Shelter Me

The band practiced with Caleb on the 27th like we originally intended. Nothing was ever said between us about what happened on Christmas. I assumed Kenny filled Jim in—since he completely ignored the state of Scott’s face, and acted like nothing was different.

We played through our set for the upcoming run of shows and the tour. We were going to be playing the entire album over the summer to fill an hour time slot, so we were going to rotate through all ten songs during the spring. Only Darker Days and Little Lies would remain in their same spots every night.

Electric Eye was sounding great by the third run through—the extra practice on Christmas Eve helped.

I handed Scott some new lyrics at the end of that session. I had taken the best song that we jammed with Caleb on Christmas Eve and wrote lyrics to it.

I recorded a demo the day before on my computer—it wasn’t great quality, but it had the melody and the basic guitar structure. That night, I played it for Skye on repeat at my parent’s place, trying to get the lyrics right.

She would revise every line to feel a little bit crisper and sharper until we created a finished product that I loved. It was called A House of Cards.

I did a first playthrough of it for the band, singing while playing the guitar part so they could understand the vision.

At first the room was silent.

Kenny perked up, “That’s so sick. It’s got strong Dirt era Alice in Chains vibes.”

“Scott’s voice is perfect for that,” Caleb added.

“Are you okay?” Jim asked. “Those lyrics are much more… suicidal than what you usually write.”

I didn’t flinch, but my throat went dry.

“Yeah… they weren’t originally this dark,” I lied. “I did an editing pass to just make it flow better.”

Actually, it was much darker on the original drafts. Skye helped me make it more accessible.

“Oh, yeah. After hearing you sing it, it flows really well.”

“This is what I was talking about,” Caleb started. “Wes just writes to you guys’ strengths better than I ever did.”

He was smiling. We weren’t going to see him again until May, but this was enough for now.

I wanted to finish that demo before he left. I wanted him to know I was working toward the second album—that we weren’t going to fall apart.

***

The spring was far less eventful than the fall. After the new year, we all fell into the same toxic masculine instinct: bury the past and pretend we were fine. No one brought up what happened in December. Scott talked about Caleb like they were best friends. We hung out before shows, kept the conversation light—gear, crowds, venue food.

The only real change was location. We stopped gathering at the Parris’ house or Kenny’s place. Instead, we met at my parents’ place before shows, everyone showing up five minutes before we had to leave. EoT had become strictly business.

Kenny and I kept up our friendship at school and on days off, but we both prioritized our partners. Courtney had found a new rhythm by the time shows picked up again. Her return to the group was noticeable, but the dynamic wasn’t the same.

Skye and Maggie’s closeness had pushed Courtney toward Julia—and, by extension, Kenny’s outside friend group. She seemed more social on the surface, but that crowd was wearing down her usual spark. There was something harder behind her smile.

After our last May show, Kenny invited me over. I didn’t expect to walk into a half-intervention.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been here,” I said, glancing between them. “Didn’t think I’d be in a 2-on-1 with you guys… is this an intervention?”

Kenny gave a soft laugh. “Nah. I’m actually surprised we’re coming to you for advice on a—” he hesitated, “delicate situation.”

Julia sat stiff on the couch. “Yeah—I’ve been hanging out with Courtney a lot. I told her I wouldn’t say anything, but it’s gotten really bad and I need help.” Her voice cracked, eyes already glassy.

Kenny gently cut in, his tone sobering. “I’ll explain. You don’t have to say it again.”

My stomach tensed. This could be anything. My first thought was that it had something to do with Skye. But Kenny said it didn’t involve me.

“Back in February,” he started, “she began taking Ambien to sleep—trying to catch up from the chaos last fall. Then sometime after the spring shows started, I noticed her sneaking Xans. Before school, before leaving for a show… Then, by mid-April, she was taking Vikes in the morning.”

He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s Julia’s piece of the puzzle. I’ll fill in the rest.”

There was a part of me that wanted to scream. The rest of me just wanted to get it over with.

“I’ve caught her pill-popping a lot lately. She’s subtle, but not exactly good at hiding it—unlike her brother. By March, I could predict the routine. After a show: four or five Ambien. Before school: two Xans and a Vike. Before hopping in the van: another Xan and Vike. At the venue? Same.”

He exhaled hard. “I don’t know what to do.”

