Page 127 of Fractured Frets

I blinked away my tears. I still needed to file the annulment. Some days when I thought about submitting it, I was too exhausted to turn on my laptop. Other days, I simply forgot. I’d been so busy with work and Mom’s health taking another turn for the worse, I hadn’t had time.

A message from Sutton popped up on my screen:

Sutton: So good to be home. All I’ve done is sleep.

Can’t wait to catch up.

Not sure if you’ve seen this?

She sent a link to a GossipOnline article:

Sebastian Lipfield Rushed to Hospital, then Checks into Rehab in Palm Springs.

Shit! I’d been detoxing myself from the news, avoiding the online gossip for my mental health. Funny—my therapist had said the scandalous stories had played a big part in feeding my issues with Slip. But this was from Sutton, so I clicked the link and read the story.

The end of The Flintlocks’ successful tour has taken its toll on Slip—Sebastian Lipfield—the rock band’s party-loving guitarist. Rumors of alleged affairs, alcohol and substance abuse continually surrounded the twenty-six-year-old during their nine-month global tour.

The Flintlocks released a statement stating Sebastian had undergone urgent surgery to fix an ongoing hip injury and was suffering from fatigue and exhaustion. He is taking time out in a luxurious facility to rest and recuperate after a grueling tour.

We wish him a speedy recovery.

Since the band returned home to LA on Monday, there have been no sightings of his wife, Madison Reed. The couple hasn’t been seen together for several weeks. We speculate the relationship has been put under pressure during their lengthy months apart. Only time will tell if they survive this recent turn of events. Or are they just another couple who didn’t survive a spontaneous Las Vegas wedding?

I sniffled and wiped the tip of my nose with my fingertips.

You’re in the right place, babe. Get better. Love you.

“Hey?” Mom murmured. “You okay?”

I dabbed my damp eyes with the sleeve of my hoodie. “Yeah. All good.”

Mom frowned as she realigned the pillow and shook her head. “Maddy. Don’t lie. What’s happened?”

“Everything’s fine.” I switched off my cell phone and slid it into my purse on the floor. “Slip just checked into rehab. He’s finally getting help.”

“What’s he going to rehab for?” Shock flitted across her hazy eyes.

“Pain-killers, booze, drugs. He struggled during the tour to manage his hip injury. He became too dependent on oxy and other stuff. It scared me. I’m just glad he’s finally getting help.” Pity Mom didn’t do the same thing. She was on more drugs and alcohol than most people I knew combined. She wasn’t on a plan to manage her condition; she was on a rapid path to self-destruction. And I hated it. She wouldn’t admit she had a problem. Or do anything to get well.

As I drew my shoulders back, tension tightened in my neck and jaw. Acid burned in my eyes. Something inside me snapped. I clutched her hand and gave it a hard shake. “Maybe you should go to rehab too. Get off half the meds you’re on and take better care of yourself, so we’re not sitting here every few weeks.”

“Me?” Mom lifted her head an inch off the pillow. “I’m not an addict.”

“Yes, you are. You have more of a problem than Slip does. You’ve been reliant on so many drugs for years. Some...no, most days you pop more pills and drink way more than he does. In no way is downing a bottle of wine or more a day considered healthy. You’ve OD’d on Xanax more than once.” I waved toward her IV. “You love getting shit pumped into you for pain relief. You have a dependent addiction, Mom, whether you like it or not.”

She wheezed and coughed as she pulled her hand free of mine. “I need medicine to survive. It’s not my fault I’m sick.”

“I never said it was.” I dialed down my tone. “Certain meds you’re on help you. But there is a lot of crap you take that isn’t necessary. With some simple cutbacks and adjustments, you could have a comfortable, long life.”

“I don’t need you telling me what to do.”

“Well, someone has to.” I jabbed my finger against the mattress. “Coming home and finding you flaked out, drunk, and drugged to the eyeballs is beyond stressful and upsetting. I can’t handle this, Mom. Not anymore.”

“Oh Maddy, don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth. You don’t listen to anyone. At least Slip manned up and recognized he had an issue and had the courage to do something about it before he got worse.”

“Yes, that is good. I’m glad he’s getting help.” Mom smoothed her hands over the blanket draped across her waist and lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry. I’ve never meant to scare you either. I’ll get better. I promise.”

---