Chapter One
Rhea
The click-clack of my heels sound against the expensive marble floors. Moonlight streams through the floor-to-ceiling window. My suitcase hits the ground with a finality that reverberates through my soul. Three years of my life are packed into one bag.
Gray doesn't look up immediately. He's slouched on the black leather couch we picked out together during happier times. That was back when I still believed love could conquer anything. His tattooed hand grips a fifth of Jack Daniel's. The amber liquid catches the moonlight, mocking me. It's more than half gone, just like us.
When he finally raises his head, those blue eyes I once got lost in are glassy and unfocused. The frown that pulls at his beautiful mouth breaks a piece of my heart I didn't know could break anymore.
"Where are you going, baby?" His voice is thick with whiskey and confusion. I can see him struggling to make sense of seeing me dressed and ready to leave at midnight with luggage at my feet.
The endearment nearly undoes me. Three years of 'baby' and whispered promises in the dark. Three years of believing that this broken, brilliant man could choose me over the bottle.
I force myself to speak, but what comes out is barely above a whisper, wholly fractured with pain. "I'm leaving, Gray."
He blinks slowly, his alcohol-addled brain processing my words. "It's midnight. What in the hell can't wait until morning?"
Everything. This conversation. My sanity. My life.
This isn't how I rehearsed it. In my mind, I was a strong, decisive woman. I imagined delivering life-altering news without my voice shaking like a teenager. 'I'm leaving you.'
The words hang in the air between us like smoke, choking me from the inside. Gray struggles to sit up. His movements are uncoordinated and clumsy. When he finally manages to stand, swaying slightly, anger and confusion war across his features.
"Hold on a goddamn minute. What’s this about?"
The tears I've been fighting to hold back spill over, despite my best efforts. I wrap my arms around myself in a pathetic attempt to hold the pieces together when everything inside me is shattering.
"This is about your drinking, Gray. The empty promises you make every morning when you wake up hungover and sorry. You break those promises over and over again, like our relationship means nothing." My voice grows stronger, fueled by three years of heartache.
I take a shuddering breath, forcing myself to continue. "I'm done cleaning up when you can't make it to the bathroom, done replacing things you break in your rages, and so tired of pretending everything's fine when nothing is close to fine anymore."
His jaw ticks. It’s a telltale sign that he’s about to explode. The transformation is instant and terrifying, akin to watching Jekyll transform into Hyde.
"Oh, yeah? Well, fuck you, Rhea! Get out! I don't want you here anyway!" The words hit me like a slap to the face.
There he is. The mean drunk I've learned to expect when Gray doesn't get his way. This is exactly why I waited until he was too wasted to think clearly, because dealing with an angry drunk is infinitely easier than facing his sober, desperate promises to change.
The tears come harder now, hot streams down my cheeks that I angrily swipe away. His reaction isn't unexpected. I've lived this scene a hundred times in smaller doses. Anything that doesn't go Gray's way becomes the end of the world. He lashes out at everyone within reach.
I reach for my suitcase, but he beats me to it, moving with the sudden coordination that comes with fury.
"You want to leave?" He hoists the bag over his head like it weighs nothing, his face twisting with rage. "Then fucking leave!"
He hurls it across the foyer with such violent force that it crashes into the far wall. The latch breaks on impact, spilling my carefully packed belongings across the marble floor. By some miracle, he misses the expensive art and sculptures dotting our entryway. This time. I've lost count of how many irreplaceable things have been casualties of Gray's drunken tantrums.
The doorbell rings, cutting through the tension like a beacon of salvation. I nearly sob with relief as I wade through my scattered belongings toward the front door. But Gray shoots past me, yanking it open with enough force to rattle the hinges.
His face contorts into a sneer designed to intimidate anyone brave enough to cross his threshold. "What are you assholes doing here?"
Andrew pushes past his younger brother without ceremony, his eyes immediately taking in the war zone of our foyer. "Jesus Christ, Gray. Are you screaming at Rhea again?"
"What I do in my own fucking house is none of your business."
But it is their business now. I made it their business when I called them. It was the hardest phone call I've ever made. I reached out not just to his bandmates but also to my employer. I risked everything because I knew I couldn't do this alone. Gray in a rage is a dangerous and unpredictable force. I need backup.
The rest of Case in Point files through the door - Parker, Wyatt, Cody, and Zep. They move like a unit that's done this before, each giving Gray a firm shove as they pass. With their various shades of blond and light brown hair, blue eyes, and their myriad of tattoos, they look like avenging angels. All except Zep, whose dark features make him stand out like a shadow among sunlight.
Gray laughs, but there's no humor in it, just bitter, drunken fury. "Let me guess. Intervention time? Well, save your breath. I'm not going to rehab, so you're all wasting your fucking time."
My heart sinks even though I expected this response. We've tried three times before. Three interventions that ended with Gray refusing treatment but promising to get clean on his own. Those promises lasted weeks, maybe a month if we were lucky, before he'd slip back into his alcoholic abyss.
But this isn't an intervention. This is me finally accepting what I should have realized a long time ago. You can't love someone into sobriety. You can't threaten, plead, or bargain your way to their recovery. They must want it more than they want the thing that's killing them.
And Gray doesn't want it. Not enough.
