Time Out of Mind (Suncoast Society #43)(7)

It was, however, safe from photographers’ prying zoom lenses and drones. And now that it was after sunset, he really couldn’t see anything outside, either.

“I’m not, Mevi,” Clark told him. “This is your only opportunity. Your literal last chance. Otherwise, they’ll enact the forcible separation clause. They all voted this morning, after they heard you refused to take on the sober companion they offered to hire yesterday.”

“This f*cking sucks.”

“You brought this on yourself.”

He whirled on Clark. “You saw the bank records yourself and you say that to me? Fuck you!”

“I meant the drinking, and you damn well know it. If you say no, fine, then we can file bankruptcy for you in less than a week and you won’t be on the tour or the next album. Your choice.”

Mevi had run the other guy off yesterday, thinking he could talk Clark into changing his mind.

But if the band was going to pull this shit…

Fuck.

He really didn’t have a choice now, and he knew it.

“If I say yes,” Mevi finally said, stalling, “then what?”

“I drive you there now to meet him, and you leave with him from there. I already packed for you.”

The rest of his stuff that he’d had while in rehab was sitting packed and ready to go on his bed, including his acoustic guitar, and had been since earlier in the day when he thought Clark was coming for him then.

Clark held Mevi’s durable medical power of attorney, part of the requirement of him being at this particular rehab facility.

And he couldn’t leave until Clark signed him out.

“So you trust this guy?” Mevi finally asked.

“I do. I wouldn’t be handing you over to him if I didn’t. But the rules are you follow his rules, and he will get you to Chicago. Contractually, the band reserves the right to keep him on, as needed, until the first break. Possibly later, including taking him to Europe. Depends on your performance and your sobriety.”

He hadn’t had anything to drink in over sixty days. Admittedly, he’d been in pretty rough shape when Bonnie had summoned Clark to her house that night to come get him and do something with him once and for all before she called the cops on him.

No, it hadn’t been her fault, but still.

He was pissed.

Off.

“I already told you, I’m not doing AA meetings, and you f*cking know why.”

“He won’t do that. He’ll be working with you individually.”

“What does he know about me?”

“Only who you are, that you’re in here for alcohol abuse, and the very basics about your old manager and what led to you ending up here. I didn’t tell him any more than that. What you tell him is up to you, but I did want him to know about your old manager so he understood what made you snap.”

“What, so is he some douchebag retired drill sergeant who’s going to make me run laps every f*cking day?”

“No, he’s a very nice guy, expert in his field, with lots of experience working on high-profile cases like yours. Meaning you’ll never have heard of him, and for good reason. He’ll also never tell you who he’s worked with, and he’ll never tell anyone else, either, that he worked with you. Or anything he sees or learns while working with you, as long as you don’t commit a crime. He did specifically say if you commit a crime he will not maintain confidentiality about that. That’s in the contract.”

Mevi knew he was stalling.

He also knew he was defeated and yet couldn’t let go.

Didn’t want to let go.

Letting go meant admitting failure, and admittedly that was the thing he’d had the hardest time dealing with in rehab. No, they hadn’t forced twelve steps down his throat here, fortunately.

“What if I meet him and hate him?”

“Doesn’t matter. You spent two months here and managed it. Can’t you manage ten weeks with a babysitter keeping you out of trouble before you get back to work? What happened to Mr. Work Ethic, who used to brag he was the hardest working musician in LA?”

Yeah, that was a challenge, and Mevi knew it.

“Fine.” He pulled on his baseball cap, raising the hood of his jacket over it before he walked to his bed and started grabbing his stuff. He didn’t have enough arms, though. “Can you please ask them for a cart?”

“I’ll do it while I get you checked out.”

Clark left him alone, the door swinging shut behind him.

Dejected, Mevi slumped onto the bed and stared at the floor. Here he was, turning forty in a month, and success had come and gone. Literally stolen from him.

Well, he had the success still, but the fruits of his labor had been spirited off to some thieving *’s secret bank accounts.

The truth was, Mevi didn’t have anyone but himself to blame for any of it. Sure, his manager stole from him, but if he’d pushed harder and taken control of his shit like he should have, like Bonnie and the others warned him to multiple times, if he hadn’t trusted, he would have caught it a lot sooner and not lost his money.

It wouldn’t have driven him deep into a bottle.

And he wouldn’t have driven over to Bonnie’s house, drunk and at rock bottom, and threatening to kill himself.

Fuck.