Always (23 page)

“Hey, stop it. What is?”

“Ash. I was supposed to be looking out for him. I said I would. I promised that nothing would happen to him. Instead, I fucking
walked away
. And he died alone.”

“Oh Dillon, no. You know it was more complicated than that. You tried. You tried harder than anyone.”

“But I failed. And then I just cut him loose. How the fuck am I supposed to live with that?”

“You have to find a way. You need to talk to somebody. But first, you need to get sober. This has got to stop. I was willing to give you a pass when Ash died, give you time to deal with it your own way. But the way you’re dealing with it is going to kill you, and I can’t let that happen.”

He shook his head wearily. “Just let me go, Justine. Get yourself clear of this mess once and for all.”

“Shut up. I’m not doing that. You’re too important.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, I’m so vital to the world.”

Her hand shot out and she gripped his chin. “Hey, you’re vital to me. Do you remember when we met? New Year’s Eve? Do you know why I wanted to meet you that night?”

He shook his head, looking so tired he might fade away in front of her eyes. She tightened her grip on his jaw, forcing his face to hers, making him meet her eyes.

“Not because of Ash and not because of your stupid record on the charts. I wanted to meet
you
. I wanted to know the soul that wrote those songs. That’s who I was looking for.”

“What a fucking disappointment I've turned out to be, huh?”

She shook her head fiercely. “Not to me. You'll never disappoint me. But you're about to disappoint yourself.”

He snorted. “Already done. Best friend is dead, career is over. This is what the end of the line looks like.”

She fisted a hand in the front of his t-shirt and her voice turned sharp. “You are nowhere near done, Dillon. Do you hear me? You’re going to get clean, get some help, and then you’re going to start over.”

“I don’t know how to do any of that, Justine.”

“So I’ll help. Will you do this? For me? Will you try? Please?”

“There doesn’t seem to be any point.”

“There’s me. You said you’d always look out for me. You’re my best friend, Dillon. You’re not going anywhere. Not yet. I need you too much.”

“Have you turned on the radio lately, Justine? You’ve arrived. You’re there. You don’t need anyone anymore, and if you do, you’ve got a million people better than me who will happily volunteer.”

“But none of them know me like you do. There’s only one you, and I still need him. Kind of a lot.”

He sighed. “You put up with way too much from me.”

Finally, she cracked a small smile. “Yeah, I do. Believe it or not, I think you’re worth it. So… rehab. You ready to go?”

He looked alarmed and took a step back. “What, today?”

“You want another few days to go on a bender? Nope, no time like the present. I’m not leaving your side until the nurse or counselor or whatever they have pries me away.”

“I don’t know—”

“I do. Dillon—” She reached up and took his face in her hands. His eyes softened and his body seemed to sag towards hers. “I’m not losing you. You need to come back for me.”

Dillon blinked. Her hands on his face, just her presence, was enough to make him feel more hopeful than he had in months. Maybe she was right and things weren’t so hopeless. Hell, even if she wasn’t, she was the only person left on earth who genuinely cared about what happened to him. For that reason alone, it was worth trying to hang on, and claw himself back up. He was terrified, and had no idea where to start, so he’d start with the only thing he had left— Justine. He’d put his trust in her and he’d give it his best shot. She deserved at least that much. “For you. I’ll try for you.”

PART 2

March, 2011

Dillon felt like utter shit for the first week. For a couple of days, he could barely move except to throw up. For endless hours, he was shaking and enduring non-stop cold sweats. He was nauseous far past when any ordinary hangover should have quit. His head pounded and everything hurt. Since he’d taken to knocking himself out every night with a bottle of scotch, sober sleep was hard to come by. It hardly mattered. He felt too awful to sleep.

The staff at Vistas, the chic Malibu rehab facility Justine had checked him into, told him his physical addiction to alcohol wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t the worst they’d seen, anyway. It was the mental stuff that would be his biggest obstacle. And the way to deal with it was talking. A lot.

