Island Of Recovery

Nate's [POV]

I rolled the window of my car down, letting some fresh air in. The planes above looked really big taking off and landing. You sort of forgot how freaking huge they were when they were flying above you.

My assistant had told me that the flight was at eight in the morning. I'd been sitting in my car for about ten minutes, watching the sun start to rise over LAX, wishing I'd got a later flight. It was six thirty in the goddamn morning; the only other time I was awake that early was when I'd been up the entire night and hadn't gotten to sleep yet.

What was I even doing here? I could have asked Dad if I could use his plane. I was Nate Stone: I didn't have to fly commercial.

I shut my eyes and leaned back against the driver's seat. In ten hours, I wouldn't have to think about this place for another three months. I'd be in a fucking suite with a hula dancer sucking me off. I'd be eating seafood and drinking rum. I'd be too far away for any of the assholes in LA to get to me.

I watched a plane take off and fly into the distance, till I couldn't see it anymore. In two hours, that would be me. I just had to wait till my flight. I'd checked in online already, and I was flying first class. Just two hours, man, I said to myself. This vacation was way overdue. I knew it was over when I tried to write a song the other day and got nothing.

Nothing. Not a word. The band didn't use my songs anymore, but fuck it, I did. The touring, the booze, the girls – it had done something. It had finally caught up with me. Yeah. That was it. Because there wasn't any fucking dope and booze in Hawai'i. I'd be fine if I just got away from it.

I checked the time again. Five minutes had passed. Fuck. Could I fall asleep? Go inside? Eat? Something? Anything other than just sit here and wait?

My phone was ringing. Still ringing. I'd ignored a phone call twice already. I didn't know who the fuck was trying so hard, but I was pretty sure you were meant to stop trying when it was obvious the person you were calling didn't want to talk to you.

Fuck, what if it was important, though? What if it was my manager? Or Dad?

The ringing stopped as soon as I reached for the phone to check who I'd been blowing off. I grimaced reading the name. Not my manager Doug. Not my father. Nope. It was Kirsten. I had her name on there as Kiki because that was what I'd called her when we were together and I'd just never gotten around to changing it to something else.

Kirsten Andrews. Sorry, Kirsten Stone: she'd kept my last name.

Hmm, I wonder what she wants, I thought cynically. We didn't have any kids together, so it wasn't that. Couldn't have been her settlement because she'd cleaned the fuck up during the divorce. I'd call five million for three years of marriage a pretty good deal. Unless the bitch wanted more, which she was not getting.

I could still hear the wedding bells. Kirsten had filed for divorce, not me. I had told myself back then that it was so many different things. She was just a bitch, she wanted my money all along, and she had met someone else. She was one of those women who used marriage to marry and then divorce even richer people. I couldn't stand thinking she thought of me as her starter husband.

There was the little thing where I was drinking till I blacked out each day, but I had been too drunk to realize that that was it. And by the time I had, and lied to her that I would stop, I had already moved on to something a little stronger.

Was there a time I ever loved her? Every time we'd had to go to court, I wasn't so sure. It had been almost five months now since the split was finalized. There was nothing I still had to say to her. There was nothing she could have said to me that I actually wanted to hear.

She'd left me a voice-mail. Delete it, the voice in my head said. Delete it because you're going to listen to it and regret it immediately. My thumb hovered over the screen as I thought about that. Yeah, Kirsten drove me crazy, and yeah, I was here at the airport because I wanted to get the fuck away from her and everything else, but since I was going anyway, what was the harm in listening to it?

I'd listen, get mad, and this time tomorrow, I'd have two naked Hawai'ian girls in my bed, drunk off my ass in the middle of fucking paradise. I'd listen, and when I got to Hawai'i, I'd throw my phone in the ocean.

Was it worth it though? What was the worst thing she could say?

I played the message. Kirsten's voice filled the car like she was in there with me. I frowned, listening; she had the bitch meter turned on high. Her voice got really shrill when she yelled.

"Nathan," she was saying in the message. She did that when she was mad at me. Talked to me like I was her kid. "Nathan, why aren't you answering your phone? You bastard, I know you have it on you. You always do." I leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes. Bad idea. Should have deleted it.

