Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
I don’t even have the strength to reach out and touch her, to lift her into my arms and put her into the bed.
That feels really fucking empty.
But, when the sun rises, I’m still alive. The sheets are disgusting but I’m not shaking anymore. I crawl from the bed and tiptoe to the bathroom, run water over my face, stare at my reflection so long it starts to look like someone else’s. I brush my teeth. I put on a clean shirt from the pile she washed. When I walk back to the bedroom, she’s awake, her eyes wide and hopeful that I’m moving around.
“Thank you,” I say. Two words, not even big ones, but they weigh a ton.
“I told you I wasn’t going anywhere,” she whispers.
“It’s a long road from here, kid. You sure you’re up for it?”
She pushes to her feet, walking over and taking my face in her hands. “I do love a challenge.”
I smile, the first real one I have given in months.
Maybe things will work out, after all.
8
Two Weeks Later – Violet
I wake, feeling like I have been hit by a truck.
Travis wasn’t wrong, it did get worse. He had moments, of course, where I saw the light in him coming back out, but then it got rough again. Each day, though, something got a little easier, even if it was something as simple as him being able to walk down the stairs and get some water. Baby steps. But for him, they’re huge.
He booked himself into a rehab center for a month, as well as setting himself back up with a therapist.
Strides, big ones, at that.
For me, though, it has been exhausting.
I’d do it all again, a million times over, but when he went into that rehab center yesterday, I crashed. Like hard.
Now, I’m waking up to the sun burning into my skin a little hotter than it should if it were morning. How long have I been asleep? Way too long, if my headache is anything to go on. I drag myself out of bed and into the shower, realizing the only thing worse than being nurse to a rockstar coming off God knows how many substances, is the hangover you get when you finally stop worrying. I scrub my hair, let the heat scald my skin, and picture all the anxiety draining down the shower.
It helps.
I dry off, pull on some clothes, and walk into the kitchen, where Reagan is at the counter, her fingers tapping on her phone screen, a half-eaten sandwich abandoned in front of her. Chief stands with his head buried in the freezer, rumbling around like a bear, digging for something and muttering curse words about having to go to the store, and how he is too fucking old for that.
“Girl, you live,” Reagan sings when she notices me.
“Have I been out that long?”
She nods. “Oh, absolutely. Like over fifteen hours.”
Chief closes the freezer, and stares at me. “How you feeling?”
“You look wrecked,” Reagan chimes in.
“I am wrecked,” I tell them, slumping onto a barstool. “Turns out that was way fucking harder than I could have imagined.”
“You did good, kid,” Chief murmurs. “You hungry?”
“Yeah,” I say.
He gets to work making me a sandwich. My stomach grumbles in anticipation. I guess it just woke up, too.
Reagan turns to face me. “So, Travis made it to rehab with no issues?”
“Yeah,” I croak, taking a sip of the coffee Chief slides towards me. “He took it like a champ, I’m proud of him for that.”
Chief looks up at me, eyes narrowing. “He stayin’ this time? Because this isn’t his first rodeo.”
“He promised,” I say. “I know that doesn’t mean much, but—”
Chief holds up a hand. “No need to explain. Lot of men mean it when they promise. Doesn’t matter. What matters is what they do next.” He slides a sandwich towards me. “You know that, right? You can do everything right, and sometimes it still goes wrong.”
I nod, taking a mouthful and groaning because I am starving. “Yeah,” I say between mouthfuls, “But if he gets through this month, they said he can start back on supervised visits with Amber. That has to be enough to make him want to stay.”
Chief nods. “Hope so.”
“Well, I better get going,” Reagan says, standing. “Harley’s getting new gear for the band. He wants me to go with him. You okay?”
I shrug. “I think so. Honestly, I’ve been running on adrenaline for two weeks, and now I just feel...kind of lost.”
She puts a hand on my arm, squeezing. “He’s in good hands now,” she says. "You did more than most people would have. You can breathe.”
I nod, and some part of me starts to believe it.
“So, are you and Harley, like, together together now?”
She smiles, lopsided. “Define ‘together together’.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You know what I mean.”