Fadeaway by E. Vickers (ebook smartphone TXT) 📗

“I’m not running away. I promise. But I can’t be here anymore.”

It takes everything in me not to pull my phone back out. To trust Jake again.

Kolt steps up beside me. “So this has nothing to do with trying to ditch the cops?”

Jake lets out a short bark of a laugh. “What? No.”

“And you’re not on painkillers anymore?”

Jake shakes his head, serious this time.

I want to trust him, and I almost do—but I have to be sure. “You haven’t stolen any pills since I saw you last?”

“Just my mom’s blood-pressure meds.” He looks at Kmart, like he’s realized something. “Is that what you were shoving down my throat in the beginning?”

Kmart nods. “It helps with the withdrawal,” he says, and the knot in my chest loosens a little.

Neither one of them robbed the pharmacy.

They have been out here getting Jake clean.

The same feelings rush through me again: relief, then reality.

I turn to Kmart. “What the hell?”

He looks almost amused, which makes me want to punch him.

“I mean, I know you were trying to help, but seriously. What. The. Hell? Sketchy detox in the middle of nowhere with somebody else’s blood-pressure meds? You could have killed him.”

He takes a step back, hands up. Smile gone. “If I didn’t do something, he was going to kill himself. So I helped him the only way I knew how. The way somebody helped me once. And it worked, okay? It worked.”

“It worked?” Kolt looks like he wants to strangle his brother, and I’m not sure I want to stop him. “There was a freaking missing-person report. A search warrant. Everybody who cares about him has been scared shitless for weeks. You’re calling that a success?”

“He’s alive, isn’t he?”

I’ll leave Kolt to argue with Kmart. I’m done with him, anyway. This is about Jake. About moving forward.

“Come back,” I say to Jake. “There are people at home who still care about you, no matter what. You don’t have to hide out for the rest of your life just because you made some mistakes.”

“I wish I could go back,” he says, his voice thick. “But it’s better for both of us if you climb in your car right now, Daph. Without me.” He reaches a hand toward me, then lets it fall to his side.

Tension crackles between us. I know exactly how it would feel to take one step forward and rest my head against his chest. And he must know exactly how it would feel to thread his fingers through mine and kiss the top of my head. Impossible as it may be to quantify, we both know exactly how much comfort we could find in each other’s embrace if we just gave in to the gravity pulling us together.

But in all of this, we never actually touch each other.

“There are other options.” I hold out the stack of papers I’ve been driving around with for weeks. “I’ve been reading about addiction,” I tell him, knowing how ridiculous I sound. How different reading about it is from living it.

But the words are all I’ve got, and I promised myself I’d say them if I ever had the chance. “I know coming back would be hard. But I also know you’re more likely to get better if you’re surrounded by people who love you. And, Jake, we love you. That’s why we’re here.”

Instead, he steps back. Looks toward the truck. “We have to go.”

“You don’t,” I say, holding the papers out toward him. “You said you wished you’d done everything differently. If that’s true, do it differently. Starting now.”

He looks down, ashamed. “We can’t afford any of that. We’re still paying off my surgeries. How can I ask my mom to pay for this too?”

Tears sting my eyes. “You have to trust her enough to let her make that choice. Please, Jake. Come back.”

“I can’t,” he says. “Think about it, Daphne. You’re smart enough to understand why.”

So I try to see the world the way Jake sees it right now. The fact that the cops really might be after him, even at this very minute, ready to drag him back to Ashland and put him through the trauma of arrest and questioning and who knows what else for a crime he didn’t commit. The people he loves but feels he has let down in unforgivable ways. The incredibly intimidating prospect of surrendering himself to an inpatient program in spite of his lifelong fear of doctors and hospitals and anything like them. The memory of his father and how rehab wasn’t enough. The impossible cost of it all.

Or he can go with the person who has pulled him out this far, in search of a truly fresh start.

But just because I can see why he believes this is the answer doesn’t mean I believe it. It’s too easy to imagine all the ways this could end in tragedy.

“I’m terrified,” I tell him.

“So am I,” he says, and he raises his hand to reach for mine.

I’m about to take it, hold it, keep it close to my heart, when I realize he’s reaching for the brochures. I riffle through the stack, wishing I’d written myself a script for this part.

“I can show you statistics,” I say. “We can compare programs. Figure out costs. There’s a way to make this work—”

Jake cuts me off. “I’m not saying I’ll do it,” he says. “But I’ll think about it. We’ll talk about it—after you guys are gone.”

No. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. “I’ll think about it” is not good enough.

“You’ll talk about it? With him?” I don’t even try to keep the venom out of my voice.

“Yes,” Jake says. “After you leave.” He closes his eyes, swallows hard. “Just go, Daphne. Please.”

I scrape and scramble for the right words to make him change his mind, but even as I do, I see the decision set in his jaw.

“I’ll think about it” is all I’m going to get, because all my hours of