His days kicked off with group therapy right after breakfast, followed by yoga, which he hated, then a late morning individual therapy session. Group sessions in sober living were after lunch, followed by a hike through the foothills, also considered therapy. He liked that better than the yoga. After dinner, there was yet another group session where they could share the progress they’d made for the day. For patients who needed it, and Dillon was one, there would sometimes be additional solo therapy sessions in the evening. Dillon, not terribly open by nature, found the therapy tantamount to mild torture at first. He’d have easily opted for another week of shakes and cold sweats over sharing stories from his childhood.

He might not have made it through the full thirty days if not for Keith, his shrink. Dr. Keith Blanchard, Ph.D, was as big as a lumberjack, and dressed more like one than any doctor Dillon knew. Hand-in-hand with the mountain man beard and flannel shirts came a no-nonsense attitude and brutal honesty Dillon could respect, even if sometimes Keith’s truths were hard to hear.

Keith forced him to come to terms with Ash and his endless guilt. When Dillon worried he’d never be rid of his guilt over Ash, Keith didn’t placate him with nonsense about “closure.” He simply shrugged and said “No, you won’t. And if you’re going to be carrying that burden for the rest of your life, you should probably figure out a way to do it so it doesn’t crush you, huh?”

For a few minutes, Dillon was speechless. It was the first thing he’d heard that made any sense, so when Keith asked questions, he answered, and when Keith gave him work to do, Dillon did his best to dig deep to do it. He figured if anybody could show him how to move on with his life, it was Keith.

Under Keith’s guidance, he even revisited his childhood, his neglectful mother, the abusive boyfriends and step-fathers, even her death— all the stuff Dillon was sure he never wanted to think about, never mind discuss with anyone. Keith quietly, calmly walked him through it, and eventually Dillon knew why. He’d been a wreck long before he’d been seduced by fame and given in to addiction. He’d been walking through his life already hobbled by his disastrous childhood. He’d been using alcohol, drugs and sex to numb himself to a lot more than the stress of Ash’s self-destruction. He’d been numbing himself to his life as long as he’d been alive. And Keith was right— he’d never move on and get better until he woke up and faced it all. By the end of the month, he was actually looking forward to their daily sessions.

He also looked forward to Justine’s phone calls, and she called every day. The time varied because her schedule was so difficult, but she never missed one, and being called to the phone over the intercom rapidly became the best part of his days.

“Hey,” he greeted her, slightly breathless, since she’d caught him as he’d gotten back from the hike. It was the most physical activity he’d had since he was running away from street thugs as a teenager, and he liked it. Getting sweaty and exhausted did more to clear his head than hours of group therapy.

“Hey!” she answered. “You sound all winded. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just got back from a hike.”

She paused, then chuckled. “You? Hiking?”

He gave a long-suffering sigh. “It’s part of my
treatment
, thank you very much. And I like it.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, bizarre, huh? The things you find out about yourself.”

“So, are you still on track to finish at the end of the month?”

“I’ll finish the residency, for sure. I’ll keep seeing Keith and I’ll come back for some group sessions for a while. Until I’m really back on my feet.”

“You’re going to stay in therapy?”

“Yeah. Keith is great. He’s really helped me get my head on straight. Well, straighter. It’s a long road. Keith’s not shy about telling me I’ll be a fuck-up for life, but I’m working on being a high-functioning fuck-up.”

She laughed out loud and the sound made his chest constrict. He missed her fiercely.

“What about you? How’s the tour?”

“Endless. I feel like I’ve seen every hotel room in the country. Or maybe it’s one hotel room and they keep moving it around on me. They all look the same so it’s hard to tell.”

“Can’t wait until you’re back in LA,” he said, and he meant it. Being able to see Justine whenever he wanted was starting to feel like an unimaginable luxury.

“Me either. We’ll hang out. It’ll be good.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

They didn’t talk much longer. The conversations were rarely lengthy, as she always had someplace to be. It didn’t matter to Dillon though. Her voice on the phone was the daily reminder he needed. Someone cared about him. It mattered to her that he get well and rejoin the land of the living. It was the best incentive he could ever have.