"Where are you? You know what? I don't care. It doesn't matter anyway. Your manager's been calling me. He wants to know where you are. You can't hide, you know that, right? You remember you signed a contract, don't you?" she was saying. No, I forgot that, Kirsten; thanks so much for reminding me that I owe my next three albums to that bloodsucking label, I thought.

"I told him I didn't know where you were. I can't believe you're throwing this all away. How long were you making your music waiting for someone to sign you?

"Whatever. The band will do just fine without you. Doug taking a chance on you was obviously a waste of his time. It's sad, really. Keep hitting that bottle, babe. Go ahead and throw that dream away. What would you be without your rich daddy anyway? Nothing. Maybe Remus can dedicate their next album to you in their Grammy speech-"

I cut the message off. There was about half a minute left, but I didn't have to listen to her anymore.

Fuck.

I could feel it. It was happening. I shut my eyes and tried to stop it. It felt like hot water bubbling up from my stomach to my chest, till I felt it in my head. It felt like being in a locked room with only one way to get out.

She was right. They didn't need me. They had producers and money from a major label. They could hire anyone to write. They could hire anyone to play and just put their names on it. They could just shit out album after album and watch the money pile up. They could keep going on tour – getting high, drunk, laid. Have a great time.

I wasn't part of Remus, not anymore. They had our sound perfected; they could swap us all out and replace us the next day and it wouldn't make a difference. It was generic. It was stock; it wasn't real. Obviously, they could make money with or without me. They didn't need me.

Fuck. I couldn't think. I felt like my skin was trying to crawl off my body. I couldn't fly like this.

Good thing I came prepared. I kept my stuff in the glove compartment. I always had a kit close. My travel kit was small compared to my other one. Just the essentials. Syringe. Belt. Dope – pharma grade, of course; I wasn't trying to kill myself. Just a little something to take the edge off. It wasn't a big deal.

I quickly looked out the window, rolling my sleeve up. I belted my arm and filled the syringe. I could almost feel it already. The anticipation before the high was almost as good as the main event.

I flexed my arm, looking for somewhere to stick it. I watched the needle puncture the skin and shoot one hundred percent pure, right in my vein.

I took the belt off and leaned back in my seat, sighing. Yeah. That hit the spot. It was like that feeling when you were cold and got in a hot tub. Just like a liquid orgasm spreading all over your whole body.

Right then, I forgot everything. I wasn't at the airport. I wasn't in my car. I was in heaven. I opened my eyes, watching another plane go by. It looked so happy. Maybe if I'd gotten Kirsten on heroin, she wouldn't be such a bitch.

Time must have passed; it felt like hours, but it must have been half an hour or something. Everything moved slower when I was high. Everything was better. I had to leave, though. I had a flight to catch.

I rolled my sleeve down. I could hide being high, but the track scars were a dead giveaway. I pulled my hood up because I'd forgotten my baseball cap. Another reason why I should have fucking flown private. That way, nobody would recognize me.

I got out of my car and went to the trunk to pull my suitcase out. I left my kit in the car because I had another one packed. I'd check this bag so security wouldn't get to it. I didn't carry lighters or spoons and shit, obvious junkie paraphernalia. If they saw it, they'd see vials of clear liquid. When they read it, it would say it was insulin. Hidden in plain sight. Who wasn't going to let a diabetic have his insulin? I'd done this so many times before.

The trick was to act natural. Don't give them a reason to think you're doing something wrong. For all they knew, you were just another miserable traveler who had to make the drive to LAX that day. TSA didn't even look for drugs like that. I'd be fine.

The high definitely helped. I got through security with no problem. I took my time with it since I still had a lot of time left before the flight. Once I was at my gate, I considered my options. I had music in my carry-on backpack. I could put my headphones on and zone out till it was time to leave. I even had a book, but it was sort of hard to read while I was high.

There was a bar, though, and getting a jump on that rum didn't sound like a terrible idea.

Was it too early for a drink? I checked the time. Twenty minutes past seven. Yeah. It was too early. I'd just shot up, I'd probably last the flight. I sat down at the bar anyway, thinking I'd just do it. If they didn't want anyone to drink, why'd they have it open at seven in the morning, anyway?

I kept my head down, even though it was basically just me. Not a lot of people on my flight probably. Not a lot of people trying to get drunk at seven in the morning. The bartender walked up to me. It was a dude. Young guy. I nodded slightly. He smiled, telling me good morning.

