Hey! My last client leaves at 4 tmrw. Mondays are usually pretty easy. Wanna come over for dinner?
“Ugh,” I rub a hand down my face. I prepare the heroin with steadier hands, tap the syringe, and sink the needle into my arm. Relief floods fast and hot, my eyes rolling back as I melt deeper into the couch.
I know. I hate myself, friend. I’m sorry. I’m trapped and I don’t know how to get out.
To anyone outside looking in, I’m being a fucking asshole. I get it. But if they were in my position, they’d understand. There’s no easy solution to escape what I have become.
The room goes quiet in that way only real shame and sadness can create. Micah watches me disappear inch by inch. I avoid his eyes because I can’t stand the worry in them. Because it means I’m still human enough to hurt from it.
And I’m not sure how much longer that’ll last at this point.
Chapter thirty-two
EMMA EASTON
The smell of garlic and rosemary fills my cottage while I chop vegetables and hum to myself. The thought of Jude coming over tonight has me giddy, and even though I try to stay focused on the food, I can’t help sneaking glances at the clock. So when I finally hear the door click, I wash my hands in a rush so I can go hug him.
“Hey, baby,” he says as he drops his bag and wraps me in a huge hug. I bury my face in his chest, inhaling that mix of amber cologne andhim.
“I missed you,” I murmur. “You brought your guitar?”
“I missed you, too,” he breathes, pulling back just enough to look at me. His hazel eyes glint in the kitchen light, and that small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “And yeah, figured I could play something. Maybe.”
“I’d love that.” I notice he’s not wearing the hoodie he usually hides his arms in. Just a black tee and jeans. Relief washes over me. The track marks along the insides of his elbows are there, but he’s letting me see them, and that feels like progress. My chest tightens in a way I can’t quite describe. It’s a mixture of pride, love, and lingering worry.
“Looking good,” I tease lightly, adjusting the sleeve of my baggy blue cropped tee. I’m in yoga pants, casual and comfy, just like I hoped tonight would be.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “You too. Your ass looks incredible in those, my god.” His gaze lingers a second longer on me than I expected, and I can feel the heat creeping up my neck.
“I’m glad the squats are working,” I giggle as I return to the kitchen and lean against the counter. “How was your day?” I ask, feeling like anactualgirlfriend.
He shrugs. “Good. Honestly, didn’t do anything other than do some grocery shopping with Micah and think about tonight.” His eyes dart to what I’m cooking. “That looks amazing, Em.” He chuckles, and I suddenly notice that he’s acting a little weird. Awkward, perhaps. But I don’t show that I’m put off by it. He’s probably just high.
“Thank you,” I smile at him, then return to add more seasoning to my skillet. “Salmon, broccolini, and I have some French bread in the oven.”
He touches my lower back. “I’m excited. Do you have any wine?”
I nod, pointing to our right toward the pantry. “I should have a red blend left on the top shelf.”
He pours with familiar ease, and my heart jumps a little. I watch him, imagining him here every morning, making love every night. His brow lifts, catching me staring.
I grin like an idiot. “I, uh, I’mentirelyconvinced that our best friends are going to get married.”
He snorts, sitting on a barstool and handing me my glass. “I look forward to seeing you in your maid of honor dress.”
I playfully scrunch my nose. “I might have to be predictable and fuck the best man in a broom closet.”
He nearly chokes on his sip. “Jesus, Emma. You justcussed.”
I wink. “You love it.”
A pause.
“I do.”
“Dinner will stay warm if you want to play something first.”
He grins, a little crooked. “Sure.”
