Stupid, I know.
It took me long enough to learn the truth, but I got there eventually: addicts never change. Not without something drastic, a final wake-up call to show there’s no way out of that life except a one-way ticket to the morgue.
I should be grateful my mom figured it out in the end. I just wish it hadn’t taken overdosing in an alleyway in New Orleans to get her there. I was working a job in Miami when I got the call. She was laid up in the hospital, some Good Samaritan passer-by had found her just in time.
She needed rehab, or she’d be dead in the streets in a month.
I had no choice, not if I wanted to save her. I was out of options, and I knew exactly what I needed to do.
I sit and watch the dark until my phone buzzes. I’ve been ignoring the texts all week now, but they keep coming. Relentless, just like him.
Driskell.
You owe me. Don’t think I won’t collect.
I toss my phone into a duffel and grab the rest of my stuff to head over to Brit’s. I thought the poker winnings would clear my debt, but it hasn’t worked. I need to figure out a way to get him off my back before the past catches up with me again.
Seventy-five thousand dollars. The price of my soul.
The cost of Mom’s rehab.
16.
TEGAN
It shouldn’t hurt this much.
I tell myself a hundred times over, every time I wake from the sweet hazy dream of Ryland’s kisses—and remember his cold, unforgiving stare when he realized the truth.
That I’m damaged. Broken. Dirty.
No.
I struggle all week to keep the tide of self-doubt at bay. I’m stronger now. That chapter in my life is over. I made it through that darkness, so this should be a breeze. I remind myself that I barely know Ryland, only shared a single date, a handful of kisses. So what if some guy rejects me because he can’t handle my past? That’s his problem, not mine.
Except they were epic, life-changing kisses.
I don’t stop by the garage again, and Ryland doesn’t call. The days pass, and I throw myself into my song-writing instead, filling a whole new notebook with scribbles and melodies. I have a song I’m working on, and I want to get it just right. I still have the distant thought of entering the competition Dex’s label is running, but I know I’m nowhere near ready yet. I checked some of the early entries they posted online, and the songs were good. Really good. But instead of feeling hopeless, listening to the other contestants filled me with a new determination.
I don’t have anything that’s ready yet, but I will. Soon.
The work takes my mind off Ryland, at least, but I still brace myself to run into him every time I venture into town. When my phone lights up with a text, when one of my brother’s calls—there’s always a split second of hope, when my treacherous heart leaps, thinking maybe, just maybe, it’s him.
But it never is.
I strum a couple of chords, out on the back deck. The weather has cooled this week, so I’m dressed in jeans and an oversized hoodie, watching the wind whip the waves into frothy peaks. The beach is deserted, just miles of pale sand, and the empty gray matches my mood this morning.
I miss him.
It’s strange, to miss someone who might as well be a stranger, but I do. Ryland had a warmth to him, a teasing flirtatiousness that I dismissed as empty charm to begin with. But that day by the roadside, he held me up when I felt like crying; he was something solid and true. A man I thought I could depend on. He kissed my forehead and promised I would be OK. And I believed him, too. There was something in his eyes, a strength: a hard-earned wisdom. It made me feel safe, like he knew everything I was going through, because he’d seen it all himself.
Up to the moment he realized the truth…
The doorbell goes, and I straighten with a gasp. I haven’t had a single visitor since arriving—I don’t know anybody in town who would drop by.
Except Ryland.
I put the guitar aside and hurry inside, my heart racing. I pause by the mirror in the hall to frantically comb out my tangled hair and unzip the hoodie, but there’s no avoiding it: I look like I’ve been closeted away here all week, away from the world.
The doorbell rings again, impatiently.
“I’m coming!” I call.
I take a deep breath and open the door.
“Surprise!”
I stumble back as I’m enveloped by five foot ten of willowy blonde bear hug.
“Zoey?” I blink, disentangling myself from her fierce embrace. For a moment, I feel a stab of disappointment that it’s not Ryland on my doorstep, but that’s quickly replaced with delight as I realize she’s here. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Paris until the fall!”
“It’s just a flying visit.” Zoey beams. She holds me at arms length, her forehead knitting in a frown. “And clearly not a moment too soon. Do they not have shampoo in this town? Never mind, I brought supplies. They tried to tell me I was over the baggage limit,” she adds, hauling a huge suitcase inside behind her, “But I just pretended to cry until they gave in. I brought presents!”
“What did you pack, the entire drug store?” I laugh, helping her drag her bags into the hall. “It’s so good to see you,” I tell her, pulling her into another quick hug. I didn’t realize how much I’ve been missing her, but just seeing her familiar face again makes me feel better, like together, we can take on the world.
“It’s good to see you too.” Zoey squeezes me tight, then releases me. “And hello, luxury.” She looks around, whistling. “If I’d known you were wasting away here all on your own, I would have taken the red-eye weeks ago.”
