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“Calm down,” José said, emerging from behind the drums.

“We can’t do it like this!”

Tristan remembered Andrej’s suggestion to replace Leaf—which hadn’t officially reached him yet. But at that moment, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t know. So he stood up and stepped toward Andrej. With a serious expression, he faced the bassist, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“I’m sure I can find a bassist willing to play my setlist. Since Leaf and I were the ones who wrote all these songs, these—what do you call them again—masterpieces.”

Andrej stood motionless, staring at him. Tristan shrugged, while their glances clashed in a short silent battle.

“Fine. Whatever. Do what you want,” Andrej finally relented. “If that’s what you really want, fine. But if the audience doesn’t respond to it after three gigs at the latest, we’ll change the setlist again.”

Tristan nodded and fetched his guitar.

“Okay,” José said, sighing with relief. “Let’s play!”

“And where the hell is our guitarist?” Andrej asked, scowling.

“He’ll show up.” Tristan suppressed any doubts that arose from his words.

25

–––––

Rehearsal

Fuming, Leaf slammed his fists against the steering wheel and squeezed his eyes shut. How did it come to this? He shouldn’t have gone to Nathan’s in the first place. But that inner demon had been convincing him since Milo’s death that there was only one solution to all his problems. Even though Leaf knew very well that this was the biggest lie of all, his resistance had crumbled yesterday. As if all the energy to stay on the right path had been exhausted, the monster inside him had taken control and led him astray.

Everything had been going so well. He and Tristan had managed to conquer the vast ocean that had been between them since his return. They had sex all afternoon, said things to each other that he wanted to hold on to. Things he wanted to believe. It was this demon inside him that had whispered to him that Tristan had grown distant from him. Yet it was he himself who had built such thick walls around him that Tristan couldn’t break through.

A damn radio host had to come and hurt his beloved to remind Leaf how important Tristan was to him. How well he knew him and knew what those questions would do to him.

I was normal yesterday. I did the right thing.

And yet I gave in to weakness.

With trembling hands, he lit a cigarette and blew out the smoke. He just couldn’t get out of the car. José’s Ford was in front of him, and Andrej’s Lincoln was two vehicles ahead. Since there was no sign of Milo’s Chevelle anywhere, and muffled music and singing drifted from the Gaucho, it seemed likely one of them had picked up Tristan.

Leaf still could hardly believe he had woken up again on Nathan’s couch. But last night, the heroin had drowned all the monsters and shrouded him like a protective blanket. He had felt safer than he had in a long time. When he realized this morning that he had even forgotten the wonderful afternoon with Tristan for a while, he would have given anything to turn back time and kick himself in the ass.

Instead of going straight to Tristan, he had taken a shot and until recently had been doped up, lying on Nathan’s couch. As he drove toward downtown, his thoughts spiraled out of control. He would have preferred to keep driving. It would have been best if he had left the state altogether. He wanted to forget, but the punctures on his left arm wouldn’t allow it. It had been too good, and his body was already craving the next shot.

This is not good. Not good at all.

And now he stood here in front of the rehearsal room, still coming down, and knowing he had failed. Angry, he clenched his hands into fists and hit the steering wheel again.

Focus!

But what awaited him inside?

Understanding? Hardly.

Sympathy? He didn’t need it.

He took a sip of water, tossed the bottle onto the passenger seat, and then leaned back, eyes closed, taking a deep breath.

Tris is in there.

Maybe he can help me.