Fast Lane | ✔️

6

Ch6

So much for a fresh start, Brooks thought as he sat waiting at the bar of The Silver Spoon Nightclub. All it took was one call from U-Turn lead guitarist Avriel "Avi" Jordan, and he went running. What did that say about him? Did it mean he was weak, had no willpower, no real desire to change? Did it mean he had an actual problem? No way was he addicted to partying. He could stop any time he wanted, right? Right? Maybe he just wasn't ready.

But what would it take for him to finally give up that lifestyle for good? Winding up on some dirty bathroom floor from an overdose, like Philip Seymour Hoffman? That poor guy had been found dead with the needle still sticking out of his arm! No not him, not Brooks Kennedy. Hoffman was into the hard stuff. Brooks would never touch heroin. Everyone knew it was all downhill after that. Once you went that route it took over your life. No longer were you getting high for fun, you were getting high because you needed to, and that wasn't for him. He would stick to his tried-and-true favorites; alcohol, weed . .  . maybe a little E or blow if he was feeling especially adventurous. He was smart.

Brooks scanned the crowded club alive with the beat of Technopop, and gave an appreciative nod toward Selena Gomez as she sauntered past the bar wearing a short, sexy outfit and some very high heels. He had to admit, she was looking pretty damn good. Was she still dating Justin? Oh, who could keep track anymore? Surely not him. His eyes traveled leisurely over her voluptuous curves covered by a tight red dress and reluctantly decided it wasn't worth the trouble. Everyone knew Bieber had a bit of a temper when it came to his on-again-off-again girlfriend, and he wasn't about to get into with him over some silly bird. There were plenty of fish in the sea, and right now he was feeling ready for some action. To him, drinking and women went hand in hand, just like drinking and smoking did for others.

"Hey, dude! Here you are," Avi's deep voice boomed from behind, interrupting his thoughts. He slapped Brooks on the back and pulled up a bar-stool. "You been waitin' long?"

Brooks shook his head and took in his friend's haggard appearance. Bloodshot eyes and dirty brown hair curling up under a tight, gray beanie. No doubt still recovering from the night before. Avi shared similar vices as Brooks, although his recent experimentation with illegal substances was starting to border on alarming.

Brooks turned back to his drink. "You look like total shit, mate."

Avi sat down with a thump. "I know," he agreed, waving over the bartender. "I tried speed-balling last night. Dude, it was ridiculous! I didn't even know what was goin' on."

Brooks gave a superior huff before taking a deep swallow of Grey Goose, hold the ice. "Don't you think you're getting a bit carried away? You're starting to sound like a full-blown junkie."

"You're one to talk," Avi countered back indignantly. "What did you do last night?" He gave Brooks a knowing glare. "Or should I say who?"

"I was alone last night," Brooks replied tersely. As far as he could remember, anyway. Unless you counted Jonathon Walters' daughter--which he absolutely didn't.

Avi rolled his dark eyes in disbelief. "Alone my ass . . . "

"Brooksy-Baby," a female crooned loudly before he could shoot Avi a reply. He recognized the voice immediately and groaned to himself. Brooks turned in his bar-stool and watched warily as Ashton and Juliana, arms linked together tightly, made their way toward him. Great, just what he didn't need right now. He wasn't in the mood for the two of them. He needed a breather. Whenever The Three Musketeers got together, he wound up with lapses in his memory--and there had been a lot of that going on as of late.

"Avi." Ashton turned and nodded a curt acknowledgement at the guitarist.

Avi returned the greeting by lifting his chin in disdain. "Hmm. Looks like they're letting anyone into this place these days." The two had developed a mutual dislike toward one another over the years, and they didn't seem to care who knew.