It took me long enough to learn the truth, but I got there eventually: addicts never change. Not without something drastic, a final wake-up call to show there’s no way out of that life except a one-way ticket to the morgue.
I should be grateful my mom figured it out in the end. I just wish it hadn’t taken overdosing in an alleyway in New Orleans to get her there. I was working a job in Miami when I got the call. She was laid up in the hospital, some Good Samaritan passer-by had found her just in time.
She needed rehab, or she’d be dead in the streets in a month.
I had no choice, not if I wanted to save her. I was out of options, and I knew exactly what I needed to do.
I sit and watch the dark until my phone buzzes. I’ve been ignoring the texts all week now, but they keep coming. Relentless, just like him.
Driskell.
You owe me. Don’t think I won’t collect.
I toss my phone into a duffel and grab the rest of my stuff to head over to Brit’s. I thought the poker winnings would clear my debt, but it hasn’t worked. I need to figure out a way to get him off my back before the past catches up with me again.
Seventy-five thousand dollars. The price of my soul.
The cost of Mom’s rehab.
16.
TEGAN
It shouldn’t hurt this much.
I tell myself a hundred times over, every time I wake from the sweet hazy dream of Ryland’s kisses—and remember his cold, unforgiving stare when he realized the truth.
That I’m damaged. Broken. Dirty.
No.
I struggle all week to keep the tide of self-doubt at bay. I’m stronger now. That chapter in my life is over. I made it through that darkness, so this should be a breeze. I remind myself that I barely know Ryland, only shared a single date, a handful of kisses. So what if some guy rejects me because he can’t handle my past? That’s his problem, not mine.
Except they were epic, life-changing kisses.
I don’t stop by the garage again, and Ryland doesn’t call. The days pass, and I throw myself into my song-writing instead, filling a whole new notebook with scribbles and melodies. I have a song I’m working on, and I want to get it just right. I still have the distant thought of entering the competition Dex’s label is running, but I know I’m nowhere near ready yet. I checked some of the early entries they posted online, and the songs were good. Really good. But instead of feeling hopeless, listening to the other contestants filled me with a new determination.
I don’t have anything that’s ready yet, but I will. Soon.
The work takes my mind off Ryland, at least, but I still brace myself to run into him every time I venture into town. When my phone lights up with a text, when one of my brother’s calls—there’s always a split second of hope, when my treacherous heart leaps, thinking maybe, just maybe, it’s him.
But it never is.
I strum a couple of chords, out on the back deck. The weather has cooled this week, so I’m dressed in jeans and an oversized hoodie, watching the wind whip the waves into frothy peaks. The beach is deserted, just miles of pale sand, and the empty gray matches my mood this morning.
I miss him.
It’s strange, to miss someone who might as well be a stranger, but I do. Ryland had a warmth to him, a teasing flirtatiousness that I dismissed as empty charm to begin with. But that day by the roadside, he held me up when I felt like crying; he was something solid and true. A man I thought I could depend on. He kissed my forehead and promised I would be OK. And I believed him, too. There was something in his eyes, a strength: a hard-earned wisdom. It made me feel safe, like he knew everything I was going through, because he’d seen it all himself.
Up to the moment he realized the truth…
The doorbell goes, and I straighten with a gasp. I haven’t had a single visitor since arriving—I don’t know anybody in town who would drop by.
Except Ryland.
I put the guitar aside and hurry inside, my heart racing. I pause by the mirror in the hall to frantically comb out my tangled hair and unzip the hoodie, but there’s no avoiding it: I look like I’ve been closeted away here all week, away from the world.
The doorbell rings again, impatiently.
“I’m coming!” I call.
I take a deep breath and open the door.
“Surprise!”
I stumble back as I’m enveloped by five foot ten of willowy blonde bear hug.
“Zoey?” I blink, disentangling myself from her fierce embrace. For a moment, I feel a stab of disappointment that it’s not Ryland on my doorstep, but that’s quickly replaced with delight as I realize she’s here. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Paris until the fall!”
“It’s just a flying visit.” Zoey beams. She holds me at arms length, her forehead knitting in a frown. “And clearly not a moment too soon. Do they not have shampoo in this town? Never mind, I brought supplies. They tried to tell me I was over the baggage limit,” she adds, hauling a huge suitcase inside behind her, “But I just pretended to cry until they gave in. I brought presents!”
“What did you pack, the entire drug store?” I laugh, helping her drag her bags into the hall. “It’s so good to see you,” I tell her, pulling her into another quick hug. I didn’t realize how much I’ve been missing her, but just seeing her familiar face again makes me feel better, like together, we can take on the world.
“It’s good to see you too.” Zoey squeezes me tight, then releases me. “And hello, luxury.” She looks around, whistling. “If I’d known you were wasting away here all on your own, I would have taken the red-eye weeks ago.”