"Hey," I said tightly. "Can I have a...Coke? Just a Coke. With ice," I said. The guy smiled and went to get me my drink. I rolled my eyes. Fucking Coke. Could he top that off with some Captain Morgan? That sounded more like it.

It was seven in the morning, I couldn't do that. Even I had limits...sort of. I'd drink my Coke, get on the plane, and ask for Patron. The guy came back with an icy glass full of Coke. I said thanks and paid him.

"Hey, man, you must get this all the time," he said. Oh shit. "But has anyone ever told you you're a dead ringer for Nate Stone?"

"Who?" I asked, sipping my drink.

"Nate Stone. That guy from Remus. Well, he used to be part of Remus. He left them recently. Pretty talented guy." I shrugged.

"Can't be that good if they kicked him out."

"They didn't kick him out. It was creative differences or something like that," he said. I smiled to myself. Creative differences. Thank God for good PR.

"Creative differences? Who was he? Like, their John Lennon?"

"He didn't like the direction the major label was taking the band's music. Ever heard their stuff?"

"Nope. That Nate guy sounds like a loser," I said. The bartender kept looking at me. Telling him to fuck off would be the worst thing to throw him off my scent. You didn't want fans saying they met you and you were a douche. I kept my head down, drinking my Coke.

"You know. You sort of sound like him, too," the guy said. I swore quietly. He knew. I looked at him.

"Did you like the label or independent stuff better?" I asked. The guy laughed. I hoped he'd say independent.

"I knew it was you. Where are you heading?"

"Hawai'i."

"Vacation?"

"Yep."

"Alone?" he asked. Too many questions. I was just about to answer him when I heard my boarding call. Saved by the bell.

"Yeah. Alone. In fact, I think I need to go get on that plane," I said, trying to discourage him.

"Before you go, could you sign this for me?" he asked, sliding a notebook over. I scribbled my autograph down and gave him his notepad back. I finished the soda and got up, leaving to finally get on the plane.

Maybe it was a good thing I'd gotten a Coke. If I'd been on anything stronger, I would have told him anything. Everything he asked. Why I was going to Hawai'i, why we had actually split, the name of the upcoming album where I had had no creative input. I needed to get out of there.

Ten minutes later, I was on the plane. I'd gotten a first-class ticket, but as soon as I was in my seat, I wished I'd bought the entire first-class cabin out.

I was coming down. I was about to be in this flying tin can for like eight hours. Fuck. Next time, I was flying private, no fucking excuses. Nobody would ask me shit if I got my kit out and shot up at ten thousand feet if I was flying private. My kit was in my checked bag. I was taking this flight sober unless I could drink.

What the fuck, Nate, I thought. What kind of loser can't stay clean for ten hours? I was already thinking about when I could get high again, and we hadn't even left the ground. I'd gotten high just two hours ago in the parking lot. It was the perfect opportunity to just stop and be normal for one day, and I hadn't been able to do it.

How much longer? How much fucking longer? What would it take? Did I have to die before I stopped doing this shit? I sighed. At least then I wouldn't have the choice to shoot up again.

This was about to be a long-ass flight.

I zoned out as the pilot and cabin crew made their announcements. Emergency exits are here, here, and here. The destination is Lanai Airport. Blah, blah, blah. I put my headphones on and turned on some music. I felt the plane start to move. Eight hours, and I'd be in paradise. Hula dancers sucking my dick. Palm trees and sunshine. In eight hours, I could forget everything that had happened that day.

Abby's [POV]

There weren't a lot of things I could complain about living in Lanai. Because of work, I lived near the hotel in the southern part of the island. Yeah, my backyard was the beach, but I sort of wished I lived somewhere I could watch the sun come up over the ocean.

I could never really stay asleep once dawn started to break, even before I moved to Lanai. That meant the day had begun, and I never wanted to miss seeing it start. Every minute you were asleep meant you were missing something. How could you live life to the fullest laying on your back?

I got out of bed, throwing my light blanket off. Soon the nights would get too hot to sleep under it. I pushed my windows open to let the earliest rays of sunshine inside. I loved summer. It was Hawai'i so summer was basically the only season we had, but when it was summer, the sun was in the sky before six in the morning.