Justine ended the call and sat up on the bed. Dillon sounded so good. Better than he had in months and months. Not just sober, but aware, alive. He never went into much detail about his therapy sessions, but she could tell by the way he talked about everything else they were having an effect on him. And the fact he was going to stay in therapy even after his thirty days meant he knew it, too. Finally, she felt like she could breathe again. He was going to be okay.

It was such a shitty time to be away. She hadn’t been able to visit him in person even once in rehab. He insisted he preferred it that way, because what he was doing was best done on his own, but still, it bothered her. The tour schedule was brutal, though, and a flight back to LA was impossible to fit in.

Pushing off the bed, she headed out to the front room of her suite. Ariana had some things for her to sign off on and she’d left Ian working out there when she went to call Dillon. Ian looked up from his laptop as she came into the room. She curled up next to him on the couch and his hand found her knee, squeezing gently.

“Hey there. How’s Dillon?”

“Good. He sounds fantastic, actually. Alive again.”

“That’s great. I know you’ve been worried about him.”

Across the room at the bar, Ari lowered her phone and covered it with her hand. “Sorry to interrupt, but Justine, did you get a chance to look at the email I forwarded to you from Rolling Stone?”

“Um, briefly, on the plane.”

“Are you okay with those terms?”

“Sure, as long as you think it’s cool.”

She nodded and turned back to finish her call.

“You still look tense,” Ian said, leaning back and raising his arm so she could rest her head on his chest.

“No, I’m great. He sounds better than he has in months. I’m so happy.”

Ian chuckled and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “You don’t sound happy.”

“I really am. So why am I so tired?”

Ian sighed. “Look, I know he’s important to you. Your best friend, or whatever. But you’ve been worried about Dillon pretty much as long as you’ve known him. And Ash. After what’s happened with both of them, it stands to reason you’d be worn out. You need a break. You’re not his baby-sitter, Justine.”

She sighed and rubbed her hands over her face. “I have a few weeks off soon. I just need to rest.”

Ian was silent for a moment, rubbing his thumb back and forth over her arm. “Are you set on going back to LA, then?”

She turned her head to look at him. “Why?”

“I’ve been thinking maybe you’d like to come home to London with me.”

“London?”

He nodded, a slow smile starting, the one she was powerless to resist. “To meet my parents.”

“Oh.” Her answering smile spread.

“I thought it would be good for you to take a break from all of it. LA, Dillon, everything that’s happened. Maybe get away from your circus of a career, too. It would be nice to take you out to dinner without a camera shoved in my face for once.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“For you, maybe,” Ian grumbled. “I bet it wouldn’t be so bad in London. What do you say?”

Justine tipped her head back and stared at the ceiling. She missed Dillon. Especially now when he needed someone to be there for him. But Ian was right— she needed a break. Well, maybe not from her career. She loved her career. But the rest… The idea of disappearing for a bit in London was very appealing. It would only be for a week or two, and she could call Dillon from London just like she had been. Plus, Ian wanted her to meet his family. It set off a warm glow in her chest.

She turned her face until she could kiss the underside of his jaw. “I think it sounds perfect.”

Ian smiled down at her. “I’ll call my mother and let her know to expect us.”

“Justine?”

Justine cleared her throat and sat up. Ariana certainly wasn’t going to get flustered by their cuddling, but it felt unprofessional to Justine.

“Sorry. What’s the question?”

Ari smiled. “No question. Just wanted to let you know before I head out that the Rolling Stone interview is confirmed. They haven’t settled on who’s going to do it yet, but I worked in a right-of-refusal clause, so it’s no big deal.” Ari paused and blinked, looking to Ian and back to Justine. “Hey, stroke of genius. Why don’t you request Ian for the interview?”

“Ian?”

“You’ve done some freelance work for them before, right?” Ariana asked him.

Ian shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, a bit, but I don’t think—”

“It would add a great angle to the article,” Ari pressed.

Justine turned and was surprised to see the scowl on Ian’s face. She’d been about to tell him she liked the idea, but there was no way she’d say so now.