“Because Chey, you won’t allow anything else.” Kye settled back into the pillows and closed his eyes. The last bout of chemo had knocked Kye senseless; this overdose had made him weaker. I was scared shitless but couldn’t admit it. Kye needed me to be strong, and so I would be.
“Love you, Chey,” Kye whispered. I watched as Kye’s breathing evened, and he drifted off into sleep.
“Love you too, Kye.”
???
It was a madhouse at the motel, and I seriously considered moving us to another hotel. The crowds must be driving Nana and Jed mad, but they said nothing as I wearily walked into their home later that morning. Jesse and Saint had arrived, and I’d kissed and hugged my son tightly before heading towards the limo that had brought them. As I entered the living room, I spied Ken sitting on the settee and flew at him. Ken rose to his feet and opened his arms as I barrelled into him.
“Ah Chey, I’m so sorry, lass,” Ken muttered, hugging me. I squeezed Ken in return and took a step back. “How is Kye?”
“Awake and alert, but this overdose has stressed his system. Ken, I demand that oncologist's head on a platter, and I want it yesterday,” I spat. The anger I’d been hiding at the injustice finally broke free, and I began pacing.
“Lawyer is on it. I can’t believe he messed up Kye’s medication so badly. Kye nearly died,” Ken said, sitting.
“Oh, I know! I fucking found him. It’s not something I ever wish to see again,” I hissed.
“There’s a conference this afternoon. And yes, Chey,” Ken held a hand up, “I’m aware you want to be present. That’s not an issue, but you need sleep, Chey. We’ve four hours until the meeting, so go nap, shower, and we’ll head out. Nana will wake you in two and a half hours. And Chey, I want Cheyenne from The Wild Wind. You understand what that means.”
“Okay, boss,” I smiled tiredly and stomped upstairs to my old room. Ken wanted Cheyenne; he’d get Cheyenne from The Wild Wind.
???
Made up and dressed up, I followed Ken into the conference room he’d booked for the meeting. Ken had eschewed holding it at the motel and picked a local hotel. It was jam-packed with reporters, and as we sat at the table, the babble was terrible. Ken tapped the microphone and coughed to clear his throat.
“We’ll be taking questions about the incident that happened with Kye Knight yesterday morning and about his health. Certain aspects of the case cannot be discussed, and we’ve a lawyer here to advise us whether or not to answer.
“How is Kye?” a woman asked, standing to her feet. Ken glanced at me.
“Kye is tired but resting comfortably, we hope he will be discharged in a few days, but that is only with his new doctor’s authorisation,” I answered.
“Has Kye changed doctors?” another man questioned. I snorted, and the lawyer sent me a warning glance.
“Yes, Kye is now under a different doctor,” I replied. For the next half an hour I answered questions about his diagnosis and prognosis until a reporter I hated threw me the question I’d been waiting for.
“Why was this kept hush-hush?”
“Because it’s Kye’s private life, and it didn’t need to be splashed everywhere so you can sell papers,” I retorted.
“But the public has a right to know,” the reporter pressed.
“Why? Doesn’t Kye deserve privacy? Just because we make music and are well known, it doesn’t mean people have the right to pry into our lives. If Kye didn’t want it public, then that’s Kye’s choice.”
“Well known, Chey, you’re famous and aware of it.”
“That doesn’t mean we are public property; we’ve a right to a life and privacy too.”
“What about the drugs? What was it, Chey? Coke, heroin?” a guy asked, standing. I turned with a sneer.
“What part of Kye has cancer didn’t you understand?”
“Cancer doesn’t make someone fit, and their heart stop,” the man persisted. I snorted.
“Before you make ridiculous statements like that, I suggest you check your facts. The fact is we all undergo random narcotics testing each month, as does anyone working for us. The reason we have ourselves tested is because we don’t think it’s fair to test our workers and not ourselves. These drug tests are recorded with a doctor, and should they be required in a court of law, they will be provided.
Like everyone else here, your problem is that you latched onto the cocaine story instead of presenting the facts. Well, that’s slander. But we’re not interested in suing; we are keen to get the truth out there. Harry Ireland did precisely that and did Kye credit by reporting his condition truthfully and with great empathy. That’s your dilemma because you jumped the bandwagon and went with drugs, something which has never touched our band, and you know it. You’re angry you missed out on the exclusive.” I sat back as the man reddened with anger, and I dismissed him.
“What’s happening to the doctor who over-prescribed the medication?” a female reporter asked.