I was up early every day, but summer was also the five months out of the year that I worked at the hotel, so being a morning person actually came in handy. It was still early summer, but the hotel was completely booked up through the peak season already. I relished the quieter days we had at work before it flooded with tourists, but meeting new, interesting people every day was probably the best part of the job. The hotel had already started filling up.

I had quite a bit of time before I had to be at work, as usual. I washed the dishes I had forgotten to do the night before in my small kitchen before wondering what I was going to have for breakfast.

When I was working, I got food at the hotel during my shift. My fridge was miserably bare. There was some fruit in there and some milk I was pretty sure I was about to run out of. I lived alone; it wasn't like I was putting a family meal together every night. That watermelon looked good, though.

I shut the door, deciding to eat after I'd pulled the place together a little. It was a small cabin with a rear porch facing Hulopoe Beach. It was technically on land owned by the hotel, but rent was manageable since I worked there. It was convenient because work was only a fifteen-minute walk away.

It was perfect. No walls were separating the kitchen, living area, and bedroom. I'd gotten a little crafty and put up these translucent white curtains that I could close to separate the living and sleeping areas, but they were mostly just decorative.

There was no television, and I had one couch and an armchair. I had found the furniture there, left behind by whoever had lived in the house before me, and hadn't wanted to replace it. It was made of this light wood that looked like driftwood picked up off the beach. Against the wall, I had a desk where my laptop was. I attended college classes online when I wasn't working.

There was no air-conditioning, but a few fans did the trick when the air got too heavy. I had lived in Texas before coming here, so a little heat didn't bother me. I loved my place. It was everything I needed. It was minimal, and it wasn't an ultramodern condo, but it was comfortable, and I literally only had to take two steps out the back door to be on the beach.

I was thinking about taking a dip in the ocean when I heard a knock at the door. I pulled it open excitedly, already knowing who it was. There was only one person who it could have been at my house that early. Makani, my best friend, was standing there in a tank top and shorts, a brown paper bag, and two coffees in her hands.

"Oh my God, really?" she said, looking me up and down. She looked at me with a mock-shocked face. "What if I was some weird guy? What if I was the police? You'd still come to the door in your panties?" I smiled and pulled her inside. "Jesus Christ, Abby. I know we're close, but I think I'm starting to see too much of you." I laughed, closing the door behind her. It was okay. She'd seen me in a lot less.

"What are you talking about? This is just for you," I teased. She pulled a face that made me laugh.

I'd lucked out finding Makani. I couldn't complain about living here on my own, independent and supporting myself, but Makani? She was my sister. Nobody would ever think we came from the same two parents looking at us, but she was at the top of the list of people I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

"Maybe when I'm forty and nobody else has tried to marry me yet," she said. "Actually, I might do you a favor and lock it down now. How many of the guys you've dated have ever brought you breakfast in bed?" she asked, holding up the brown paper bag that smelled like it had something delicious in it.

There was a perfect half watermelon in my refrigerator, but I was certain what she'd brought was full of butter and sugar, and honestly, which would you pick?

"I don't know what's taking you this long to finally ask me," I said, taking the bag from her and peering inside. The smell made my stomach growl: ham and cheese croissants. She popped our coffees out of the carrying tray.

"Too young and hot to get tied down," she joked. "You're terribly high maintenance; you'd drive me crazy," she said fondly.

I smiled. If our personalities were things on the island, I'd be the sun, and she'd be the mountains. She acted like she was so long-suffering and weary of me, but she was probably the only person in my life who didn't have to be around me if she didn't want to be, but still was.

We'd become friends that first summer that I had worked at the Four Seasons. She was only a year older than I was, but I just remember being so impressed by how mature and grounded she seemed. She was smart, she was beautiful, and she didn't mind letting me – new and scared – shadow her at work.

You could say our summer romance had blossomed into a beautiful friendship, but it was more than that. I had never had any siblings, but I didn't even feel bad about it because she was my family. I laughed my hardest when I was with her.

"What would you do without me?" I challenged.

"Get a lot more sleep?" Makani said smirking. I knew it took her at least three alarms to get up in the morning. When we weren't working, she would be in bed most of the morning if I didn't get her up to do something.

"What were you doing last night?" she asked, walking into the kitchen to grab a couple of plates. The house was so small, it didn't have a proper dining room. What it did have was a table and two patio chairs out on the porch where I tended to eat when I was home.

