Page 91 of Hard Rock Deceit
"Bad. It's not going to get better. No amount of rest is going to fix this. The only thing I can do is managethepain."
"August—" I stopped, too shocked, too stunned, to continue. I swallowed hard. My fingernails bit into my palms. "Why didn't you sayanything?"
He slammed his hands onto thetable.
"Why do you think?" he growled. "I showed the slightest bit of pain and you were worried sick. You talked about replacing me. Damon was all for it. If I had told anyone, they'd have made me quit for good ages ago." He snorted. "Not that it matters anymore. They kicked me outanyway."
I went silent, taking in all this newinformation.
"I've talked to my doctors," he continued. "There aren't a lot of options left. Pain management is the best I canhopefor."
"When you say pain management, what do you mean exactly?" I had to understand. Ineededtounderstand.
"It started with a prescription." Slowly, he relaxed, no longer pressing his palms into the glass tabletop so hard I was afraid it would shatter. "It was all legal and above board. Then I started needing more. My daily dosage wasn't enough. I started doubling up. Tripling up. My doctor cut me off. I had to go elsewhere. I started scoring from roadies, experimenting with a bunch of different shit. I don't even know for sure what I took that night Icollapsed."
His shoulders slumped as he leaned back into thechair.
"That overdose scared me," he admitted. "I was telling the truth when I saidI'dstop."
"So that wasn't a lie?" Iasked.
He looked down at his hands, avoidingmyeyes.
"I honestly thought I could do it," he whispered. "I thought I could stop. I didn't need to take stuff all the time. I thought I could handle a bit of pain. It wasn't going to be the end of the world. But I couldn't…" He growled, low in his throat. His eyes were unfocused, words tumbling out of his mouth faster and faster. "I couldn't fucking do it. My shoulder was stiff, my joints all locked up, my muscles tense. I couldn't make my body obey my head. My arm just wouldn't do what I told ittodo."
I couldn't keep myself from him any longer. I left my seat and wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing my cheek into the top of his head as I stood in front of him. He satstiffly.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm so,sosorry. I had no idea. If I'veknown—"
"You would have done the exact same thing," heinterrupted.
Istilled.
He wasn't wrong. August was abusing drugs. Even if I'd known why, I wouldn't have been able to watch him keep taking them to perform, wondering every night if he was going to overdoseagain.
But if his doctors said there wasn't anything they could do for him… if they said the most they could do was help manage his pain… and if a legal prescription wasn't a high enough dosage for him to be abletoplay…
"You said there's not a lot of options left." I let go and sat on the chair next to him, taking his hands in mine, squeezing them. He let me, but didn't return my grip. "That means there are some. Is there anything else youcando?"
His mouth twisted as he looked awayfromme.
"Not really. Nothing I'd wanttotry."
"Why not?" I jumped on his words. If there was another way to help August… "Whatisit?"
"Surgery," he said reluctantly. "They can try to go in there and fix some of thedamage."
My heart soared,relieved.
"That's good news, right? They can make youbetter."
"Theymightbe able to make it better. They also might fuck it up even more. Worst case scenario—" He cut himself off, lookingfrustrated.
"What's the worst case scenario? It can't bethatbad."
He stared me down. Those hazy eyes had turned glassy, his gaze barely able to focus. How much had he taken before Iarrived?
"If I do the surgery, there's a five percent chance I lose the use of my armentirely."
