Bottleneck by Henry Max

Author:Henry, Max
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance
Publisher: Max Henry
Published: 2020-04-18T16:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-FIVE

Emery

“Hammer” – Point North

I save the edit and flick the recording off to Kris to listen to—when he bothers to check-in. I woke up halfway through the night with an epic idea for a bassline that he could come in on and couldn’t rest until I’d fleshed it out and fine-tuned the flat areas.

I’ve maybe slept a total of three hours and fuck me dead do I feel it.

The only guy looking sorrier than me is my damn dog while he tries and fails numerous times to get comfortable.

The entry door opens, and my blood ices. I know who it is before I catch the first click of her heeled boots against my hardwood floor.

“Didn’t expect to see you until later.” I lift my Fender off the sofa and cross over to the wall rack to fit it in the empty slot.

“I have my first job for Jackson tonight, remember.” Deanna sighs. “I messaged you about it yesterday. I thought I’d stop in and check you have what you need on my way there.”

“You mean you thought you’d check I have enough drugs and alcohol to stay compliant?” Yeah, I figured out her game years ago. The difference is, I didn’t give two shits about it until Alice turned up in my life again.

Whenever someone throws it in my face that I drink too much—Toby, Mom, or on the odd occasion, Deanna—all I feel is anger. Their judgment makes me mad, frustrated that they’d choose criticism over encouragement. Everybody is quick to throw a comment on what I should be doing, but not one of those fuckers wants to stand by and help me figure out how.

Yet when Alice showed up last week … fuck, I felt sadness. The way she looked at me when I pulled that bourbon from the fridge, the pity in her goddamn gaze when she watched me from the doorway.

It fucking tore me apart. I’d let her down, and that goddamn hurt.

I never wanted to let her down, and yet that’s all I ever did.

Disappointed her time and fucking time again.

“I’m taking care of you,” Deanna states, hands to her hips. “I don’t want you struggling with withdrawals while you try to put something together for the next album.”

Not so long ago, I would have believed the bullshit she spews, but since alienating my parents and living above the garage in exile, I’ve had plenty of time alone to think. Time to wake up to the fucking fact that I take less when I’m on tour.

Time to replay that goddamn look on Alice’s face over and over again until resolve filled my languid limbs with steel and put a fire in my heart that no amount of alcohol could subdue.

It’s time.

“I not addicted enough to get withdrawals from drugs, Dee. You know that. They’re recreational only.”

Her eyes narrow. “Tried going dry lately?” She doesn’t wait for a response, striding across to my trashcan and tearing the metal lid off. “It seems not.”

“I’m not an alcoholic.”

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