“The next day, I’m not sure when exactly, I woke up to a puddle of vomit. It must have been late afternoon, because I remember the sun reflecting off a glass frame on my mantel. It was the only time of day that happened. Everything hurt. And the smell . . . Fuck, it makes me sick just thinking about it. People were everywhere. I couldn’t believe how many of them were still up partying. I wasn’t sure if they were there the night before or if they’d just arrived. I didn’t care. I needed to sleep. I stepped over people passed out on the floor, stumbled to my bed, and fell face first on the mattress.
“When I woke again, it was dark. I flipped on the bedside lamp; it took all of my energy to keep from throwing up. I was so disoriented. When I noticed there was a girl beside me, I thought I was hallucinating. She was too still, too pale. That’s when I noticed the blood on her chin and chest. God, Chloe, I’ll never forget her face. Her eyes were wide open. They were so green. So empty. I knew she was dead. I didn’t have to check her pulse, her eyes told me all I needed to know. It was nine p.m. when I called the police. The report listed her time of death sometime around six p.m.”
Chloe’s hands covered her mouth as she processed his words. “She died beside you,” she murmured, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Reid nodded but kept his eyes downcast. “I found out later that she was the little sister of a guy who worked at the recording studio. Her name was Francine, but her friends called her Fran. She was visiting from out of town, and he wanted to show off his Hollywood connections. She was only seventeen. A fucking senior in high school. Her brother got fucked up and wasn’t paying attention to her. So when someone offered her a line, she did it. The reports said someone remembered her mentioning needing to lie down, but nothing after that. From what I can guess, she got messed up and needed a break. She somehow ended up in my room. I was so fucked up that a seventeen-year-old girl died right beside me and I didn’t hear a thing. I never even moved.”
Chloe reached for Reid’s shoulder, but he shrugged away from her touch. “If I hadn’t been so messed up, I could have saved her.”
“You don’t know that. You could have been sober as a judge and not stopped what happened. I know you feel responsible, and I understand why, but you have no way of knowing that being sober would have changed the outcome. You can’t beat yourself up over what might have been.”
“It’s difficult to be logical when I see her face in my sleep. When I think about a child dying in the bed beside me.”
Chloe slid across the sofa and pulled her feet under her, rising to her knees. Ignoring Reid’s protest, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rested her forehead against his temple. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like. I can’t imagine what that still must be like. But, Reid, you didn’t kill that girl. You’re not responsible for the mistakes of others. Be angry with yourself for letting drugs into your life. Be angry that you didn’t make better choices. Be angry that a young girl lost her life. Use that anger as a reminder of that lifestyle. But you cannot spend the rest of your life with that girl’s death on your shoulders. It’s not your burden to bear.”
Reid’s shoulders shook as the evidence of his sadness dripped onto Chloe’s arm. Tears pricked her eyes when he turned and wrapped his arms around her waist. She wished there was more that she could do, anything to help him. Reid pulled in several deep breaths then released Chloe. Reluctantly, she let him go and scooted away to give him some space.
“I know I didn’t kill her,” Reid said eventually. “When everything went down, Tom sent me straight to rehab. I didn’t argue. I knew I needed help. Not many people know that.”
“I did,” Chloe said, tugging hard on her lip ring the moment the words left her lips. She hadn’t wanted to bring up meeting Walker.
Reid’s eyes narrowed and his expression hardened. Chloe worried Reid would think she was playing some kind of game. That she knew far more about the situation than she was admitting, and everything he’d shared with her tonight was old news. “How?”
“Remember tequila night? When I went out with Josie and Anders?”
“Yeah . . .”
“During our club-hopping, we ran into a friend of Anders’s. When Anders introduced us, he told his friend that I was going on tour with you. His friend mentioned that he knew you. From rehab.”
“Walker?”
Chloe grimaced. “Yeah. I swear he didn’t say anything else, only that he remembered you from rehab and that you two shared a mutual fondness for cocaine.”
“I believe you. Walker stayed just as high in rehab as he does out. I don’t think he even knew why I’d gone there in the first place.” He scrubbed his hands down his face and let out a heavy breath.
“When I left rehab, I went back to Memphis. I needed to get my head straight, get my life back in order. That’s when I saw Jess again. After more than three years, it was like coming face-to-face with the memory of a better version of me. Who I used to be. We started spending a lot of time together and eventually decided to give it another shot. Since then, aside from being completely unable to create any kind of music, I’ve held it together. But this tour, the reminders of who I became, it’s starting to take a toll on me.”