Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 489(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
“Want a Coke?” Carrie asks, ushering me into the house. “A sandwich? Chips?”
“A Coke is fine. I’ll grab something to eat when I get back home.” I follow her into the kitchen, wincing when I twist my still-sore ribs the wrong way. I try not to grimace.
My mind immediately goes back to yesterday. That man, who I don’t even know, admitted to trying to get me killed. Since the drunk wasn’t able to do it, he tried to handle it himself in the parking lot by kicking the shit out of me. I hate to think about what would have happened had Canyon not shown up when he did.
Our dads were obviously freaked out. Ryan looked at my phone last night and called the IT guy at his company, but in the end, there wasn’t much they could find since I’d most likely been texted from burner phones. It would be wasted efforts.
“Still hanging with seniors?” I ask. “Gage is bad news.”
Today, I drove my Range Rover since I’d be taking Carrie home after school. When I reached my car, it was crowded by Gage, Damon, Cain, Paige, and Carrie. The guys were their idiotic selves, and the girls were giggling as though they were fucking hilarious. Gage took one look at my face and muttered a homophobic comment under his breath that had Damon smacking him on the back of his head.
She conveniently hides her face from me inside the fridge. “We’re just friends. Besides, Paige likes Gage, not me. He’s a prick.”
“Be careful.”
Crimson paints her cheeks as she shoves a Coke at me. “I will be. It’s fine. Are you doing anything exciting for your birthday?”
Now it’s my time to be embarrassed. If she knew I wanted to spend my evening in bed with her brother, she might not be too keen to ask such questions. Since I’d already made plans to practice with Carrie, we decided we’d all go to dinner tomorrow night rather than tonight. It’s a simple birthday, and I’m not complaining. If Dad were to try and plan a big affair, I’d feel like the fall would hurt that much more.
The fall is inevitable.
I can feel it.
Pain lances inside my chest, and I absently rub at it.
“Alis?” Carrie furls her brows, studying me up close.
I force a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Saturday. We’re going to dinner.”
“But tonight is your actual birthday.” She smiles. Her previous animosity is gone since I started rehearsing with her to improve her playing. “I’ll order pizza. Pepperoni okay?”
“You really don’t have to—”
“Too late,” she sasses. “Let me see what Mom wants.”
She bounces off, and I unscrew the lid of my Coke. I’m just swallowing down some soda when I hear a blood-curdling scream.
Setting the Coke down, I rush toward the sound of Carrie’s yelling. It’s pained and terrified. For a second, I worry that the man from yesterday got into the house and is hurting her. But when I make it into her mom’s bedroom, I quickly realize it’s not the problem at all.
Aimee, who never comes out of her room when I visit, is pasty white and seemingly unconscious, lying in a puddle of vomit. Carrie shakes her mother, trying to rouse her, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Carrie,” I bark out. “Go call nine-one-one. Wait in the living room.”
If her mom is dead or dying, she certainly doesn’t need to witness that shit. Her head bobs up and down as she scrambles to obey. Dropping down on the bed beside Aimee, I check her pulse. Faint but there.
“Aimee,” I bark out. “Wake up. What’s going on?”
But I know what’s going on. The rubber tied around her arm and the syringe still sticking out of her flesh indicates the problem. Looks like an overdose of…fucking heroin.
This woman might be on death’s bed, but all I can think about is him.
Canyon.
The boy she kicked out and whose heart will shatter into a million pieces if anything happens to her.
Fuck.
“Stay with me, Aimee. You have to.”
She fucking has to.
Canyon
I don’t understand.
I don’t fucking understand.
She’s my mom. Aimee Voss. Not some drug addict itching for her next fix. This doesn’t make sense. It’s a dream. Has to be. A goddamn nightmare. My mother didn’t OD on heroin. Didn’t happen. Nope.
The hospital waiting room blurs in front of me as a fresh wave of unshed tears fills my lids. They fall, streaking soundlessly down my hot cheeks, and dripping from my jaw, dotting my jeans with my disbelief and utter devastation.
She’ll live through this.
I know she will.
I’m too young to lose my mother. Just too damn young. I refuse to see any other outcome.
Despite our fathers sitting directly across from us, Alis reaches over, squeezing my thigh and rubbing his thumb over the tearstained denim. When he’d called on the way to the hospital, I couldn’t comprehend the words—my mom and heroin. Still doesn’t compute. But, here we are, waiting for answers hours later. The scent of antiseptic is thick in the air. A halogen light above us flickers and hums. Air kicks on, blowing a chilly breeze from the vent and cooling my wet cheeks.