"Nothing, just stay in," I said, walking to the door. There was always a nice wind coming off the ocean, so it was never too stuffy in the house. Makani followed me out, putting the plates on the table and taking the bag from me to slide the warm croissants out.

"Are you going to be taking classes this summer?" she asked, sitting in one of the chairs and curling her long legs underneath her.

If she ever got tired of the hospitality business, a good next career for her would be pageant queen or model of any type. She was beautiful. HR had probably given her a job at the front desk because she looked like Miss Hawai'i. Her hair was naturally wavy, dark brown, the same color as strong coffee. She had light brown almond-shaped eyes and flawless, rich coppery skin. She was the sort of exotic Hawai'ian beauty the tourism board used in ads to sell the islands to visitors.

She took a sip from her coffee cup, grimaced, and held it out to me. She'd gotten mine by accident. She drank her coffee black, with no sugar or cream. I didn't know how she did it; I thought it tasted like engine oil. I liked my coffee sweeter than was reasonable, with plenty of cream.

"No, I'll start in the fall. I can't study through the peak season."

"Don't remind me. The bookings are crazy."

"Aren't you excited?" I asked her. "There's so many parties and luaus." She looked at me furrowing her brow.

"It's also when we have Joseph breathing down our necks. Crazy guests asking for room service. Ugh, and the weddings," she said dramatically.

Abby's [POV]

I giggled, biting into my croissant. The filling was warm and the pastry was flaky; little crumbs showered over my thighs. Joseph was our manager. He was a little frantic, but nice if you stayed on his good side.

"Everything blows up when the tourists come. The island's fast asleep whenever it isn't peak season. Think about it, Makani; the people who come here are relying on us to make their trip unforgettable. People don't forget things like that. You don't forget experiences. That young couple from Arkansas, is here for their island wedding. They'll remember you organized their first horseback ride as a married couple on the beach."

"Uh-huh. They'll also remember their awesome island wedding when they're getting a divorce five years down the line because the guy hasn't been able to forget the pretty blonde who lei-ed him," she joked. I narrowed my eyes as she laughed.

"You're too young to be this jaded," I said shaking my head.

"I'm just being realistic. They're here on vacation. It isn't real life for them. Once they leave, they leave all this behind. They take their memories, but memories fade."

"You don't want to be responsible for making one person's day better? Be the one behind that one memory that makes them smile when they're feeling down?" I urged.

"I just want to make it through another season in one piece."

"I can't wait," I said smiling, having a sip of my coffee.

"I want whatever you're smoking," she said shaking her head.

She was like a forty-year-old woman in the body of a hot twenty-two-year-old. She had been born in Lanai and had lived on the islands all her life. She had started working right after high school and had been supporting herself for just as long. She could be a little serious, but was a great time when she let her hair down.

We watched the tourists on the beach silently for a little while. Usually, the only people on the beach this early were people who wanted early morning runs or swims or elderly couples who wanted to walk the beaches while they were still quiet and fairly empty. It was nice. The wind blowing over the ocean towards us was fresh and salty.

I knew the perfect song for this moment.

"Mind if I play something?" I asked Makani. She said she didn't. I stole back into the house and came back out with my phone looking for the song. Remus had a song for every occasion.

The sound came through the speaker. An acoustic demo – just clean vocals, piano, and percussion. I had chosen my favorite song from them. It was a slightly slower song, "Nikki Out of Sight," which they had released before they were signed.

One of the members, the pianist, Nate, had written it about his mother who had died when he was a kid. Not a lot of their newer fans seemed to like it very much since they had done it in their older style. I liked the way they played now, but there was definitely a difference between their earlier and newer stuff.

"This that band you like?" Makani asked.

"There you go, I didn't even have to tell you who it was this time," I said smiling. I played Remus's music often when we were together. Makani was steadfastly lukewarm about them, not from a lack of effort on my part. She didn't know any of the band members and didn't listen unless we were together and I put it on, but she could probably name like, one album title if she tried.

"I don't get it," she said, shaking her head.

"Nate, one of the members, wrote the song for his mom."

"Nikki is his mother?" she asked, pulling a face.

"She died when he was young. The song's about how hard he would try not to forget her because the older he got, the longer she'd been gone." Makani nodded.

