Pete added his pleading to Jake’s, and I’d almost been persuaded, until Jake started vomiting.
“Take him outside,” the barman told us. “In fact, get him well away from here.”
By the time we got Jake outside, he was doubled over with stomach cramps. Steve and I had to support him, because he couldn’t walk himself.
“Fuck, he’s overdosing,” Steve said.
I’d thought the same but hadn’t wanted to voice it. We sat him down on the ground, leaning on the van. Pete paced, while Steve took Jake’s temperature with the back of his hand.
“Everything okay?” someone asked, as they walked through the car park.
“Yeah, fine,” I replied, moving to hide Jake from view.
There’d been a few industry people checking out the band and I wasn’t sure if they’d left yet. If they’d seen Jake like that, our careers would be dead before they started.
There was also a whole posse of fans from our hometown who followed us from gig to gig. Normally, they were pretty cool about keeping their mouths shut but this was something I wanted no one to know about.
Steve had his phone out.
“What are you doing?” I asked him.
“Calling an ambulance, mate. We can’t leave him like that.”
“He’s fine,” Pete said. “Messed up but he just needs some fresh air and he’ll be right. No need to get other people involved.”
I should’ve stepped in there and backed Steve up. My hazy mind couldn’t really process it. Maybe Pete was right. Maybe Jake did just need fresh air and, if we called the ambos, everyone would end up knowing what happened. He’d be in the local hospital. My parents would find out and do everything in their power to dismantle the band. Jake’s parents would find out and freak. His kid sister would be devastated. If we could keep this quiet, then that was the best option all round.
Jake groaned and vomited again.
Pete put his arm around my neck and brought his other finger to his lips.
“Got to keep it quiet, mate. Shhh.”
I nodded. We both were thinking the same thing.
In some crazy, messed up conversation, we’d decided I’d take Jake in the van to the party. Pete and Steve would go in the car with the two chicks – they had a tiny chick car that’d only fit four people, tops. Plus, we didn’t want them seeing Jake until he’d gotten sorted.
“That’s it, spew it all up,” Steve kept saying.
I’d take the van and we’d follow them to the party. They lived in the next town over, about twenty minutes’ drive away. With the windows down, Jake would get all the fresh air he needed.
“Fuck, Pete, I shouldn’t be driving.”
Steve didn’t have a licence.
“The van’s stick though and I can only drive automatic.”
That was bullshit, and Pete denied saying it later on, but I remember clear as a bell. That’s why I drove. If I’d been sober, I’d have realised that Pete had driven the van before.
Everything made sense at the time. But it was all filtered through a drunken blur, things made sense that shouldn’t have done.
So, I’d downed a black coffee from the nearest convenience store and got in the van. Windows down, music pumping loud to keep me awake. All the usual tricks.
Jake slumped in the passenger seat. I had to keep shaking him to make sure he was breathing, until the snoring started. I figured if he could snore, he must be okay. I turned the music down
then.
Keep snoring, mate, I mumbled to myself. Just keep snoring.