"This isn't an intervention.” My voice lacks strength
Andrew positions himself behind Gray, placing firm hands on his brother's shoulders like he's restraining a wild animal. "She's leaving, and you're not going to stop her."
Gray throws his hands up. "She can go whenever she wants! I'm not keeping her here!"
"No?" Their drummer, Parker, pushes off the wall, where he's been surveying the damage, his intensity focused entirely on Gray. "Then why are her clothes scattered all over your house? Did she throw her own suitcase across the room?"
Parker’s comment causes Gray to snap. He bucks against Andrew's restraining hands, then charges at Parker like a linebacker going for a tackle. But Andrew yanks him back just as Parker steps forward, meeting the challenge head-on.
"Fuck you, Parker!" Gray spits, his face red with anger.
Parker gets in his face without flinching. "Fuck me? No, buddy. You've fucked yourself. Again. But this time it's for good." He points directly at me. "You've lost the best thing that ever happened to your sorry ass, and you're too drunk to even realize it."
Andrew's voice drops to a dangerous level. "You always said you wouldn't turn out like Richard, Gray. But you act more like him every day. So, are you going to start hitting Rhea next? Is that where this is headed?"
The comparison to their stepfather, the man who killed their mother in a drunken rage when Gray was just seven years old, hangs in the air. I see a flicker of emotion across Gray's face, a moment of recognition, maybe even shame. But the alcohol drowns it quickly.
I can't watch this anymore. I can't stand here and watch this family tear itself apart over me. That's why I called them, after all.
With Zep's quiet help, I begin gathering my scattered belongings. Each piece of clothing I pick up feels like a small funeral. There’s the red dress Gray bought me for our first anniversary. The vintage band t-shirt he gave me after our first fight. The silk pajamas he loves me to wear.
Three years of my life have been reduced to what will fit in grocery bags.
I'm loading the last of my things into tote bags from the kitchen when I hear his voice change behind me.
The anger is replaced by a tone that is far more dangerous to my resolve. "Baby, don't leave."
I freeze, my hands still buried in the bag I'm packing. This is the moment I've been dreading. When the man I fell in love with emerges, broken and pleading.
"I'll go to rehab. I promise. Maybe one of those spiritual places where I can center myself and come back as the man you need me to be.” His voice cracks with genuine anguish.
The negotiations. I've heard variations of this speech dozens of times. Each one was delivered with heartbreaking sincerity. I don't respond, though. I can't. Every instinct I have screams at me to turn around, to run to him, and to believe this time will be different. But that's exactly what's gotten us here.
I collect my purse and the last few items. My movements are mechanical. Each step toward the door depletes every ounce of strength I have left.
"Rhea! Baby, please don't leave me!" His voice rises to a desperate shout.
Against every rational thought in my head, I look back.
The sight that greets me nearly brings me to my knees. The love of my life is a brilliant, talented, yet broken man, who has fallen to his knees in our foyer. Andrew and Parker kneel on either side of him, holding him up as tears stream down his face. He looks exactly like the lost child he’s always been. One who never learned how to heal from the trauma that shaped him.
"Baby, please. I can't do this without you. I don't know how to do this without you." His voice is pure desperation.
For a moment, I see him as he was when we first met. He was freshly sober, scared, and trying so hard to be better than his demons. I see the man who wrote me songs in the middle of the night. This is the Gray who held me through my own nightmares and who promised me a future where love was enough to conquer anything.
This is the image that will haunt me. This is what will wake me up in cold sweat for months to come. Gray Garrison, superstar, reduced to begging on his knees among the wreckage of our life.
I force out the words that feel like they're killing me. "You have to."
He struggles against Andrew and Parker's grip, fighting to get to his feet and reach me. "No, no, no, no. Rhea! Baby, please!"
But I'm already walking away, each step requiring all the effort I have. Behind me, I can hear him calling my name. His voice breaks with each desperate plea.
The door closes behind me with a finality that echoes in my soul like a gunshot. Still, his voice carries through the thick wood.
"Rhea! Baby, come back! Don't do this to us!"
I make it exactly three steps toward my car before the sob I've been holding back breaks free. My hands shake as I fumble for my keys, and I wipe my eyes twice before I can see clearly enough to unlock the door.
As I start the engine, I catch a glimpse of movement in my rearview mirror.
Gray has broken free from his bandmates and is stumbling down the driveway after me. His face is streaked with tears. His voice carries across the lawn. "Rhea! Please, baby, don't leave me! I'll change! I swear to God, I'll change!"
The image burns itself into my memory. His silhouette stands against the lights of the house we share, screaming promises into the night that we both know he can't keep. In my mirrors, I see Andrew and Parker restraining Gray as he fights to follow my car, his cries echoing down the empty street. I press down on the accelerator, forcing myself not to look back again.
I make it to the corner gas station before I pull over.
And I cry for the man I'm leaving behind and for the woman I used to be—before loving an addict taught me that sometimes love isn't enough. I sob for all the mornings I woke up hoping this would be the day he chose me over the bottle. I weep for all the nights I went to bed alone while he passed out on the couch, intoxicated. Most of all, I cry because I know this is just the beginning. The hardest part isn't leaving. It's staying gone. If I go back now, I'll never find the strength to leave again. One of us must be strong enough to break this cycle before it completely destroys us both.
Even if it kills me in the process.
