16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Anna

" W hat in the—" I exit my room the next morning, toeing my way down the clutter-filled hallway, with my palms slicking over.

What I'd expected to find this morning was a hungover but sleeping Toby passed out on the couch. Especially after hearing him play from my side of the door, so long that I fell asleep to the tune.

Instead … I'm met with complete and utter chaos as I enter the main portion of the house.

Dishes are discarded from their cabinets, silverware littering the counter, logs tossed across the floor. There're ribbons of paper towels hanging from the open cabinets and cereal spilled all over the coffee table beside an over-turned chair.

"Jeffers?" I whisper.

Several bottles—beer and liquor alike—dot the disorder like a trail of crumbs I follow, all the while doing my best not to touch or step on anything.

"Jeffers," I call out, stopping beside to the upside-down recliner.

I heard the guitar but not this?

"In ever gotto—" The words are mumbled, spoken so close together that I can barely make it out.

"What?" I crouch, careful not to let the wide legs of my dress slacks touch the floor, and peer beneath the armchair when a painful cry echoes out from the cushions.

That sound quickly becomes a grunt and the recliner goes flying.

Gasping, I fall back, pushing myself away in time for my ankles to narrowly be missed by the projectile that crashes against the stone hearth across the room.

In its place is a feral Tobias with not just bloodshot, but red-rimmed eyes, a layer of sweat coating his exposed skin, and pupils so blown that the already dark color is gone.

His chest heaves as he whirls around, his gaze not landing on anything before he's moving again.

" Whereshe ?"

The scent of sweaty liquor permeates the room, and I skitter my way around the back of the couch, pulling my phone out as I duck behind the furniture.

Toby continues to mumble words I can't make out over the ringing phone.

My hands shake and my butt feels like it might be bruised but none of that holds a candle to the anxiety twisting in my stomach.

I've only seen him this bad once.

"C'mon," I whisper into the still ringing phone, my grip tight to the device when the line finally clicks. "Oh, thank God."

"Anna?" Leo answers, his end of the line bursting with noise. "Hang on, shit."

"Leo, Jesus Christ," I mutter. "He was fine last night—well, not entirely fine , but he wasn't this bad."

"What?"

"It's Toby," I whisper into the phone as the man in question tosses something and things go crashing to the floor. "He's losing his marbles and I don't know why."

"Did something happen?"

I shake my head and clammer to my knees, peeking over the couch cushions. "No— yes —no. I don't freaking know, Leo!"

"Explain." His clipped tone makes me scoff.

"Last night, he mentioned coming up here as kids. He freaked and ran outside. I have no idea if that's something or just Jeffers being freaking insane."

There's a long, drawn-out sigh. "Fuck."

"Um, yeah , that's what I'm saying. Because whatever it was that you guys used to do up here set him off. Now he's throwing crap and apparently drank all night."

"Not us," Leo corrects, and I drop back down, leaning into the couch.

"What's that mean?"

Mumbles reach my ears from both the man on the line and the man in the room.

"Leo, what's that mean?"

A string of cursing is what I receive and just when I'm about to open my mouth to start yelling into the phone for some kind of answer, Leo's words stop me dead.

"Get him a drink."

"No, Jesus." I scoff and shake my head. "That's the whole reason we're in this predicament."

"Anna, trust me." The somber tone makes me suck in a breath, my eyes going to the ceiling. "It's the only thing that'll calm him down. I've tried everything else."

"And what happens when he comes down from this?"

"He'll be fine. He just needs to chill out."

"I seriously think that's the worst answer." I'm shaking my head, my knees drawn up to my chest when some of Toby's words start to register through the chaos.

Where is he?

I never got to show him.

Where is he. Where is he.

With my heart in my throat, I push back up to my knees. "Leo, I'm leaving you on the line. If I scream, send the authorities."

"Wait, Anna—"

Setting the device on the cushion, I call, "Jeffers," calmly into the room as I raise my hands and step around the couch. "It's just me."

"Where did he go?" Toby wheels around the middle of the room, a bottle sloshing in one hand. "I gotta find him."

"Find who?" I ask and step closer as his unfocused eyes trail right over me like I'm not even here. "Tell me and we'll find him."

