Streamline (8 page)

Ten minutes later, Jason emerged from the office, mission accomplished. But his back felt tense from carrying the haunting presence of CS on his shoulders wherever he went. He had to do a better job of protecting Leo from Crusty Slimeball.

“Jason Scott?” a voice called behind him as he headed down the hall to the exit. He turned and instantly recognized a young woman with long brown hair and blue eyes. What was
she
doing here?

“Cameron,” he said, confused by her presence. But he couldn’t stop his smile. “So you haven’t graduated from this place yet?” She laughed. “I’m a student teacher here — weird, isn’t it? It’s bizarre to teach at a school where I used to be a student. Are you back in town? I haven’t seen you in forever.” Jason gazed at Cameron Walsh, flooded with flashes from their year of high school dating and filled with regret that their relationship had ended so abruptly. Suddenly he remembered what his mother had told him, and he searched for the right words. “Yeah, I’m back for a bit. Listen, Cammie — ”

“It’s Cameron now,” she interrupted. “Or Cam. I don’t go by Cammie anymore.”

“Oh. Well, I just heard about…your dad. I’m so sorry.”

Her face clouded. “Thank you.” Her voice had changed. “I’m late.

See you around.” She scampered off, abandoning Jason in the hallway.

Jason shook his head at the turmoil all around him. He’d only been back in Florida two days, and he already wanted to leave.
I
need a drink
, he thought. Then, he checked himself. What he really needed was to call his sponsor.

Unsteadily walking the perimeter of the treatment center’s courtyard, Leo slowly got his sea legs back. The comfort of Audrey’s visit — her warm body by his side — certainly helped.

He’d entered detox on Saturday night, and it was now Monday evening. Once the vomiting had ceased and he was able to keep some food down, he’d started feeling worlds better. Perhaps he could make it through this. He still had some sweating and fatigue, but as the doctor predicted, his withdrawal hadn’t been as severe as it was for most.

Leo’s newest concern was group therapy the following afternoon.

He dreaded spilling his guts to strangers. But his mom and brother would pick him up after the therapy session, and he couldn’t wait to get home.

Focusing on the present, and the presence of his girlfriend, Leo broke the silence. “Thanks for bringing me notes from class today.” Audrey nodded. “No problem. We have a chem test on Wednesday.

Think you’ll be ready for it?”

“Oh, probably not.” Leo sighed. “School’s the least of my worries right now.”

“C’mon, who’ll compete with me for class rank? We’re still gunning to take over the valedictorian spot, remember?” Leo put his arm around her as they continued their easy pace.

“I love your competitive fire, Audrey. You’re an inspiration — to the whole team, really.” He squeezed her shoulder. “I’m glad at least one of us is having a good senior year.”

“Leo, your year isn’t over yet,” Audrey said, her voice filled with that fire. “You’re so freaking smart you’ll probably ace the test without studying, and it’s too early to count you out for swimming. The state meet in March is still more than a month away. Cut the pity party, already.”

He stopped walking and looked at her. “What’s that — tough love?”

“Yeah. I’m still mad at you for not telling me about the pills.” She punched him lightly on the arm.

“Ouch!” He rubbed his triceps. “My muscles are really sore from withdrawal.”

“Oh, sorry.” She grimaced. “Has it been bad?”

“Let’s put it this way, by Sunday I was offering Mr. Shale five thousand dol ars for one pil . And I also told him the withdrawal was worse than a set of ten four-hundred IMs, which made no sense to him.”

Audrey giggled. “Say no more! I remember that horrid practice. But Matt was in a good mood today — he let us out early.”

“Drat, I always miss the short practices.” Leo pouted before chang-ing conversational course. “So how’s your dad doing?”

“Not bad, actually. Things aren’t so tense between us since he’s realized I’m visiting him whether he likes it or not. Your dad helped pull some strings to get him some books and tapes, and now he’s learning Spanish in his cell. He tried to say some things to me last time I was there, and I was laughing my butt off at all his mistakes.” Audrey and Leo were both in their fifth year of Spanish, and they enjoyed practicing their skills on each other, especially when they were making out. Spanish was simply a sexier language.

