Chapter 7: Black Velvet

The angel in Hollis's dreams had hair like black velvet and eyes like sapphire. But the moment he tried to speak to her, he was drowning.

He coughed awake to the tug of an IV and muted beeping of machines. He forced open heavy eyes to see pale morning light coming through a large window overlooking the city. And underneath the window was Ash asleep, legs awkwardly folded, head lolling against the chair back in the corner of the room. It all pulled at something inside Hollis, making him realize three things:

Hollis was lying in the same hospital where his mother had once been, Otto had been right—again, and Ashland Adams was a greater friend than Hollis deserved.

Hollis shifted on the bed, his discomfort both emotional and physical. Across the room, a woman in scrubs smiled at him, her sneakers squeaking on the linoleum. 

"Don't move too much, love," she said, coming over to him. "You're still all banged up."

Hollis watched her through heavy eyes, saying nothing. She wrote down something on a clipboard and met his gaze. "Don't worry, you're going to be just fine. You'll be discharged this afternoon. How are you feeling?"

Hollis shrugged, lying. "Alright."

"Good," she said, making one final note on the clipboard before adjusting something on the IV machine. "You've got a sweet friend over there. He's been here for hours." 

To this, Hollis said nothing. He couldn't. After a moment, she smiled again and turned toward the door, leaving him alone with the quiet rhythm of beeping and the silent presence of Ash, his body crumpled into a position that defied comfort. 

The entire room around them was a mixture of sterile monochrome and oak cabinets and doors. The mattress was hard under him, but the blankets were warm. The sharp sting of antiseptics filled his nose. The grogginess was overwhelming, a heavy fog that dulled the edges of the duller, throbbing pain behind his eyes. Everything was broken into pieces that he couldn't put together—fragments of memories that were hard to align.

He recalled the raw energy of the stage, the way his heart raced out of time with the music. He heard Ash's words before the show, saw Ash's frustrated face as he'd tossed Hollis his mask, the sting of disappointment in Ash's eyes. The anger in his voice when pulling Hollis off of Darian at the party, before everything blurred into nothingness. Hollis fought to make sense of it all until the door creaked open. A shadow stretched long across the linoleum and Hollis tensed, expecting another doctor or a nurse, but it was Otto's familiar figure that stood in the fluorescent light. 

His sharp blazer contrasted with the stark surroundings, and his usual air of authority seemed less defined, edges blurred by something that Hollis rarely saw in him: hesitation. He took a step forward, the corners of the room drawing tighter around them. Ash was still asleep, an oblivious participant in the silent confrontation. 

"What happened?" Otto asked, almost whispered.

Hollis didn't immediately speak. He ran his finger along the edge of his hospital bracelet, his head pounding. "Didn't expect to see you here," he deflected, voice hoarse.

"Why?"

"You've got plenty of other things to worry about," Hollis said. The retort was half-hearted, more reflex than conviction, but he couldn't bring himself to let go of the last shreds of his denial. "Besides, you said you had to go to Ohio."

"A band's petty disagreements can wait—your mental state takes precedence, I believe," Otto said, and Hollis tensed his jaw, looking away. "I told you," Otto continued, "I haven't forgotten the promise I made to Margaret."

He took another step forward, the space between them narrowing. And when he spoke again, there was a softness in his voice that caught Hollis off guard. "You have to get things figured out, or else everything you've worked for will fall apart into nothing."

Hollis tightened his grip on the thin blanket. "It's not that simple."

Otto looked down, a hint of something like compassion softening his gaze. "You think you're the only one who's ever gone through this? You've got a gift, and you're throwing it away. I've been in your shoes, more times than you know. And I came out the other side. You can too, but not if you keep this up."

Each word was a chisel against Hollis's defenses. Otto was all business around everyone else, but Hollis knew him—Hollis knew a lot of things Otto never said out loud. 

Otto had always been by Hollis's side, from the moment Hollis's mom knew he had a special gift. Otto saw it too, and believed in Hollis just as much as Margaret had. Hollis watched her eyes light up every time Otto was around. Too many times Otto's car was parked in front of Hollis's house until early in the morning. He knew the promise Otto made to Margaret—"I won't let the industry ruin him, I swear"—a conversation they'd had in the middle of the night, one of those nights where Otto never left. Hollis had heard her crying and got up, only to hear Otto's voice on the other side of the door, comforting her. She'd felt like the music industry would take Hollis away and return him as someone she no longer recognized. It was exactly what was happening now, and Otto would have none of it. 

Otto was more than Willow's manager, he was family to Hollis. Otto became the rock Hollis and his mom didn't know they'd needed. And ever since, it hadn't gone unnoticed that Otto was desperately trying to be the glue to it all. 

Hollis stared out the window, gazing at the pale morning sky, covered by clouds. "If she were still here, she wouldn't blame you."

Otto said nothing, likely caught off guard by the words. Hollis let out a long breath and looked at Ash, still asleep. His presence was a silent testament to Otto's point. It caused the fight to drain from Hollis, leaving raw acceptance in its place. 

"What do you want me to do?" he said.

Otto's posture relaxed. "Take a break. Write some music. Breathe," he said, but Hollis couldn't help but hold his breath at the words. "Everything will be right where you left it when you come back."

Every bit of it sank in, echoing with a truth that Hollis could no longer ignore. 

"If you want to stay here," Otto continued, "I'll put you up in the Hilton, get you a car. You can take a drive to Taylorsville, go to the old farmhouse," he said, clearly regretting the words as soon as they left his lips. "Like I said," he added, "if you want to."

After a long, suffocating moment, Hollis nodded, a reluctant gesture that marked the beginning of something like agreement.

"I'll make some calls, then," Otto said, turning to leave without anything more. Just like Otto, covering up his momentary vulnerability with business-as-usual. Even still, he stopped at the door, glancing back with an intensity that lingered even after he shut the door. 

Hollis let himself sink into the thin mattress, feeling its stiffness against his back. He forced his eyes to remain open, focusing on the room's bleak details—the chipped paint on the wall. The linoleum's dull sheen. The plastic chairs that looked like they belonged in a waiting room rather than a place of healing. Everything was a weight pressing down with both dread and clarity, but Ash still slept, as if nothing had happened at all. 

Hollis fiddled with a fraying edge of the hospital blanket, trying to find the words he'd say when Ash woke. But they were slippery, elusive. Every time he thought he had something pinned down, it slid away, leaving him with nothing but the sound of his own breathing. 

He contemplated waking Ash now, getting it over with, but the idea of confrontation—even one that might end in forgiveness—exhausted him. So he closed his eyes, instead, letting himself drift into a state of half-consciousness, hoping that the angel with black velvet hair and sapphire eyes would visit him again.

But, no matter how many times he tried to picture her, she never did.