Page 63 of Madness

Chase squeezes my shoulder. "That's the way. If you need anything..."

"Thanks," I say, feeling a lump form in my throat. "I appreciate it."

As they head out, Chase turns back. "You sure you don't want to come? We could do something non-alcoholic, hit up a diner or something?"

The offer is tempting, but I shake my head. My hands are already starting to shake slightly, my body craving what I'm denying it. "Not tonight. But... maybe next time?"

Chase grins. "I'll hold you to that. Take care of yourself, Dakota."

As I watch them leave, I feel a mix of longing and relief. The urge to follow them, to lose myself in the night, is almost overwhelming. But I stand my ground.

Brad approaches, his voice low. "Proud of you, man. That couldn't have been easy."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. He seems to understand, giving my shoulder a quick squeeze before heading off to help with the gear.

Back in the dressing room, I ignore the mini-bar and grab my laptop instead. As I start researching local AA meetings for our next stop, I can't help but wonder: Can I really do this? Stay sober on tour, with temptation around every corner?

I don't have all the answers. But for tonight, I made the right choice. And maybe, just maybe, that's enough for now.

36

THE UNKNOWN

LAUREN

My eyes burn from hours of studying my pharmacology textbook, and the faint aroma of stale coffee clings to my clothes. I roll my shoulders, trying to ease the tension that's built up over the past four hours of cramming.

ACE inhibitors, beta-blockers, calcium channel blockers... The words swim before my eyes, a jumble of medical jargon that could make or break my nursing school career. Tomorrow's exam looms large – three hours of grueling multiple-choice questions and case studies that will test everything we've learned about cardiovascular pharmacology this semester.

But instead of focusing on the difference between lisinopril and metoprolol, my mind keeps drifting to Dakota. I check my phone again, the screen's blue light harsh in the dimness of the library carrel. Still no message.

It's been days since our last conversation. Days of silence that I asked for.

And I hate it.

I close my eyes, and unbidden, a memory surfaces: Dakota, laughing as he tries to teach Roman how to play air guitar. The joy on both their faces, the easy comfort between them. My chest tightens at the thought of losing that, of Roman losing that.

But then another image intrudes – Miles, passed out in the apartment’s parking lot, an empty bottle in his hand. The fear, the uncertainty, the constant walking on eggshells. Can I risk putting Roman through that again?

"You okay?" Sonya's voice breaks through my reverie. She's standing at the end of my carrel, concern etched on her face. "You look like you're a million miles away."

I force a smile. "Just stressed about the exam. You know, the usual pre-test jitters."

Sonya nods sympathetically. "Tell me about it. I'm still not sure I understand the differences in beta-blocker selectivity. Want to do a quick review?"

For a moment, I'm tempted to say yes, to lose myself in the familiar rhythm of study. But the weight of everything – Dakota, Miles, Chloe, the exam – suddenly feels overwhelming.

"Thanks, but I think I need some air," I say, gathering my things. "Good luck with your studying."

Outside, the cool night air is a shock to my system after hours in the stuffy library. I breathe deeply, trying to clear my head. The campus is quiet at this late hour, just a few students hurrying between buildings, their faces illuminated by the glow of their phones.

I pull out my own phone, thumb hovering over Dakota's name. Should I call him? What would I even say?

'Hey, I know you're struggling with sobriety, and I dropped a bomb about your dead wife potentially cheating on you, and I said I needed space, but I wanted to hear your voice?’

I let out a bitter laugh, startling a nearby squirrel.

The truth is, I want to call him. I want to hear his voice, to know he's okay. But I'm also terrified of what I might hear – slurred words, broken promises, the sound of his world falling apart.

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