Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Crawling into bed, I try to stop the shaking, but I can’t. I need to talk to someone. But I know the only person who can truly help me. I dial the number.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“Daddy…” I start to cry. “I need help.”
Dad’s hand on my back is comforting as he walks me into the art therapy room. Our guide, Stewart, grins as he gestures toward the large windows overlooking the Pacific Ocean.
“This room is a favorite of mine. It’s amazing what you can create with the ocean looking back at you.” Stewart smiles kindly at me. “It’s therapeutic.”
“What do you think?” Dad asks me. “Do you like it here?”
“It’s too expensive,” I whisper. I’d overheard Mom griping at Dad about the price when he came over after my meltdown.
“Nonsense,” Dad grumbles. “Right, Kelsey?”
Mom hides her grimace. “They’re the best in the country.”
Of course a regular Hood River rehab facility wouldn’t be good enough for Daddy’s little girl. He went outside of Oregon and found me one where celebrities go, in Malibu, California, hence his recent trip to check out the facility. It’s beautiful and state of the art, boasting excellent therapy options and a high success rate.
“I love it, Dad,” I assure him. “Thank you.”
He relaxes, pulling me into his arms. “Whatever it takes to get you well and happy. And if you’re ready, come August, you can go back to school. Start over. This is a new beginning, sweetheart. Just like this.” He playfully tugs at my hair that hangs just past my shoulders, now cut straight thanks to Mom.
“I want that,” I tell him. “I want to do better.”
He releases me and I hug Mom.
“We’re here for you,” Mom assures me. “We’ll visit as often as we can. And when you come back home, we’ll take care of you. You’ll always be our baby.”
Dad nods, a smile on his face. It’s sad how he pines over Mom. I hate how he messed up with her. I’m not the one to bring the bad news to him, but Mom loves Mike. I’ve never seen her laugh so much. He makes her happy in a way Dad never did. My dad, though, deserves to be happy too. One day he’ll find someone.
“All right,” Stewart chirps. “Let’s get Miss Charlotte here settled in her room and say our goodbyes. We’ve got a road to pave to recovery and that’s not going to happen if we don’t get started.”
For the first time in ages, hope blooms in my chest.
I can do this.
I will do this.
For me. For the baby I’ll never know. For Terrence.
I look around the seven people in my group therapy session, trying not to fangirl. I recognize three of them as musicians, one is a socialite, and two are actors. I’m the only normal person. Dad made a crapton of money back in Vermont, but even this has to be out of his financial means. Yet…here I am.
“Loden,” Carrie, our therapist, says. “Why don’t you tell us your reason?”
The tall, lean but still muscular guitarist for a popular rock band fidgets, playing with his tongue ring. “I mean, I don’t know.” He shrugs.
“Everyone’s sharing,” Carrie urges. “There must be someone who is rooting for you to be healthy and sober again.”
He winces. “Yeah, I guess. Probably my twin sister. Mena. She’s an angel to my devilish ways.”
“Addiction makes us do things we’re not proud of,” Carrie says gently. “But you’re not devilish.”
The socialite, Meaghan, whines. “Have you heard his music?” She pretends to gag herself.
Loden adopts a smug look, winking at her. “It’s not the only devilish thing about me.” He flicks out his tongue, taunting her.
She shudders and looks away. “Whatever, freak.”
“Not in group,” Carrie chides. “We’re all friends here. It’s a neutral zone. Both of you can apologize and then we’ll move on.”
Meaghan and Loden are both famous. Rich as can be. But right now, they seem like scared, stubborn little children. It makes me wonder what I look like. After some coaxing, they both grumble out apologies. By the time the session ends, I’m exhausted.
I drag my feet as I walk outside to one of the areas that overlooks the beach. An employee walks by with a tray filled with cold, bottled water. I accept one from him and then lean against the railing. It’s peaceful here.
“I heard it’s your birthday,” Loden says, sidling up next to me. “Sucks you can’t celebrate out there.”
“It’s not so bad.”
“Eighteen, huh? I remember eighteen like it was last month.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. “You literally turned eighteen last month. I saw…” I trail off, feeling stupid. He was on the news. Drove an expensive ass car, plastered after his birthday party, right through a shop on Rodeo Drive.
“You and everyone else in America,” he groans. “Yeah, that hurt like a bitch.”