Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88218 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
They continue to blink at me.
“Jesus Christ, so I decided to be sober for a while. Is that really a big deal?”
“It is,” Harley says. “But … in a good way. Are you going to meetings and stuff?”
“Fuck no. I don’t want that shit getting out.” It’s not like I’m an alcoholic or something. I just really like it, want to turn to it, and love that it makes me feel nothing. Okay, that totally sounds like I’m an alcoholic. Well, fuck. “Statistically, one of us was going to become an addict. You’re welcome.”
Though, I still don’t see it completely that way. Then again, my outlook on addiction is probably skewed. My vision of an addict is those who can’t look after themselves or their kids, having them taken away by the government and placed with other relatives or put into the foster system.
It’s entirely possible I’m a high-functioning addict. It would be healthier for me to stop before I do become destructive and helpless.
“I have a brilliant idea,” Blake says. “The more we drink, the less there is for Denny to drink.”
Harley jumps up. “Good idea. I know where he keeps a stash of the good stuff. He hides it when he throws parties.”
The three of them leave the room.
“Annnd now they’re raiding my bar,” I say. I turn to Mason, who’s watching me intently.
“You were going to drink?”
“I didn’t, did I?”
“How do you feel now?”
“Fine. You can go join them if you want.” I wave in the others’ direction. “I’m stronger now I’m home. I’m not going to lie, I had moments there today, but I’m good. It’s passed. I’m cool.”
Mason purses his lips like he doesn’t completely believe me, but then he reaches for my hand. “I …” He blows out a loud breath. Then he looks away.
Oh, fuck. Fuck no. No, no, no. He’s been talking about leaving, and I can see it in his set jaw and soft, defeated eyes. He can’t do this now. Not here. Not with everyone else in the other room.
“Whatever you have to say, you can wait until the others are gone.” I pull my hand away from his.
Mason opens his mouth to say something, but it closes when the guys come back into the room, glasses full of my top-shelf stuff in hand. That’s okay. They’re allowed to drink the good stuff.
I’m not cheap by any means, but my sixteen-hundred-dollar bottles of Macallan are way too good to waste on the Hollywood wannabes who turn up to my parties.
This whole situation hits me with some hard truths. Since Mason’s been back, I haven’t thrown a single party. I haven’t invited anyone over.
And no one has contacted me. No one has asked where I’ve gone. No one is blowing up my phone.
Looking back on it, the organizer I’d used to contact to get people here was using me just as much as I was using him. If I ever needed to feel validated in my place in Hollywood, I’d contact Charlie, and then up-and-comers, models, and Hollywood chasers would turn up on my doorstep a few hours later. It’s all about networking.
Only, I’m suddenly realizing no one cared.
Charlie hasn’t contacted me in almost two months, and come to think of it, the only time we ever talked was when I would contact him.
I suddenly have a new understanding of what Mason went through when he went running home. The only difference is I don’t have a home to run to. This is the only life, the only place, the only thing I have.
“Did you guys know Cameron offered to adopt me?” I say out of nowhere.
“What?” Harley asks.
“After my grandmother died, and we were going through all that court stuff where I had to prove I could look after myself, Cameron said if it didn’t work, he’d adopt me so nothing in my life would change. It was only going to be on paper, but still … he was there for us. Always. Now …”
“That’s depressing.” Blake downs his glass.
“Now we should be there for each other,” Harley says.
We all look at him in various states of what the fuck because he can’t be bringing up the reunion at a time like this … could he?
Harley looks pissed at our implied expressions. “I’m not talking about getting back together or mentioning that the performance today was magic. I mean that when we broke up, we were so focused on ourselves and our careers and what we were going to do as individuals, we lost that brotherhood. It was no one’s fault, and we all did it. I can’t help thinking we went about it all wrong. It’s been two and a half years since we’ve been in the same room together. Let’s not do that again.”
We look around at each other, each of us nodding or murmuring some state of agreement except for Mason, who’s stoic.