Page 79 of Addicted to You
Not surprisingly, after a message like that, I received a response right away:
Cash: I did what?
My phone rang before I could reply, and my pulse kicked up when Cash’s name flashed on the screen.
“Hey,” I answered.
“Care to explain your text?” He snorted a laugh.
Letting out a sigh, I decided I should lay it all out there for him. “The last few days, I’ve sort of been in my head, and tonight I went out and thought maybe I could do something to help me forget that you aren’t here with me.”
“What’d you do?” I could hear the panic in his voice. Given his job, he was likely thinking of the worst-case scenario.
“Oh, no, I didn’t do drugs or even drink,” I rushed out. “I just danced with a woman to see if I could move on. But my dick had zero interest.”
There was a pause before he asked. “Move on? Is that what you want to do?”
“We’ve barely talked the last couple of weeks, and to be honest, I was a little worried that’s what you were doing.”
“I haven’t moved on.”
“You haven’t?” Relief washed over me.
“No.” His answer was firm. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us too, and I think we have a lot to figure out. We should probably talk in person.”
“I could meet you in Boston when we finish in a few days,” I suggested, wondering if I sounded desperate but not really caring if I did.
“That’s a good idea.” I expected him to say more, but then I heard a knock followed by a muffled voice on his end. After a pause, he said, “My client needs me, so I need to go, but we’ll talk soon, okay?”
“Sure,” I replied, disappointed our conversation was cut short but also understanding he had a job to do. “Goodnight.”
“Night.”
The call ended, and I fell back on the mattress. We may not have figured shit out tonight, but for the first time since Cash left, I finally felt hope.
32
Silas
We had playedour last concert in Philadelphia the night before, and instead of heading straight to the airport the next morning, the band and crew got together for a farewell lunch to celebrate the end of the tour. It was the least we could do for the people who had worked their asses off to make sure our shows had run smoothly.
As soon as we were done, I caught an evening flight to Boston. Sitting in the back of the SUV as I rode through the city, I couldn’t stop thinking about the last three weeks.
The tour had been even better than I think any of us could have imagined. Every show and crowd had been incredible, I had maintained my sobriety, and I’d learned I could still have a great time doing what I loved without the extra shit that had almost killed me.
Now, I had to figure out what came next, which was the entire reason I was back in my hometown. I had almost called my parents, knowing they’d invite me to stay with them, but I didn’t feel like explaining why I was spending time with Cash, especially since theyknew he and Britt had broken up and that he wasn’t my sober companion anymore. Instead, I’d booked a room downtown.
Cash was still working with his client, so we didn’t have definite plans yet. Pulling out my phone, I shot him a text:
In Boston now and got a hotel room downtown. When do you think you can stop by?
Although we’d texted more often since that night in Pittsburgh, it usually took him a bit to respond. I tapped my fingers against my thigh as I waited, suddenly nervous about seeing him face to face. My phone buzzed, but when I looked at the screen, it wasn’t from him.
Donnie: Saw you’re back in town. Think you can stop by the club? I need a favor
I should’ve known the selfies I had taken with a couple of fans in the airport would make the rounds and my whereabouts would become public, but this had to be some sort of record.
What sort of favor?
