Page 176 of Deliverance

“Dude, you’re tripping.” He shakes his head, his smile begins to slant, and I have to walk out into the corridor because every part of me shivers. And it’s not the kind of shiver that overtakes you when you’re cold. It’s the kind of shiver you get when you’re being cleaved in two, when your brain can’t decide between which betrayal is worse.

Lacing my fingers together at the nape of my neck, I begin pacing. The heavy sound of my boots echoing against the walls feels faraway. My stomach twists at the thought that the promises I gave to Drew are becoming just empty words while Leo is ruining the one chance he has to make this right, the one chance he has to record this song that deserves to be heard.

Anger pushes me further into oblivion and I lose all measure of time and space, and when I finally dash back into the restroom with every intention of dragging Leo back to the studio, he’s talking. No…he’s crying.

The stall door is still swung open. The phone is pressed to his ear and there are thin rivulets of tears streaming down his cheeks.

I freeze, my feet rooted to the floor as if stuck by some invisible glue. I’ve seen meltdowns before. I’ve been there myself, but now that my mind is a mesh of sober and furious, I don’t know how to act or what to say.

Leo’s mutters are disjointed and incomprehensible between his sobs.

Sinking into a crouch in front of him, I grab his phone and flip it over. The ticking call timer flashes at me from the screen along with a name.

Athena.

Swallowing past the sudden lump in my throat and ignoring the tightness in my chest, I press the device to my ear and say, “It’s none of my business, but if you don’t want to see his obituary, it’d be good for you to stop by.”

There’s a beat of deafening silence and I wonder if she’s even there, but she responds, “Who the hell is this?” Her voice is just like on the records. Deep, throaty, with a tinge of rasp.

I see no point in lying or trading snarky sentences. “Zander.”

Another long pause. Then a loud sigh and a question. “Is he that fucked up?”

I flick my gaze to Leo’s face. His chest is rising and falling with uneven intervals and his sobs have become inaudible, and I wonder how much and what exactly he took and if I should call 911. “He’s cooked.”

“Can you keep an eye on him? At least until I get there?”

“What do you think I’m doing right now?” I snap.

“Thanks.” More silence. “Hey, Shaw?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just help me get through to him.”

I spend the next hour in front of the stall, sitting on a plastic chair I brought in from the lounge and telling everyone to use another restroom.

Leo’s barely lucid and that fact worries me. I don’t know what he’s on and I don’t know how to make him move.

Then there are the memories of the last time I saw Chance alive, and the memories of the paramedics wheeling him out of the hotel room. My gut is in knots, nausea rising up to the back of my throat.

A series of knocks yank me back to reality and I look at the door. It cracks open, revealing Toby’s head. He takes a step forward and leans against the doorframe, not quite in and not quite out, which seems to be his entire codex.

“Maybe we can move him?”

“He said he’s not going anywhere until he talks to Athena,” I explain. Or at least, that’s what I thought I heard.

My mind’s scrambling to come up with a solid plan of action, but I don’t trust Toby or any of the guys to handle Leo. He’s lost his marbles completely and Athena alone won’t fix the issue—whatever it is.

There are obviously bigger things at work here. Things we probably have no clue about.

More footsteps sound down the corridor.

“Shit,” someone mutters.

Stevie’s head peeks in from behind Toby.

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