Recovery by Nicole Dykes (best time to read books .txt) 📗

She looks sympathetic. “That’s always a risk. Did he tell you anything about it?”

“No. Just that he was going to a meeting. Like it was no big deal.”

She seems to think that over and then places her hand over mine. “Talk to him. Let him tell you about what happened.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“You should.”

“I’m leaving, Quinn.” My eyes level with hers. “As soon as I can.”

She nods her head, taking that in and holding her head high. “I’ve known you for a long time. I’d never put you in danger. Ever. Jase is not bad. I know what your mother was like. He’s not that.”

“Addicts are liars.”

“Trust me.” She implores me to listen with her gaze.

I nod my head, conceding and standing up as I take a big breath. “Okay.”

She walks out from behind the bar and gives me a hug which I lean into, grateful for the comfort.

When I go back upstairs, I go straight to my room and wait. An hour later, I hear Jase’s booming voice talking to Finn in the hall before walking into his room. The door closes, and I take several deep breaths. I should just let it go.

I should go on with my plan to stay invisible. Stay away from everyone. Work and save. But Quinn’s eyes flash in my mind, and I think about how sincere she looked.

I wait a few more minutes and then go to his door, knocking lightly. He opens the door, a curious look on his handsome face, not flirty like he was earlier, instead almost cold.

“What?”

Okay, so that’s how it’s going to be. I guess I was a little aggressive earlier. “Can we talk?”

“You going to call me a fucking junkie again?”

“Are you a fucking junkie?”

His eyes narrow. “No.”

I don’t believe him, but I don’t have the right to call him a liar. Not really. Not yet. “Can we talk?”

He moves out of the way and allows me into the room, closing the door before turning to face me. “What do you want to talk about?”

“If you’re not an addict, why do you go to meetings every week?”

“To remind myself to not ever fuck up again like I did when I was younger.” His eyes remain serious but then soften slightly. “And to go with the kid I sponsor who really, really needs help right now.”

Don’t fall for it, Mya. My heart wants to melt at the mention of him helping a young addict.

“How did you fuck up?”

He moves past me and lies on his bed, one arm tucked under his head. “Don’t worry about it, Mya.”

“I am worried about it. I’m confused.” I point to my chest, pleading with him to tell me what the hell is going on. “You say you’re not an addict, but you’re a sponsor and you go to meetings. They don’t just let anyone in.”

His eyes dart to the trophies on the wall and then to me. “I’m confused. Years later and I’m still fucking confused.”

I sit on the edge of the bed. “Just tell me, Jase. Please.”

I don’t like begging him, but I need to know because my stomach aches thinking about letting a junkie into my life. I promised myself I’d never do that.

Not that I think they aren’t worthy of love or understanding, but to guard my own heart . . .

I just can’t.

I look at Mya as she sits on the edge of my bed, pleading with me to tell her everything. I’m worn out from the day and from life in general. I don’t want to rehash this shit, but the way she’s looking at me right now, it’s like I can’t resist.

“I had a happy childhood until I was eight.” She watches me, her eyes less judgmental and cold than they were earlier today. So I continue, “My dad was a fireman, my goddamn hero. And then he died.”

I see her visibly gulp, but she stays silent.

“I’ll never forget my aunt picking me up from school that day. They pulled me out of class. I hadn’t seen her for a while because she lived in Oklahoma. But she picked me up and told me what happened. That my dad died in a fire.”

“That’s awful.”

I nod, trying not to let myself go fully back to that day. The memory is too painful. “My mom lost it. He was the love of her life. They were childhood sweethearts. She tried.” I think about my mom, zombie-like, sitting on the couch and staring at the wall for hours. I try to shake that thought away. “Everyone said I just needed to give her time, but time didn’t help her. It was like she wanted to die with him. I had to remind her to eat.”

“Jesus, Jase. That’s terrible.” No one ever knows what to say when they hear this part, and her voice is quiet.

“Yeah. It was. She lost herself the day he died. She wasn’t really my mom anymore. I was angry, but my life went on. I found football and threw myself into it.” My eyes drift to all the trophies on the wall and then back to Mya. “Finn and I played football together, and he was right there through it all. I was okay.”

“What happened?” She sounds almost afraid to ask.

“The town built me up like some fucking football god, and I let it get in my head. I thought I was the shit.”

Now she looks over at the trophies. “I’d say you were.”

I smile sadly, unable to look at them again. Instead, I focus on Mya’s beautiful face. “I was good.” And I was. State and national championships don’t lie. “I thought maybe I could go pro. That somehow that would pull my mom out of it.”

Her voice is a caress, a soft whisper from the end of my bed, “Jase, what happened?”

“My senior year of high school, the first fucking game of the season . . .” I look away from her, toward the door. “I ended up in a pile