I didn’t have time to be surprised.

“Well, there are two questions then: What’s the goal and who’s her supplier?”

Kenny didn’t need to think long, “Doug is her supplier.”

Yeah, that was obvious.

“The goal? To get her to stop abusing… I understand her need to use, but this has already spiraled out of control.”

“Well, the timing isn’t great since we’re in Oklahoma next weekend, and then we’re gone a week later… All we can realistically do is talk to Scott.”

He knew that was the answer. He just didn’t want to do it.

“Wes… do you think that you and Julia can handle it?” Kenny said, weighted by guilt.

“Does Maggie know?”

He hesitated, “Yeah.”

“I need Maggie too.”

I didn’t really need Maggie. I already knew Scott’s usage was the leverage I needed. But involving Maggie meant Kenny couldn’t stay clean in this. If he wanted to help, he’d have to put something on the line too.

***

I asked Scott to meet us for dinner the night after. It was May 22nd, and we would need to be on a flight to Oklahoma in thirty-six hours. Grabbing some subs at a loud public place was perfect—we could blend into the noise, but Scott was trapped by social convention.

Maggie sat next to Scott, with Julia beside me. Scott and I sat face to face.

“I didn’t expect you to ask me to a group dinner,” he said, his voice wavering.

“Well, we need your help with a problem only you can solve,” I said, cold.

“I haven’t been much help to anyone lately”

“I don’t know. Something tells me you’re the only person who can help your sister—the walking pharmacy—as everyone’s calling her.”

I kept eye contact. I wanted it to hurt—just enough for him to feel what we all had.

He immediately cast his gaze down to his food.

“Scott, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but… we’re all worried about her,” Julia said. “I tried to talk to her about it, but she just got mad.”

I didn’t expect that, but it was perfect.

“Yeah,” Maggie’s voice was quiet. “She doesn’t talk to me anymore. She’s trying to hide it from me because of Kenny… I only know because she’s not as subtle as she thinks.”

I let them keep talking like that for a bit. Watching him squirm was exciting.

Scott stayed silent. Maggie looked down. Julia wouldn’t meet his eyes. Finally, he exhaled.

“Fine. I’ll tell my parents when we get back from Tulsa… they’ll probably get her into a juvenile rehab facility,” he paused, bringing his gaze to mine. “I’ll tell Doug to cut her off.”

Oh? So, he didn’t just know.

“Thanks, Scott. You’re amazing,” Julia said.

His smile was empty, “I try to be the best brother I can.”

Maybe he might need rehab too. You could see the grind marks on his teeth.

Maggie and Julia left together.

Scott and I hung out in the parking lot for a while after.

“Man, where did this all go so fucking wrong?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I started. “Maybe the pressure’s just killing all of us?”

My words seemed to connect, “This last run of shows was so much easier than the fall… I only needed bumps for the arena shows—I felt like I was getting better.”

He hesitated as if choosing his next words.

“Caleb reminded me that I was just Scott Parris. That if I stayed true to myself instead of trying to be something more I would be okay,” he started to cry. “I was doing so much fucking better. I knew she was coming apart, but the only person she was hiding from was me—we’re so alike.”

So, that’s what Christmas was about.

“You’re going to do the right thing, Scott. We’ll be on tour and miserable, but she’ll have her friends on the other side of this.”

“I hope so.”

He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve. I didn’t say anything else. We just stood there in the parking lot, two ghosts waiting for morning.

***

Skye ended up at my place that night. We wanted to maximize our time together before I was gone for the entire summer. The distance between us was healthy—ironic that all of our friends saw our relationship as toxic.

“Wes, you seem a little—different lately,” she said, her hands caressing me.

“What made you say that?”

“You seem less… delicate, with other people,” her voice was low and tempting.

“What about it?” I asked, trying to read the mood.

She grabbed my hand, placing it around her neck.

Her pulse was steady. Mine wasn’t.

“Maybe—you could be a little less delicate with me sometimes,” her gaze pierced me.

She said it like a dare, not a question.

First thought: What the fuck?

Second thought: No, this tracks.

“Well, I’ll trust you if you trust me,” I said in a whisper.

“Good,” she replied, even quieter.

We both bled, but the pain wasn’t the same this time. It was chosen. It was shared.