I sit back in my chair. I’m unsure of what to do with my hands, so I grip the armrests, hoping like hell it’ll keep the room from spinning. It does about as much as holding onto the bar of a roller coaster cart.
Colson makes it halfway to the door before Sebastian palms his chest and stops him. “Where are you going? You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
Colson rips his cousin’s hand away at the same moment Bess and Thad look in their direction. She wipes away the grief dripping down her cheeks as Colson lashes out. “Get the hell out of my way.”
“If you’re leaving, then I’m going with you,” Sebastian tells him.
“No, you’re not.”
Sebastian challenges him by raising his brow and lowering his voice. “You’re processing a lot, and it’s going to sucker punchyou in the side of the head when you least expect it. Let someone be there for when that happens.”
“I don’t need anybody,” Colson claims in that stubborn voice of his.
“Colson, I think Sebastian is right,” Bess offers quietly. “It's imperative we lean on each other right now.”
The image of him punching through drywall suddenly hits me. She may be right, but the best thing for her nephew is for him to be alone, for him to have space. I see it in the way he’s carrying himself that if he doesn’t get distance soon, everything around him will suffer the consequences of his outburst.
“Let him go,” I murmur, though it pains me to say it.
My eyes move to Colson’s back and the way his suit jacket clings to his broad shoulders. I swear I see the faintest amount of tension lift from them. His head moves the slightest bit to the side and dips down. Like he’s grateful for my input. More than he was a minute ago, anyway.
I don’t want to watch him walk away but force the words out despite the turmoil swirling in circles inside of me. “Give him space to breathe and think.”
Sebastian reluctantly steps out of Colson’s way. He’s gone a second later.
TWO
COLSON
I breakout of the family room and hook a left. When I initially got up from that cushy, sorrow-ridden chair, my plan was to stop by the front desk so the nurse could call whoever the fuck was available to guide me back to Mom’s room.
I don’t know if she has one of those, if her body is hidden behind a flimsy curtain on hooks, or if they’ve already taken her down to the morgue or somewhere else entirely.
I’ve been trying not to think about it ever since Dr. Elsher dropped the bomb a few minutes ago, but it’s difficult when I keep repeating the same seven words in my head.
There was nothing more we could do.
On the drive over, I thought it’d only be a matter of time until I’d see Mom’s face, alive and well.
People overdose all the time and come back to life. Get a second chance. Some people get more than two. Down to the marrow of my bones, I hoped the doctors knew what they were doing enough to help her through whatever shitstorm she got herself in.
But her heart wasn’t in it. Dr. Elsher said so himself.
After years of continuous drug use, her heart was shot and wanted out. The opioid antagonist medication that has existed for years wasn’t enough to bring it—her—back.
I swallow the scratchiness at the back of my throat. It’s as dry as sand and just as rough. I find the men’s bathroom down the hall and push into it. I slam the door and twist the lock, not giving a damn if anyone needs to take a piss. I need a fucking minute. Time to wrap my head around what’s happening. A moment to acknowledge what will come next.
My dress shoes squeak against the tile floors, and I duck to check for feet in the two stalls. When I find both empty, I let out a staggering breath and press my fingers to my eyes before my fists fall to the sink. My head reels, and the doctor’s words chisel into my memory, never to be forgotten. I brace the walls of my mind, trying like hell to fight against them. Against my heart breaking more than it already has.
No one knows the hell I’ve been through with Mom. They don’t know what I’ve endured, what I’ve given up for her. How I’ve tried so goddamn hard to take care of her and get people off her back so she could get back to a better place.
“It isn’t supposed to be like this.” I glance up at the ceiling as if there aren’t endless floors of patients above me. I speak to Mom, wherever she is now. “You were supposed to get clean in there. What the fuck happened?”
I want to know how she got that syringe.
My head spins trying to figure it out, but it’s hard when I’m being torn in multiple directions. I try to recount everything I know as if it’ll help me get through the days ahead.
Aunt Bess said she got picked up for possession and intent to deliver. While I was paying off Finn, she was making deals with someone. So, who, then? Did she run to Clyde behind Finn’s back? Was it that guy that Violet said she saw at the house on Thanksgiving? Or was it someone none of us knows?
