Page 111 of Fractured Frets

I hadn’t played that hard or had so much fun on stage in months.

But like after every high, the crash hit me hard.

Back in my hotel room, I sat in my shower with freezing cold water pelting me for more than an hour.

Somehow I pushed through our second show in Prague with only pain-killers holding me together.

We hit Berlin, performed in front of huge crowds, followed by a sellout show in Amsterdam.

I swallowed oxy and Drizodone but didn’t touch coke. I was dancing on a tightrope with no safety harness on and no net beneath me.

An hour before we hit our last show in Paris, Maddy called.

Fuck. I missed her. But this wasn’t her usual time to talk.

My fingers trembled as I swiped my phone to answer it and rushed to the far end of the dressing room so I could talk in private.

“Hey?” I spoke low and soft. “How are you? Everything okay?”

“Yes and no.” She paused. The silence snagged my breath. “I’ve just had a meeting with the producers of my show. They want to reshoot several scenes to finish post-production of last season. They weren’t happy with the final storyline and want to rework some new elements and direction into the last couple of episodes. The bad news is that filming is scheduled over our next catchup. It means I have to stay here and will only make it to LA for Sutton’s birthday. For one night—maybe two.”

My heart lurched against my ribs. My head scrambled for a solution. “Fuck. Okay. I’ll change my flights and come to Vancouver.”

“Slip.” Exhaustion rattled her voice. She’d been working long days, traveling across the country, promoting her show, and seeing her mom. She rarely took a break. “During the reshoots, I’ll be onset all day and half the night. We won’t get much time together.”

“Mads, I’d fly across the world just to spend an hour with you.”

“I know. But we have to be sensible and realistic. Reshoots aren’t normal. We have to cram so much into a few days. They’re exhausting. We have to film in the studio, across the city, and overnight upstate. You don’t need extra travel during your break. You need to rest to avoid jet lag. We won’t get much time together. But one night is better than nothing, right?”

My whole body shook. Sweat trickled down the back of my shirt. “Yes, but I’m so exhausted anyway, another flight or two won’t make any difference.”

“Babe, we’ll be fine. I’ll see you at Sutton’s. There are only two months of the tour left. That’s not long. We’ll get there. I gotta get back on set. Love you. Bye.”

Fuck! I ended the call, stuffed my cell phone into my pocket, and leaned against the wall. I pummeled my fist on my forehead. No. No. No.

I had to see Maddy for more than one night. I had to make that happen.

But I knew my body. Long-haul flights, my hip, and the remaining performances would take every ounce of strength I had left. I hated that Maddy was right.

I took out all my frustrations on stage that night. I played hard. Messed up during a couple of songs. I kept performing without question.

I drowned my aggravations and frustrations in vodka afterwards. Felt better after a hit of coke.

Three nights later in Barcelona, Flint pulled me aside before we took to the stage.

“Hey?” He flicked the back of his hand against my chest. “Get your shit together. Your timing has been off the last two shows. You’ve been coming in late on a few songs. You’ve fucked up the riff in ‘Wild Nights’ twice.”

I jittered on the spot. “Sorry. I’m not perfect.”

I went to step past him, but he caught my arm and turned me to face him.

“I didn’t ask you to be. We all make mistakes. But that’s not what this is about. This isn’t you.” Fire flickered through his ice-blue eyes . “You could play this set list in your sleep and not miss a note. You’re not focused and are jumping around too much. You have to watch your hip.”

“Nah.” I grinned and chuckled. “Go hard or go home.”

“Fucking hell, Slip?” His icy tone sent a chill down my spine. “I’m not naïve. Nor is anyone else. You think we haven’t noticed your dilated pupils, your shakes, highs and lows, and mood swings? They’re a dead giveaway.” He shook his head as he scanned me from head to toe, then pinned me with his gaze. “You look like utter shit.”

“Geez. Thanks.” Fucker.

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