“¿
Qué dijo?”
Leo asked.

“I believe he was embarrassed, but he said, ‘
Estoy embarazado’!”

“Freshman mistake, telling everyone he’s pregnant.” Leo grinned.

As the sun sank, the January air cooled, and the pair pulled closer together as they started another lap.

“Um, Leo? Why’d you start taking Oxycontin?” He tensed. Others had asked him point-blank if his father physically abused him, and like a coward he’d denied it. He didn’t understand why on earth he felt loyal to CS, but he just couldn’t admit the abuse. He knew he deserved it.

As the silence extended between them, Audrey added, “Was it something I did?”

“No!” Leo said immediately. “You make me want to get better. I hated myself for getting hooked on pills, then I hated hiding it from you.” His brows knitted. “I guess I’m glad you finally know, though you’re probably embarrassed to be my girlfriend now.” She paused and turned to him. “I’m not embarrassed, and I’m not
embarazada
either.”

“Thank God for that.” He smiled.

“I’m
so proud
to be your girlfriend. The other girls are jealous I get to date such a hottie.”

She leaned up for a kiss, and Leo felt butterflies in his stomach as her lips met his. She wore root beer-flavored lip gloss.

“You’re smart and kind too,” she added after a moment. “I couldn’t find a better boyfriend.”

Leo broke their second kiss by dashing into the bushes to vomit.

Audrey’s voice came to him through the leaves. “I repel you that much, huh?”

Leo stood with a hangdog look, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He felt a little woozy. “Sorry you had to see that. I — I guess I’m not over the withdrawal yet. You’re just exciting me too much out here.”

She linked her arm in his. “Let’s get you back in bed, Scott.” His eyebrows shot up. “I like the sound of that!” 

The next afternoon, right after lunch, Leo looked around the meeting room at the seven other men in his therapy group, led by Mr. Shale. The closest to his age was AJ, a college football player who’d been in the program for three weeks. AJ was a tall wide receiver who’d smoked pot for years, until a positive drug test forced him into treatment.

“AJ, what part of ‘You’re not to use any substances while in treatment’ did you not understand?” asked Mr. Shale.

“I’m here for pot, not booze!” he protested.

“It doesn’t matter. Now we’ll have to reset your sobriety date to today. If you have another positive test, for
any
substance, you could get kicked out of the program. How would your coaches react to that?”

“They’d probably yank my scholarship,” AJ mumbled.

Leo listened to this exchange with interest. The coach at Florida State University had unofficially floated a potential half-scholarship his way. Audrey was pretty sure she’d attend FSU, and Leo liked the idea of joining her, especially if he didn’t get into the Academy. But if he didn’t get this addiction under control, he’d be facing the same troubles as AJ.

An older man in the group shared how alcohol caused him and his wife to lose their kids to foster care. Leo was horrified. As story after frightening story unfolded, Leo had listened silently for most of the three-hour session. Then Mr. Shale looked right at him.

“Leo? You don’t
have
to talk today, but we do find the program more effective if you’re engaged in the topic,” he said. “What can you tell us about your addiction and relationships?” Leo stared at him. He couldn’t determine if his current sweating was related to withdrawal or nervousness.

“Some of the men have discussed how important people in their lives are also addicts. Is that true for you?” Mr. Shale prompted.

“I just found out my brother’s an alcoholic,” Leo said, feeling the group’s stares. “But I don’t really know him anymore. He’s been gone for four years.”

Leo then thought about the rage-aholic in his life who was intimately connected to his addiction, but he was not about to discuss his father.

Fortunately, the tidbit about Jason seemed to satisfy Mr. Shale.