"Is that why you like it? Because it's miserable?" she asked.

"It's not miserable. It's cathartic," I insisted. She humored me by agreeing.

She was one of the few people I'd met who didn't love the band. I'd been listening to them since they had released their independent LP. They never had any Hawai'ian tour dates, so I'd never seen them live, but I imagined I'd probably combust if I was in the same room as they

played their stuff.

There was something really raw about their lyrics that I felt I could relate to. It was beautiful music, but their themes sometimes skewed a little dark. Loss, death, things that were scary to think about, but made me feel better about where I'd come from.

I related, to this song at least, because my mother was dead, too. She hadn't been gone long enough for me to start forgetting her, but I had been fifteen when it had happened. That wasn't better or worse than losing her at an older or younger age – it always sucked to lose a parent.

The song ended, and we quickly finished our breakfast. Makani waited as I got ready, and we left for work together, taking a short walk. The trail brought us up to the main building between the pool and the golf course.

The resort was gorgeous. I had so much respect for the staff who cleaned and decorated, making sure it always looked amazing. There were always fresh flowers at our front desk every day. That was where we worked most of the time, checking people in and out and taking inquiries, but sometimes we'd coordinate luaus, events, parties, wedding receptions, things like that.

The work was fun. It didn't really feel like working, not to me anyway. I liked talking to people. Makani was professional and warm with all the information, and I liked to engage guests, ask them where they were from, whether they'd been to Lanai before, and just make them feel comfortable. All I wanted was a smile back when I gave one.

A few hours in, the phone rang. I picked it up, giving my usual introduction and greeting.

"Abby?" Joseph barked. I jumped. I had never been in trouble at work before, but he always talked to us like we were. He was Samoan. Big and tall, and the sort of guy you didn't really want to know how mean and scary he could be, so you were always on your best behavior around him.

"Yes, sir?" I squeaked, clearing my throat.

"My office," he said shortly and hung up. I looked at the phone briefly before putting it down. Why did he want to see me? I knew I wasn't in trouble, but he tended to spend a lot of his time outside his office, chatting with guests and overseeing the staff.

"What's up?" Makani asked.

"Joseph wants to see me," I said.

"Right now? Why?" I shrugged. I told her I'd be right back before leaving to go to his office. It was behind the reception area, through a door that was for staff only. I knocked before I went in. He was sitting at his desk. I smiled at him coming in. I saw his stone face mask drop for just a second, about to smile back before he stopped himself.

"Abby, I need you to check the presidential suite," he said, getting straight to the point.

"Which one?"

"The Hulopoe suite; he wants the ocean views."

"I'll get right on it," I said. I didn't want to ask why, but I was curious. He had said "he" wanted ocean views. Who was he talking about? I thought up a way to make the question less obvious. "Uh, any special instructions for housekeeping?" I asked.

"If anything's wrong, have them fix it. We have a guest who wants the suite for the entire season. It needs to be perfect. Oh, and he requested a piano in his room and these drinks in his refreshment center," he said, handing me a list.

I raised my eyebrows. The Four Seasons was already a swanky place, but if someone was taking a Presidential Suite for the whole summer, they had to be some sort of celebrity or billionaire – especially if he'd sent a wish list ahead of him. I bit my lip wondering who it was.

"Can I ask who it is?" I asked carefully.

"He's a musician. Nick Stone," he said.

"Nate?" I asked quickly, correcting him. I cleared my throat and reeled it in. "Nate Stone?" I asked again, hoping he wasn't onto me.

"Yeah, that must be him. Plays in a band. Rich father. He wants the suite for three months. He is an extremely important guest, and checks in today. I know I can trust you to make his stay unforgettable," he said, giving me one of his rare smiles. He had them all the time for the guests, but not for us. I think he did it to scare us – keep us in line.

I nodded because if I opened my mouth, I'd probably scream. Nate Stone. Nate Stone was coming here. I was about to meet Nate Stone. I would be able to see Nate Stone every day for the next three months. Joseph dismissed me and I left the room, feeling like my skin was on fire.

Oh my God, Nate Stone. I wanted to scream. I had just been talking about him with Makani that morning.

Whew. Down girl. I had to get a grip. I had work to do. I hurried back to the desk.

In a few hours, I'd be meeting Nate Stone. I couldn't wait.