chapter Thirty-three
Present
CHRIS WAS ABOUT a year and half when Fully Automatic went on tour again. The first leg was in the U.S., but I knew they had some international dates too. I would have worried if I hadn’t known the band was in good hands with Brad.
Ethan denied it. Completely denied it. And maybe it was because I loved him so much, I wanted to believe him, but I was positive he was using again. I had no proof, though. None. Just suspicions. And even though I had plenty of historical evidence to support those suspicions, I chose to push them to the back of my mind. I know I did it because of the baby. I wanted our marriage to work. I wanted Ethan to be a good dad. And I’d seen glimpses of that man. I knew he was there. I just had to find a way to entice him to stay.
I knew that was foolish too, though, because I knew Ethan had to decide he had a problem and also decide he was tired of living that way. Until he did, he’d continue to victimize himself, me, and his son…even if he wasn’t using.
But those thoughts were hidden in the back of my mind where I didn’t want to go. It didn’t help that I was fully absorbed in being a new mother, both the wonderful and not-so-great parts. I felt like a bad mom half the time, because it seemed like I was inept when it came to so many things. Other things, though, like holding my son when he cried, were instinctive. And, when Ethan wasn’t around, I gave that child my everything. He was a joy to watch, to love.
One night—or, actually, it was early one Friday morning, sometime after three a.m., my phone rang. I wasn’t fully awake when I sat up in bed and answered it.
It was Brad.
Oh, no. This couldn’t be good. “Sorry to wake you.”
“What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
I already knew. Something had happened to Ethan. No. God, no. In the space of those few seconds before Brad answered, my mind conjured up every horrifying scenario I could think of—the tour bus crashed or a crazed fan tried to kill him or the scenario most likely: “He OD’d on H.”
The air escaped my lungs. Jesus Christ, Ethan. I knew he’d been hooked on heroine before, but hadn’t he promised to never take it again? He’d called it a siren…she beckoned to him, urged him to follow her to his demise, but because he knew his demons, he’d said, he knew he could never ever ever do it again. Never. So why the f*ck was I getting this phone call?
I kept my voice calm even though inside I felt like quivering jelly. “So…how is he. Is he—?” I couldn’t even finish my thought.
“They’ve got him stabilized now. He should pull through, but he’s in a coma right now.”
I swallowed. I heard Chris starting to fuss in his crib and got out of bed, but I said, “Coma?” I took another breath. “What the hell happened?” I propped the phone between my ear and shoulder and reached into the crib to lift out my son. “He told me he wasn’t using.”
I heard Brad sigh into the phone. “Apparently he was lying. Like that’s a first. You know him as well as I do, Val. Ethan’s gonna do what Ethan’s gonna do.” Yes, I knew that, but I didn’t need to hear it. “We were partying, and you know Ethan parties harder than anyone else.”
I tried to concentrate. I couldn’t even remember how many weeks they’d been on tour. “Where are you guys right now?”
“Spokane.”
“I’m gonna book a flight. Not sure when I’ll be there.” In less than eight hours, Chris and I were in the air heading to Washington, and I was praying harder than I had in years.