After the group, Leo sat outside the treatment center with his gym bag and an assignment to attend a Narcotics Anonymous meeting before the next group therapy session on Thursday. As Leo waited, he realized again how much time and effort treatment was going to require. He wished he could turn back time and never start taking those stupid pills.

“There you are.” Mr. Shale emerged from the building behind Leo.

Leo instinctively stood, and Mr. Shale waved him to sit back down.

“I forgot to give you these.” He handed Leo some slips of paper, sliding in next to him on the bench. “They’re attendance forms to be signed by an NA member. Bring a signed form on Thursday.”

“Yes, sir.” He scanned the parking lot for Jason’s rental car. “I’m waiting for my ride.”

“You had a good first group session, Leo. What’d you think?”

“Um, I don’t know, sir. They all seem worse off than me, and they’re kind of old. I don’t know if I can relate.” Mr. Shale smiled. “That’s a fairly typical response to your first group, but you’ll find you have more in common with them than you think.”

Over Mr. Shale’s shoulder, Leo watched a vehicle turn into the parking lot. Sheer terror pulsed through his body.

“What is it, Leo?” Mr. Shale asked.

Leo stiffened as tires screeched to a halt on the pavement in front of the bench. His father turned off the ignition and practically leaped from the car with a caged ferocity.

Leo jumped to his feet, his gym bag falling to the sidewalk.

Now standing just inches in front of Leo, his father whipped the sunglasses off his face and seethed, “What the
hell’s
going on here?” Mr. Shale stood as well.

“I — I’m here for drug treatment, sir.”

“No kidding!” Hostility dripped from his father’s voice. “I’m following orders in California, and I get a phone call from my insurance company informing me that my son’s in detox. I tell them they must be out of their minds —
my
son’s not in detox! Turns out Tri-Care knows my son better than I do!”

Leo absorbed the shouted words as if they were physical blows.

Jason! Where’s Jason?
He’d promised CS wouldn’t find out.

“Mr. Scott.” Mr. Shale held out his hand.

CS eyed him and ignored his hand. “It’s Commander Scott.”

“Commander Scott, I’m Marcus Shale, a therapist here. I assure you Leo’s getting the best treatment for his addiction. We’re address-ing all his needs — ”

“His needs?” his father interrupted. “What do
you
know about my son’s needs? He needs a kick in the butt, not this faggoty touchy-feely therapy you got going on here. I’ll make sure he never takes another pill the rest of his life.”

“Commander, your son needs drug testing and group counseling to recover.”

“Leo, get in the car. Now,” CS ordered.

“Yes, sir.” Leo reached down to grab his bag.

“Leo, don’t move,” Mr. Shale countered.

Leo looked back and forth between his father and therapist, paralyzed.

Mr. Shale moved closer. “Leo, look at me. Does your father hit you? It’s okay. You can tell me.”

CS crossed his arms in front of him and looked smug.

Leo silently pleaded with the therapist, willing him to help. His frightened eyes begged Mr. Shale to realize his next words were untrue.

“My dad’s never hit me, sir.”

His father pulled open the passenger door, and Leo swallowed and ducked into the car. His father slammed the door after him and stepped to Mr. Shale. “Stay away from my son,” he said in a voice tinged with fury. “He won’t be back.”

The only sound in the study was the ticking of the clock on his father’s desk.

Leo had never noticed how loud it was, but he supposed his senses were heightened right now, since he had nothing to do but stand rigidly at attention.

His father sat on the edge of the oak desk, glaring at him. It appeared CS was trying to determine the best tactic for this interrogation as his fingers tapped the desk.

The waiting was almost worse than the beating Leo knew would come, and the pounding of his blood in his ears soon drowned out the clock.

His father stood and meandered to Leo’s left. When he finally broke the silence, his silky voice was low and threatening. “You started using your mother’s pain medication.”

“Yes, sir.”

“When?”

“September, sir.”

“Last September, as in five months ago?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

Because of you
. “No excuse, sir.”

“Did Audrey Rose put you up to this?”