Page 80 of Before You Fell

Something in me hardens. “No, you think you know what it was.”

“I watched my daughter disappear into that band year by year.”

“That band was my life.”

“And what did it give you?”

I stand too quickly and the chair scraps hard against the floor. “Don’t.”

Dad’s eyes flash. “Don’t what, Willow? Tell the truth?”

“Turn him into a villain because it’s easier.”

His jaw clenches. “I don’t need to turn Phoenix into anything, Willow. He’s done that himself.”

I should be nodding, agreeing with Dad, saying he isn’t wrong. Instead, the old instinct crawls up my throat. “He wasn’t always this.”

The second the words leave my mouth, I want to claw them back. Because they’ve watched him become the kind of man I should’ve known better than to love. That asshole doesn’t even have to be in the room to make me still choose him.

Dad stares at me.

“I’m going to bed,” I say.

“It’s seven-thirty,” Mom says.

“I’m tired.”

I leave before either Mom or Dad can say anything more.

By the time I reach my room, the sick, humiliating ache in my chest has teeth. I stand with my back against the door, breathing through it, staring at the old photos shoved onto the side of my mirror.

I move across the room and reach for the small pill bottle.

There is no fight in me anymore when I touch it. No dramatic little war between good and bad. No clean version of myself standing in the corner, begging me to make a better choice. That girl must have packed her shit and left since the time I arrived here.

Now there is only this. The cap beneath my fingers. The sound of the lid opening and the small white promise rolling onto my palm.

My body settles before I even swallow, already trusting that the thing ruining me is about to save me for a few more hours.

I wait for the world to improve, but it only moves farther away.

I set the tiny bottle on the floor beside my bed and try not to notice how few remain.

Not counting them feels safer. Counting would mean admitting I’m running out because I keep reaching for them. And that would mean admitting I no longer have control.

My phone buzzes on the bed. I flinch and for one stupid second, my heart races. Then I remember Phoenix’s number is blocked.

I pick up the phone.

Cruz: Songbird. You don’t have to answer. I just wanted to warn you that Damon is on the warpath about contracts and unfinished songs. His corporate claws are probably coming your way next. Also, I miss your face and your smile in a way that is a handsome guitarist tragically deprived of his favorite songbird. Totally normal. Mostly.

I smile and turn the phone over.

All the guys have reached out over the last few weeks.

Jax: I’m sorry Phoenix is a stupid fuck.

Jett: Call me if you want to talk. Miss you, Wills.