Page 66 of Pretty Obsessed

I pulled up to the hotel, and I slid my sunglasses over my eyes, despite the hour. I couldn't bear for there to be photos of me with red eyes, not knowing I'd be asked about it relentlessly for years to come. It was easier to hide behind the sunglasses.

I didn't stop for my usual autograph signing or photos. I kept my head down and let security handle the hordes of screaming fans. Visiting our hometown is always crazier than anywhere else. We were born and bred here. And I loved our fans, but today I needed to keep myself centered to be able to face this, or I'd break.

Alister lingered by the elevator, leaning against the wall, one foot up, with his signature wingtips. He had a greaser style. He wore a singlet and suspenders, and slacks. Such an old Hollywood kind of handsome. He played the bass and could talk about the theory of jazz for hours.

If Iris was our bad boy, Alister was the good boy.

He didn't write our music or lyrics, but he brought texture to our albums. Before I knew anything more about music than the beat I brought with my drums, I'd listen to music and the little nuances would go unnoticed. But after experiencing life with Alister, I heard all the extra things artists added to songs to bring them to life. The ticking of clocks, breaking glass, to even the light texture of wind behind the music.

All the interwoven parts of music I'd never paid attention to. I was the heart with my drums, and he was the breath in the lungs of our band.

"I'm sorry," he said.

I pulled him into a hug when he pushed off the wall. "He okay?"

"I mean, what is ‘okay?’ It's Iris."

I nodded. "Let's go."

He used his phone to let us into Iris' room.

I braced myself, fear eating at my throat.

Alexander turned when we stepped into the space. "Thank fuck."

I leaned, trying to see past him to where Iris suffered in the bowels of the hotel without any of his support.

"Iris?" I said, ignoring Alexander.

Our manager was good to us, but he also had an agenda. Iris and me had had a bond from the start. No one would come between that.

"I'm here." He held up a hand from the far corner of the living room, shoulders pulled forward.

Alister took out a toothpick and met my eyes as he moved to cut off Alexander. I didn't have to ask. He had my back. He gave me a nod. I crossed the room to kneel in front of Iris. He looked a mess. Dark circles under half-closed eyes.

Eyeliner smeared in the corners from who knows when. His long hair twisted up in a bun held with a pencil, strands falling out to cradle his face.

"Hey there."

"You didn't have to leave." He put his hand over his eyes, thumb and middle finger rubbing his temples. "Alex is being unreasonable."

"If it's important for me to be here, then I need to be here."

He pressed his eyes closed and lifted, reaching in his pocket for the metal cigarette case he always kept there. He opened it, fishing through the assortment of drugs. He fished a joint out and slid it between his lips. Relief flooded through me, happiness that it wasn't something much worse.

He dug in the front pocket of his skintight black jeans, bringing out a lighter and holding it to the tip.

"Iris."

He lifted his eyes to mine, inhaling until his lungs were full and holding it there.

"What happened?"

He pinched the joint between his thumb and first finger, finally exhaling. "Let Alexander tell you."

"I don't want his side of the story. I want my best friend to tell me what's going on."

"I told him I was done." He tore his gaze away from mine.

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