Page 25 of The Drummer

I unlock the phone and scroll to my messages. Sure enough, there’s an unread stream at the top…

From Luke.

My heart pounds as anxiety erupts in my stomach. The next few words could make or break me, and I don’t even know what response would do which. No matter what that message says, everything will change when I open it.

I command my shaking finger to click on it and stop breathing for several long seconds.

Luke: I know dude. Me too. Come back. I need you too.

CHAPTER FIVE

Music blasts, alcohol flows, and the nauseating blend of expensive fragrances streams in and out of my lungs.

The fallout from the botched interview with Kara Corbin was swift, violent, and still mounting. My phone has been blowing up with a constant stream of wrath, which was all the more reason to flee from one hotel to Luke’s with nothing but my small carryon and the clothes on my back.

Now that I’m here, I’m regretting it.

His heartfelt text feels more like a joke now that I’m at his suite and see he apparently didn’t just needme,but all these virtual strangers as well. I’m a little pissed off he called me back here to watch him slip into old habits. Maybe it was one last attempt at proving nothing’s changed and I should finally leave him alone once and for all.

If only it were that simple.

Like the unofficial babysitter I’ve become, I scan the sea of bodies in a recurring ten-minute check to make sure Luke’s alive. Ironic, since the band has spent the last eight years teasing me for being the youngest. If I’d known Luke was inviting me tohis suite only to recreate the period of our lives I’ve been desperate to forget, I never would have come.

And yet, I can’t bring myself to leave. His pattern of self-destruction may not be new or fair, but it will always be my problem. Tomorrow, once I make sure he survives whatever this spectacle is supposed to be, I’ll explain how badly he hurt me—again—and address what’s really going on.

Confident he’s still alive and functioning for now, I head toward the makeshift bar. It’s not an ideal hangout for a guy who’s been trying to stay on the straight and narrow, but it’s better than being groped on the packed living-room-turned-dancefloor. Being the only sober person at an event like this is almost awful enough to make me not want to be sober.

“Casey! Good to see you, man.”

I follow the voice to find Jaxon Anders leaning against the counter beside me. He motions to the bartender to order another round before facing me.

“Hey, Jax. Been a while.”

“Too long. It’s nice to finally see a familiar face. I was surprised how few people I recognized until I learned this entire guest list got the same call from concierge. Insane and genius, no? But that’s Luke for you.”

I study the actor’s face before squinting through the crowd in the direction I last saw Luke. It’s impossible to see him from this vantage point. Not that a visual would help interpret the latest head-scratching behavior of my best friend. Just when I think I’ve figured shit out, Jaxon Anders says something like that.

“What do you mean you got a call from concierge?”

He tilts his head. “The invitation? Oh right, you’re his boy. You must be one of the few who got a direct invite.”

“What are you talking about? Weren’t you invited? Weren’tallthese people invited?”

“Yeah, by the front desk. I got a call this morning sayingLuke was throwing a party in 403 and to stop by if I wanted. I doubt he even knows most of these people.” Jaxon laughs and diverts his attention to the cocktails sliding toward him. “Thanks, man,” he says to the bartender while slipping him a bill.

The other man swipes it off the counter and turns to me.

“What can I get you?” he asks.

“I…”

“Hey, good to see you, dude,” Jax says, bumping my arm. “Let’s catch up later.”

He heads toward a woman I recognize from a few B-Movies. She takes a glass as they exchange some words, then shoots me a curious look. I can only imagine what my face looks like right now.

Luke had concierge invite a bunch of strangers to his suite for an impromptu party? Why the hell would he do that?

“Sir? Anything to drink?”

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