Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87142 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“I’ll get it dumped, Ms. Shannon,” he promised as he hauled it away.
“A little formal there with the Ms., isn’t he?”
Her brow puckered. “He called you Mr. Winters.”
I wasn’t nearly drunk enough for this conversation. “Right, but that’s my last name. I thought we lost the whole title-before-the-first when we became adults, but I know how much you love your protocol, so hey, whatever floats your boat, Ms. Shannon. Now, is Ben coming too, or are you his emissary?”
How many people needed to be here?
“You are…” She shook her head. “If I’m stuck here with you, then at least tell me you know that Shannon isn’t my first name, right?” She tilted her head and folded her arms under her breasts. I couldn’t say if she had a nice set or not, considering she was always buttoned up to her throat like a librarian. Not that it mattered—I didn’t sleep with girls on staff.
Wait…her name wasn’t Shannon?
“It isn’t?” I narrowed my eyes. I’d been calling her that for the last four years.
“No!” She shook her head, all indignant, like I was the one rifling through her bedroom. “And yes, Ben sent me to make sure all the…contraband was out before you got back. He’s on his way over.”
“Well, I guess you failed that one.” I snorted. “But you wiggled it free so at least you’re not stuck here anymore. And I don’t really care if you stay or not, but I’m getting in the shower, so if you don’t want an eyeful, I’d get out.” I pulled my shirt off and headed for the bathroom.
Her gaze widened and flickered toward my torso, but she marched out.
By the time I finished my shower and got back downstairs, Ben stood in my living room, the dark skin of his forehead wrinkling with concern as he thumbed through his phone, Ms. Shannon at his side. She even looked small next to Ben, who wasn’t a huge guy. She didn’t come up to my collarbone, even in heels.
“So, if we cancel San Francisco,” he began.
“We’re not canceling San Francisco,” I cut him off.
Chaos erupted.
“We have to cancel every show this fall.”
“You won’t be ready.”
“We’re not putting you through this.”
I stuck two fingers in my mouth and whistled, which had the desired effect of shutting everyone up. “Okay, this is the point where you all stop making decisions for me.” I stared down my well-meaning bandmates. “That’s never been how we’ve operated, and we’re not starting now.”
Jonas rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. “We’re just worried about you, Nix. We want to give you the best shot at staying clean. Canceling four shows is nothing in the scheme of things. We’ll reschedule. You’re more important.”
“We’re not canceling,” I reiterated. “I did a six-week program instead of the full twelve because I wanted to make sure that I could handle myself in the real world before the fall dates. Did you honestly think I would dump myself into rehab and not think about what we had coming up?” I was a selfish prick, but I wasn’t that selfish.
“We weren’t sure exactly what went through your head.” Quinn leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees. “You didn’t fill us in. And no, don’t look at me like that—we’re thrilled you went. We’re just trying to figure out how to best support you.”
My jaw locked. My reasons for going to rehab were mine and mine alone, just like the reasons I drank. “I should have told you, but I’d already walked out of rehab the week before, and I didn’t want to disappoint you if I did it again.”
They all sagged, like I’d just deflated their balloons—like I’d already failed.
“Look,” I said softly. “This sucks. I’m not going to lie. I haven’t been six weeks sober since I was eighteen. But next week, I’ll be at seven weeks, and the week after that, I’ll be at eight. I chose to go. No one forced me. I didn’t need an intervention. I made the decision myself. That should tell you how serious I am, and quite frankly, you’re all starting to really piss me off by assuming you know what’s best for me. If you want to parent someone, then go home to your kids.”
They stared at me with open mouths.
“So, that means you don’t want to cancel the shows?” Ben asked, still holding his phone.
“No. I don’t. It’s bad for business and would lead to a massive PR issue. I’m assuming you kept the rehab quiet?” If he hadn’t, I was going to fire his ass, right here and now.
“Of course. Publicity stepped in and posted from quite a few beaches around the world on your social media, with bullshit captions like ‘living my best life’ and ‘water soothes the soul.’”
I would never say cheesy shit like that, but I let it slide.