All the air seemed to leave Dash’s body as he realized what his mother was saying: she was the person who’d tipped off a reporter about his rehab stay. And of course she’d known about his addiction struggles, the way she always knew everything about her children. And over lunch, she’d encouraged him to take a role to bury the gossip.
But Dash was done acting, on camera and off.
“How could you do this to me?” Tears stung his eyes, and he didn’t bother to wipe them away. “I’m not one of your clients who you can just fix with some good press. I’m your son. This is my life. You don’t get to decide how I live it.”
“Your life is our life, too, Dash,” Kitty said in a voice so measured it was unsettling. “Don’t pretend like we’re not all connected. And for what it’s worth, I didn’t think the reporters would have to continue asking you this question. I thought you’d have said yes to a role by now. Problem solved. I told you at lunch to take a script, didn’t I? Or write one? You not working is the problem, not whether a reporter knows.”
And there was the inevitable, sinking feeling he had whenever he was reminded that he wasn’t just a person but a Montrose.
“Dash.” Sophie’s voice cut through the loud hum, and he turned to see her rush into the tent with Poppy in tow. “Are you okay?”
She reached for his hand, and he reached for hers, and her cool skin felt soothing against the burn that coursed through him.
“What the hell was that reporter talking about?” Poppy asked. “We should sue! Now they’re just making shit up about Dash.”
“Poppy.” Kitty turned to her. “Don’t say another word. There are people—”
The rage that Dash had felt for so long about not being able to tell his family for fear of what they’d think evaporated. As Sophie tightened her grip on him, he was reminded once again of the power that words could hold. He had the power to tell them the truth, and he was finally going to. He cut his mother off midsentence. “They’re not making shit up.” His voice shook. “I’ve been sober for nineteen months now. I went to rehab for alcoholism.”
“You what?” Poppy looked so shocked—even more so than when she’d discovered Sophie at his house—that he almost felt bad for keeping this secret.
“I was going to tell you eventually. When I was ready.” He ran a hand through his hair and felt a tremor in his fingers. “But then, Mom leaked the story to the press.”
Sophie’s hand slipped out of Dash’s, and she began to gesture as she spoke. “That was his story to share or not to share. You don’t have permission to just tell people.”
“And you don’t have permission to yell at me when you’re a guest at my husband’s event,” Kitty hissed out at Sophie.
“Then, allow me to do the yelling.” Dash stepped in front of Sophie and faced his mom. His hands balled at his sides, and he straightened. Even though Kitty was undeniably taller, in that moment he felt her shrink. “Kitty, consider this the last time we’re ever connected. Because I can’t be around you anymore, not when you’ve made it so clear every single time I see you that the only thing I’m good for is an IMDb credit. From now on, I’m not a Montrose. You’re not my mother. I don’t want to see you ever again. I don’t want you to call me. I don’t want you to even think about me. I am done being Kitty Montrose’s son.”
He stared her down, and her eyes widened as if, for the first time, she was truly seeing him and what she’d done. But, then again, this was Kitty, and he highly doubted she was self-aware enough to even understand that he was cutting her out of his life.
“Dash, let me fix this.” Kitty stepped toward him, but he took a step back.
“Mom, you didn’t do this to Dash.” Poppy’s hand grabbed Kitty’s shoulder and forced their mom to turn toward her. “Oh, my God… Wait, did you?”
Before Kitty had time to notice, Dash turned away from her and everyone else and walked through the tent toward the exit.
When he got to his car, he slammed the door and turned the key in the ignition. He didn’t look back as he drove down the street. His thoughts felt like a bowl of murky water that was impossible to see through clearly. He drove and drove without much thought as to where he was headed. When he stopped at a red light, he turned to look out the window, and there was a neon sign lit for a local bar. His old local bar, The Viper Pit. He’d driven there without even realizing it. And he remembered the feel of the leather stools, the faint lull of the jukebox, the dark lighting, and corner booths that made it easy for him to disappear for hours behind drink after drink.
He could do that again now. Going home wasn’t an option as Sophie would be there, maybe even his family, and he wasn’t ready to face them or their questions. But he could park his car, walk inside the bar, and order a drink. Just one. Just to have that old familiar comfort of placing an order. Then, later, he could go home and not think about this awful day ever again. He just needed something to take the edge off the throbbing pain that coursed through him and wouldn’t go away.
When he slipped into the cracked red-leather booth, a bartender in jeans and a T-shirt immediately approached for his order.
“Vodka neat and a soda water,” Dash said.
He would just hold the vodka, smell it, raise it to his lips, and then put it back down without taking a sip. The very act of being in the bar would be enough to get him through this day. His phone buzzed and buzzed and buzzed, and eventually he took it out and saw Sophie’s name on the screen. Sweet Sophie, who had done so much to save him but couldn’t. What would she think if she saw him in a bar? He didn’t deserve Sophie. He’d never been good enough for her and never would be.
So when the bartender brought him two glasses, one with vodka and one with soda water, Dash took the one with vodka, brought it to his lips, and inhaled it. He wasn’t going to drink. He wasn’t. But then his phone buzzed again, and this time it was his mom calling.
His old instincts kicked in, and without too much thought, he threw back the vodka like he’d never not been drinking. The burn of the liquid flooded his mouth and warmed him completely. He wanted more.
“Another,” he called out to the bartender.
33
SOPHIE
Sophie was a fucking mess, to put it lightly. She’d anxiously tapped her foot so hard that the heel broke off, and she’d nearly thrown her phone when the Lyft app told her it would be a twenty-minute wait for a ride.
Poppy and Kitty were tensely arguing with each other. But no one other than her seemed to be concerned about the fact that Dash had disappeared and wasn’t returning anyone’s calls.
Sophie sharply exhaled, steeled herself, and approached Poppy.
“Do you happen to have Chris’s phone number?” Sophie asked.
“Chris?” Poppy said, maybe annoyed. “Who are you talking about?”
“Dash’s best friend, Chris.” Sophie was also getting annoyed. She understood Poppy was still mad with her, but did they really have to play these games, especially when Dash was MIA?
“Never heard him mention a Chris before,” Poppy finally said as she eyed Sophie.