Fighting to Stay (Fighting Madly Book 2) (12 page)

“My ex and Reed’s ex played all of this out to try to get money from Reed and kill me.” I puff air out, tensing all my muscles. “Anyway, I stared into the eyes of what my death could have been, by the hands of people that truly hated me, and I couldn’t do it anymore, the escaping, the urges. I didn’t want it. That control that slipped away when I got high. It disgusts me how I could have ever thought of wanting to come close to that again. So yep…that’s my story.”

The heat of the people around me, sharing my story, causes beads of sweat to form on my forehead. I wipe away the perspiration from my cheeks and glance down and see it’s not sweat but tears that cover my hand. My emotions literally poured out of me, and I didn’t even feel them.

Everyone hears my words and locks their gazes on me, and I glance around the circle, seeing no pity on their faces, no judgment in their expressions. I only see and feel the understanding of what I went through, what wrong turn I took to end up here, because we’ve all been there in one form or another. And we’ve all made some kind of triumph over our demons at least for the time being, and sometimes that time is only for a minute ahead of us, sometimes a few hours, and sometimes a day. Yet it’s still fighting, being the best we can be.

A few minutes pass and words are spoken from Graham, but it just goes in one ear and out the other. People shuffle around. I’m stuck in my chair, in shock that I feel lighter. I’ve replayed it over and said it in my head millions of times, but not once out loud, never—not the whole thing, anyway. Not to Reed or Courtney, nor has James ever heard it all. Still, here I am in a room full of strangers and the weight of my story is lifted from my heart. And somehow, I think this is just another step in the journey of healing.

My legs shake as I stand to toss my coffee cup away and Graham comes up to me. “Do you see why I wanted you to come?”

“Is it to understand that I really do need help?” I ask, shifting from one foot to another.

“We all need help, even ones that have never used it before. But that’s not why. Your story is what happens when people listen to their instincts.”

“No, not mine.” I shake my head. If I’d listened to them then my life would never have gotten this far off course.

“Yes it is. Don’t doubt it. In every drug user’s life there’s a
bath scene—a
crossroads of some type,
and some choose the path where the being out of control part isn’t ever what they want again and they fight their demons without the use of the drugs or the alcohol. They go on and live normal, healthy, happy lives without the urge to get high. And some like me and most of them here picked the path—the wrong path—and kept searching for the high to numb themselves.
Those
are the ones that will always crave it, and they end up hitting below rock bottom. But if we crawl out of that damn bed of rocks, we can have one heck of a happy life, as well. It’s all about perspective, Hadley. I’ll see you tomorrow at seven o’clock.” He leaves me with a soft pat on my back and thoughts rushing around in my brain.

My perspective is still cloudy. Things still aren’t right with me. I continue to feel held down by the past, no matter what I shared ten minutes ago, because the heaviness returns, holding me captive to really move beyond my past.

Until I face what happened, I won’t really be free.
Will I?

My hands are loaded down with a vanilla milk shake, a bag full of fatty cheeseburgers, greasy fries just waiting to be eaten, and a movie under my elbow. A lazy night at home with Lucy never sounded so good. I drop everything on the table except the milkshake, when a light knock sounds on my door. My Lucy, being Lucy, trips me going crazy causing the milk shake to fall over my chest and down my black shirt, and a loud
F
bomb leaves my mouth.

The minute I crack open the door and spot the damn boots that used to sit near the end of my bed, Lucy goes even more insane.

“Only for you does she do this. Come on in, I’m going to go change real quick.”

He laughs loud and closes the door. “That gives a whole new meaning to money shots and pearl necklaces.”

I roll my eyes and smile. His mind is always in the damn gutter. “Ha-ha, Reed. I do have to give you credit. It didn’t take long to come up with that one. Anyway, make yourself at home, I’ll be right back”

I’m anxious with him only a few feet away, a single door separating us as he waits. We’ve done pick-ups at each other’s places, but him being in my space with not another person playing buffer mixes up all sorts of feelings in me. The nice outfit I first changed into lays on the bed; it sent too strong date vibes, so I went the complete other way with an old OSU sweatshirt, a black pair of yoga pants, and my hair piled on the top of my head. This is how I would look if Courtney came instead, so it’s what I’m going for.

I step outside my door. The floor is now free of milkshake and Reed made himself at home by sitting on my sofa, feet propped on my coffee table, and his lap now Lucy’s bed.

The couch dips as I sit on my knees and take the blanket off the back, draping it over my lap. “You wanted to hang out? Didn’t you get enough of me earlier?”

Reed stretches his arm over the top of the cushions, his fingers gently touching my shoulder. “I can’t stay for long, but I just wanted to let you know, my fight got moved to Atlantic City and Daily wants me up there tomorrow.”

“You could have called.” The thickness in my voice sounds heavy.

