to lose. Nothing left to cling to or believe in.

Nothing but the false comfort of oblivion, the temporary reprieve of the needle and the spoon.

As I bent to inhale the last stubborn remnants, I felt a grim sense of purpose settle over me. A clarity colder than the steel piercing my skin.

I'd finish this album. I would pour every ounce of my rage, my grief, my ugly, tarnished soul into the music. I would make it a masterpiece, a magnum opus that would cement Coffin Cargo's legacy in blood and tears and broken glass.

And then...

Then, I would disappear. Fade into the shadows like the wraith I was, the ghost of the man Phoenix had once thought I could be.

I would become the monster Cyrus had always known lurked beneath the surface. The nightmare made flesh, the cautionary tale parents told their children to keep them in line.

Damon Cross, the rock star who had it all...and threw it away for a baggie and a dream.

Let them whisper my name with fear and reverence. Let them build shrines to my excess, my destruction.

I would be the sacrificial lamb, the scapegoat. The one who bore the sins of an entire generation of lost souls and stolen innocence.

And Phoenix...

Phoenix would rise from the ashes of our love, stronger and more radiant than ever. She would conquer the world that had sought to break her, bend it to her indomitable will.

She would be magnificent. A queen, an empress. A fucking supernova, burning the night to cinders with her brilliance.

And I...

I would be the one to light the match. To set the kindling of my own immolation, and watch her ascend on the updraft of my ruin.

It was a poison cup to drink from, a bitter pill to swallow. But it was the only ending I could see, the only path that lay before me.

Because in the end, there was only one truth that mattered. Only one constant in the ever-shifting sands of my miserable existence.

I loved Phoenix Rowe. Loved her with an intensity that bordered on madness, a devotion that eclipsed the sun.

And if burning in the flames of my own damnation was the price I had to pay to see her rise...

Then let me be the torch, the pyre.

Let me be the one to light her way, even as I crumbled to dust in her wake.