Page 63 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

“One more what? Think you’ve had enough, pal.”

Laughter. His. Mine.

In my memories, I couldn’t distinguish them.

I could now though. Because Kyle didn’t laugh that way anymore. It had been nearly a decade, and he still didn’t. I’d killed that side of him as surely as I’d nearly ripped out my own vocal cords.

“The pub down the street. There’s live music tonight. Open mic. I’ll sit in.”

“Sit in? You can barely sit up. Sure you don’t want me to drive? Better yet, let’s call someone. I’m crispy too.”

“No, no, don’t want to wait. I want the music. I need it.”

His reluctant agreement, me driving down that rain-slicked street. Slipping inside that moss-sided building on the corner, my nostrils quivering at the smell of liquor the moment we walked inside.

The stage shrouded in blue and green smoke. A guy up there already, singing his heart out. I didn’t care about him. I was gonna be on that stage.

Stumbling away from Kyle, making excuses about needing the bathroom first. Bracing my arm against the wall as I took a piss, then moving to the sink for what I’d really come for. Snorting the line off the back of my arm, feeling the power flow through my veins as I stared at my bloodshot eyes in the mirror.

Snorting had never been my method of delivery. Except that night, I’d craved something more. A new experience. I’d carried the coke for days, testing myself. It had been a party favor at some shindig I couldn’t even remember now.

I had definitely gotten a new experience that night. Even now, it was all so fucking clear.

Laughing with the guy on the piano, pushing him out so I could sing. Higher than the rafters and I still had my voice, my mind, and the music burning the tips of my fingers as it flowed out into the keys. I was on goddamn fire. Pretty girls around the piano, leaning forward, offering me everything while they shoved money in the jar.

I didn’t need that. I had what I needed. Anything I could ever want.

Until I staggered to my feet and found Kyle, hooking an arm around his neck as I dragged him out into the rainy night.

“Sure about this? It’s late. Let’s call for a ride.”

“I’m good.”

Those two words haunted me.

I wasn’t good. And I’d certainly never been good again after that night.

He didn’t press. Because he hadn’t seen me drink inside. I hadn’t needed to. The vial still in my pocket was my cure.

My other drugs of choice hadn’t been getting the job done anymore. But this…this was what I’d been looking for.

It’d be there when I got home to my flat and morning came too hard and fast. Dawn would eat away the night, leaving me bare. Exposed. Nothing more than a fraud who couldn’t get through life without chemical help.

After a snort or three—whatever it took to finish it off—another pint of whatever came to hand would go down easy. Breakfast was the most important meal of the day, after all.

Finally, silence. Oblivion. The voices quiet, if not the music.

Never the music.

Except I hadn’t greeted the watery morning light that day with a line of powder and a bottle on the table. I’d been in a twisted wreck of my own making.

If only they’d gone to him first. If they’d left me last.

Just left me.

“Alex.”

I didn’t jump from her touch on my arm. I turned into it, and the embrace she pulled me into. My eyes were dry and hot, my throat raw.

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