Who would have stepped over my cooling body on their way to the next high.
But someone called.
Someone always calls, and Garrett always comes.
Like a bloodhound following a trail of destruction.
Never giving up, no matter how hopeless the hunt.
"How did you know?" I ask.
"Anonymous tip to the clubhouse." He scrubs a hand over his face, the rasp of stubble against his palm audible in the quiet room. "Someone saw the ambulance and recognized you. Word travels fast in Morgantown."
Of course it does.
Everyone knows Bloodhound's wife.
The addict.
The cautionary tale that mothers use to scare their daughters away from drugs.
See what happens? See how far you can fall? She used to be so pretty. She used to have everything. Now look at her.
I've been falling for so long I've forgotten what solid ground feels like.
"Vanna." Garrett leans forward, elbows on his knees, those watchful eyes boring into mine with an intensity that makes me want to look away. "We need to talk about something."
Here it comes,I think.The ultimatum. The divorce papers. The final goodbye he should have given me years ago.My chest tightens, bracing for the blow.
"I found a place," he says instead.
I blink. "What?"
"A rehab facility. In the Poconos." He pulls out his phone, scrolling through something, and I catch a glimpse of photos—a building surrounded by trees, rooms that look more like hotel suites than hospital cells. "It's supposed to be one of the beston the East Coast. Twelve-week program, inpatient, full detox support. Therapy, counseling, the whole thing."
My heart stutters in my chest. "Blood?—"
"Just hear me out." He holds up a hand. "I know you've tried before. I know the outpatient shit didn't work. The thirty-day programs, the group therapy, the NA meetings—I know none of it stuck. But this is different. This is real. Away from here, away from Morgantown, away from all the people and places and triggers that drag you back down every time."
Away from the trap houses.
Away from the dealers who know me by name.
Away from the street corners where I've sold pieces of myself for pocket change.
Away from the ghost of my mother that seems to haunt every shadow in this town.
"I can't afford—" I start.
"I'll pay for it."
"Garrett, no." I shake my head, ignoring the way the motion makes my skull pound. "That's thousands of dollars. Tens of thousands. You can't just?—"
"I don't care." His voice cracks, just slightly, and I see it then—the desperation he's been trying to hide beneath the steady calm. The terror that lives behind his eyes. "I don't care if it costs me everything I have. Every penny in my savings. Every favor I'm owed. I'll sell my bike if I have to. I just... I can't keep watching you die, Vanna." His voice breaks completely. "I can't do it anymore. For fuck’s sake, you’re my wife."
The tears come before I can stop them.
Hot and shameful, streaming down my cheeks and dripping onto the hospital gown.