“I could have, but I’ve been thinking. We are having fun with the friendship thing, right?” Reed abruptly moves his arm away from me and places it in his lap, but he never pulls his gaze from mine.

“Yep.” Any other words stick in my mouth.

“And because of that, I wanted to tell you about what you heard that night in the bathroom,” he states matter-of-factly.

In the time it takes for him to say those words and for my heart to beat, a rush of air leaves me and my heart goes to my feet. “Please, don’t. Please, Reed. Today has been really good, kinda healing, and I don’t want to lose my day.” I peer over at the stove. “Nine thirty-five, so whatever you want to get off your chest can wait till you get back, because I don’t want to hurt tonight, I don’t want to dig in it and I don’t want to cry, and that will happen if we talk about it.” I bite the snarky remark back about him now wanting to tell me, because that conversation would ruin my day, too. Hell, at this moment, I think it’s already unsalvageable.

Reed’s expression deflates, his face now tight. “But you need to know, babe, and I need to get it off my chest.”

I rub my forehead, a headache starting to form. Yep, put this day down as a wash. “No, I don’t, and no, you don’t. You still don’t get it, do you? You come in my
own
home on a day that has been pretty fucking eye opening in the
best way possible
and want to come and drop this damn shit on me. Leaving it out in the open, and then you just leave me to clean up the mess. Again. You will walk out that damn door with your fucking conscience clear. With your heart lighter. But that won’t happen to me. It never does. I’ll be here with my tears, my tissues, and my fucking cat to talk it out. Because that’s just what would happen.” I cross my hands over my chest, the emotional distance between us miles and miles away. “But if that’s what you want, feel free to tell me, Reed. Speak. Waste your breath and just fucking tell me, because that’s what
you
want. Because
you
don’t give a fuck what’s truly best for me…” My voice trails off at the end, but I know deep down it’s the truth. He will be the one that gets off scott-free, no doubt. And the truth sometimes hurts, and his words would, and I’m not ready to drown in the doubt, in the reality of what it could mean.

He winces at my harsh outburst, rubbing his hand over his chest like I wounded him with my words, but he nods and stands to leave.

Reed is almost to my door when he turns around, his eyes hard but his face so damn soft. “Hads, I got you. I do. I won’t tell you till you need it. Because one day, it will have to be told.”

When I turn the lock, I lay my head on the door and it hits me like a ton of bricks—he will be clear across the country in New Jersey training when I’m in Vegas for the trial. And it doesn’t even cross my mind to want him next to me. Maybe my day isn’t ruined.

I lay my head on the pillow, close my eyes, and drift off to sleep with my pill still on the nightstand not touched.

And I don’t dream about one damn thing.

I latched myself to Hadley. Everywhere she went, I went. I didn’t give her the damn option to turn me away. I was there for the small things, the big things, all of it. I was there. It wasn’t a chore; that’s what I fucking love about spending time with her.

When she slammed the door in my face the night before I left, I stood on the outside staring at that stupid fucking brass knocker and wanted to rip that shit off thinking it was the end to us being anything. The end to all the fun shit we did, the end of the friendship we’d developed, because I wanted to push her before she was ready. Her face, her body, her voice, were all stone when she spoke the words, and she’d meant every single word of not wanting to know the truth. And I got it, understood it. I wanted to clean me, but it would hurt her. Again.

I got off the plane the next day still thinking we were through, powered on my phone, and had a text waiting for me from Hads. “Have fun friend.” Simple and to the point words from her. And I knew everything would work out. Perhaps not the way I wanted, but I learned something is better than nothing when it comes to Hads and me.

These twenty days went by as slow as a fucking turtle crossing the road, and it was rough being away from Hads, but unlike every other time away from her, we actually communicate. Texts that actually get returned, phone calls that get answered, is something new for me, and the shocker, it’s not just me starting everything. I swear, I almost busted a nut when she Face-Timed me last week all because she had to see my face while she told her joke of the day to me. I can’t for the life of me remember the damn thing, but seeing that smile so bright through the phone, and hearing that fucking laugh of hers, is what I love. What I need. It’s a fucking new feeling to jump like a pussy every time my phone chimes, but I dare someone to say that to my face.

But with the good comes the bad, and late last night, I cursed the call that came through. And it wasn’t from Hadley. No, this one was Bash informing me that fuckwad Bennett and bitch Krystal wanted to twist my girl up on the stand and tell her the truth, and I knew what had to be done. If she heard it on the stand, it wouldn’t be right. If she hears it from anyone but me, it’s fucking wrong. Hads needs it from me, not some dipshit lawyer while she gets in front of Krystal so she can enjoy another ounce of Hadley’s pain. Even if it means she’s not ready, because it’s time to shit or get off the pot, even if it means Hadley won’t look at me the same ever again. I’ll take it.