Blessed Tragedy(39)

Chapter Twenty-One



I'd talked to Jon and Colton a few times over the course of my self-imposed exile. Rather than understanding my need to get away from the cameras and gossip rags, they took my absence as a sign that I was unwilling to face my demons. The most recent calls from Colton begged me to see a therapist, at the very least, so we could get into the recording studio and get back to what we love to do.

No amount of pleading would change my mind. I wasn't going to cop to something I hadn't done in an effort to appease AJ, the band's new manager. From the sounds of it, he was the driving force behind the push for me to go to rehab. A man who never met me was in control and they were listening to him.

“Baby, he's the best at what he does. We're damn lucky he's willing to take on our dysfunctional asses at all,” Colton reasoned the night I made my final decision. “Just do this. If not for yourself, do it for us.”

“Fuck that, Colt. I haven't touched anything in the past five years. Even when I could have buried myself in my mom's painkillers when I was home, I didn't. But now, to make the almighty AJ happy, I'm supposed to drag myself through the mud?” I didn't know why we were having this discussion again.

“It's not going to be like that,” Colton argued. Of course he wouldn't see the negative publicity on the horizon. Even with as pissed off as I was, I knew it was that and not that he didn't care.

“It's exactly like that, Colt,” I shouted. “Why do you think I'm holed up in the middle of nowhere with my brother right now? It sure as hell isn't because I love it out here. Every single day I stayed in Portland, they were having more and more of a field day over the bullshit possession charges. They already started digging into my past and know I had problems before. I've worked too hard to get where I am--”

“And what do you think the rags are going to say if you don't get help? You really think it's going to stop?” There it was again. Even Colton thought I needed to get help. The man I shared a bed with, the man who had full access to my life for all those months didn't have faith that I was clean.

“You know what, I'm done. I can't keep doing this. I'm not sure what I need to do to prove to everyone that I'm clean, but thank you very f*cking much for believing in me. It means a lot to me to know that you, of all people, are buying into the bullshit.” I needed to get off the phone before I broke down. The anger I'd held onto for the past month was receding enough to allow the pain of doubt to take over. “I'll talk to you when I'm back in town if you're around.”

Without waiting for a response, I hit the end button and sent my phone flying across the room, narrowly missing Dale's head as he walked in to see what was going on.

“Everything okay out here?” He asked sheepishly. I can't say I blamed him for his reluctance to approach me. We'd gotten to know one another over the month I'd spent with him and Mark, which meant he'd seen me at rock bottom, emotionally.

“Nope. Same shit, different day. Colton's telling me I need to see a shrink if I won't go to rehab. I'm so f*cking sick of hearing about rehab that I'm tempted to get some blow just so all the accusations are warranted.” I didn't mean it, not really, but the stress of my upcoming court date, the fact that my time with the band was likely coming to an end, the fantastic failure of my first real attempt at a relationship and everything that had been brewing since spring did have me on edge. An edge that, in the past, would have led me straight to my dealer's door.

“Knock it off, Maddie. You're not that stupid and it's about time you grow up and quit the tantrums.” My head snapped to look Dale in the eye. My brother's typically soft spoken partner had a fire in his eyes I hadn't seen before. “I love you like you're my own sister which means I'm going to be the big brother here for a minute--”

“Yeah, because that's what's missing in my life. If only I had a big brother, I wouldn't be in the swirling whirl of shit I'm in.” I rolled my eyes. It wasn't fair of me to go off on Dale, but he was the one who was home.

“See,” he said, waving a finger at me. “That right there. That's your problem. You can't accept the fact anyone wants to help you. So you haven't fallen off the wagon. You don't need rehab. I get it.” Dale sat beside me draping an arm over my shoulder. “That doesn't mean you haven't been through hell since your mom died. Maybe Colton's right. Maybe you do need to talk to someone.”

“Sitting down sharing my feelings won't change anything that's happened. It's been a sucky year, it's getting worse and I need to deal with it.”

“Not alone, you don't. Let us help you.” He brushed his lips against my temple before standing.

“I have something you can help me with,” I mumbled as he walked out of the room – He stopped when he heard me and I filled him in on my decision.



That night, with Dale's help, I sat down to compose one of the hardest letters I ever had to write. When we made the drive back to Portland for my next trial, I would be handing in my resignation from the band.

He and Mark tried, repeatedly, to talk me out of it but I wouldn't be swayed. Even if we found a way to clear my name on the bogus drug charges, the damage was done as far as my band was concerned. They'd failed me. The moment they started harping on me about my drug use, we were done. It showed they didn't trust me and I couldn't associate with people who were willing to think the worst of me despite the evidence.



Before heading to Jon's house to give him the letter, Mark suggested we stop by my apartment to clear out the rest of my belongings and turn in the keys. No matter what happened, there was no way I'd ever be staying there again. Too many bad memories and obviously not enough security.

Mrs. Ellison, my eighty year old neighbor was locking her door as we hit the third floor landing. I'd hoped to get in and get out without her seeing me but I should have known that was too much to hope for. The old woman had nothing better to do than nose around the building.

“Oh, Madeline, you're back!” She shuffled to me as fast as her frail body could carry her and hugged me so tight I could feel her breast bone pressing into my own chest. She cupped my face in her hands, turning my face from side to side. “I've been so worried about you. I haven't seen you or that house sitter of yours around lately. I thought maybe you'd left without saying goodbye. Not that I can blame you if you had, of course.”

My house sitter? Seems to me dear Mrs. Ellison has let a few of her marbles roll away.

I returned her embrace, knowing it was the only way to get her to release me. In the years I've lived here, she's made it clear that she sees me as the granddaughter her son never saw fit to give her. “I'd never do that to you. But I am moving out today, I just came back to get the rest of my things.”

“Mrs. Ellison, let me get that basket for you,” Mark said, pointing to the dirty laundry hamper sitting at the old woman's feet. “Dale and Maddie can go start packing and then we'll come over for coffee before she leaves.” Mark knew all about my neighbor's quirks. There was no way we'd get out of the building without a visit.

Dale raised an eyebrow in Mark's direction as he pushed us into my apartment. It seemed I was missing something, but that happened often with most of the men in my life.



Nearly twenty minutes later, Mark burst through my door as if he was being chased by an angry mob. “Moo, get your lawyer on the phone. Now!” He demanded.

“Uh, okay, but what am I telling him?” It was unusual to see Mark get flustered in this way, even more rare for him to be demanding.

“It wasn't your cocaine and I know who it was,” he said, shaking my shoulders.

“Gee, you're just now figuring out it's not mine?” I said sarcastically.

“Shut up and call, we have two days to get this taken care of before you go to court.” He yanked the phone from my hand and made the call himself.

Mark disappeared into my bedroom while he told my lawyer what Mrs. Ellison had told him. Apparently, my brother had decided to press her for more information about the house sitter we all knew I didn't have. For once, her nosiness was a true blessing.



I knocked on the door to Jon's walk-out basement shortly before six o'clock that evening, my head reeling from today's turn of events. When no one answered, I turned the knob letting myself in. It wasn't unusual for him to not answer if he was working in his home studio.

“So, she's still trying to deny she's a little coke-head?” My back stiffened at the shrill voice coming from Jon's office.

“I'm not so sure she is. Granted, I have no clue where the cocaine came from, but I think we would have known if she was using again.” Hearing Jon defend me after he'd told me on multiple occasions to get my ass to treatment seemed odd.