"We can't find him," Toby heaves out on bated breath. "He's not here."

Pulling in a deep, steadying lungful, I breathe out and step closer. So close that I could reach out and steal the bottle from his grip. "Then where is he? Tell me who we're looking for and I'll help you find him."

"You can't," he mutters, his blackened sight landing on me and piercing me with its intensity. "Can't."

"Sure we can," I say softly on a forced smile. "I'm sure he's around here somewhere."

"No," he snarls, his face hardening.

I wet my lips and shake my head. "Help me out, Jeffers. So I can help you. Please."

His throat bobs with a swallow, his stance unsteady as his eyes slowly meet mine, as if he's truly seeing me for the first time. The redness in his gaze grows, and it's like I watch the weight of the world settle onto his sagging shoulders. "Can't find him because he's dead ."

I swear I feel the color drain from my face as my heart plummets into my stomach.

I know this has to be a hallucination that Toby is experiencing, but his conviction just feels so damn real that tears are tickling the backs of my own eyes.

"I know, Toby," I mutter even though I don't know and step up to the man with pain etched into his features. "And I'm so sorry." Instincts have me wrapping my arms around his bare torso, his familiar citrusy scent filtering through the alcohol sweating out of his pores. "I'm so sorry he's not here."

He's like a radiator when I press my cheek into his pec and run through all the information I've ever been told or read about Tobias Jeffers in the official files. Even some of the tabloids flash through my mind, and yet, I come up with nothing that would match his reaction.

Cinching my arms around his waist, I almost startle when his hands land on my shoulders and grip me, holding me close.

Like he might float away if he doesn't.

I want to ask questions, to understand better, but they get stuck behind the lump of emotion in my throat as I feel his tears dampen my hair.

"Our first show, As Above's—" Toby sucks back a sniff and runs his hands down my spine as if I'm the one in need of comfort, reassurance. "He was supposed to be there. I looked all night." His words are clearer now, but full of so much pain that my stomach twists. "Swear I still remember every face from the crowd that night." His bearded chin rests on the top of my head, and I blink back the tears that threaten when I feel his thick swallow against my temple. "I didn't know."

Biting my lip, I nod against him, silently encouraging him to keep going when I know my voice won't work.

"Did you know he's the one who taught me to play?" There's almost a hint of a chuckle edging the end of his question, like maybe the thought brings him some peace. Except it doesn't last. "He never got to see me play."

My hands shake against his back, my eyes clouded with tears as I force a swallow. I don't trust myself enough to speak the question, but that doesn't stop the whisper of words off my trembling and damp lips. "Who taught you to play, Toby?"

He shudders against me, his throat bobbing, his grip bruising. "My, um—" He sucks another tear-filled breath, his swallow sounding with an audible click. "My pops did. He taught me to play."

My jaw wobbles, the tears no longer held back as they flow over my cheeks and transfer to the skin of his chest.

"And he—" I can't bring myself to say the words, the pain too much to bear, but he takes them from me and makes it real.

"He never made it to our show that night." Voice thick, more moisture soaks into the top of my head. "Head-on collision with a drunk driver killed him." His chest pumps in short puffs, his shortened breath bursting over the top of my head. "And it's all my fault."

The dots finally connect. My body shakes with silent sobs, the connections all making sense as tears soak the chest I'm still leaning into.

I can't believe I didn't see it sooner.

"Toby," I state with as much strength as I can. "It's not your fault. None of it is your fault."

"He would have never been on that road that night if it weren't for me," he chokes.

I squeeze my arms around his waist, the heat of him making me sweat where we connect. "You weren't driving the car."

"I could've been, Anna." He shakes his head against mine, his voice cracking. "Since I was fifteen . Any given night, I could be."

I swallow against the realization he's spitting, my chest balled up in the worst possible ache. He was so young. "You're right," I say through gritted teeth and turn into him, my forehead resting against his pec. "So what are you going to do about it?"

"I …" His jaw moves against my head like he's licking his lips and collecting his words. Except they still comes out broken when he speaks. "I don't know, Anna. Fuck , I don't know."

There are a million things he could do. But the one that he should do is abstain. Quit.

Get sober.

And the last thing this man needs is another reason to reach for a drink.

I've got to make this baby accusation disappear.