Page 125 of Hard to Score

“Just for a sec.”

“If you’re coming to check if I’m using, I’m not.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” I say and take a look around her place. It’s bright and sunny with the curtains pulled back, whereas the last time I was here it felt more like a tomb. There’s a plastic kid’s table in the corner where coloring pages are half done and some building blocks are stacked.

“She’s with Wayne. I mean, if you’re looking for Charley. I don’t get to have her just yet. Just visits for now,” she explains.

I don’t have the heart to tell her that I spent a few hours with her yesterday, needing a bit of her innocence to ground me.

I’m not quite sure that I found it, but Charley’s sweet smile and belly giggles definitely helped.

“I’m not here for her either.” I walk to the kitchen and open the refrigerator out of habit to make sure there is food in there. No tin foil. No bent spoons. No lighters.

I hate that I look, but I do.

“What do you need?”

I turn to stare at my sister and shrug. “I’m not exactly sure.”

Her laugh is anxious as her eyes narrow. “Drew?”

“Why?” It’s a single word but it’s asking so much.

“Why what?”

“Why did this happen to you? I mean, was it Dad? If his scandal had never happened, do you think you would have gone down this path?”

“I’m not following you.” She takes a step closer, concern filling her eyes.

“I’m in love, Maggs. I’m in love with Brexton Kincade.” Her lips form an O in shock and her eyebrows lift. “And—”

“Do Mom and Dad know?”

“Yes,” I say and explain what happened the other night. She has her hand over her open mouth as she listens. Our parents going to my house. The fight. The ultimatum. Letting Brexton walk away without chasing after her.

“So what are you asking me?” she whispers, and I immediately feel stupid for coming here and involving her when she’s in such a fragile state.

“It’s stupid. Never mind.”

“You know, in recovery, you have to ask yourself a lot of hard questions. You have to make amends for all the lies you’ve told others and the ones you’ve told yourself before you can move on with a genuine clean slate.”

“What if the people you apologize to don’t accept them?” I ask.

“It’s not about them accepting, it’s about you acknowledging the hurt you’ve caused and the damage you’ve done. It’s about you owning up to it. They can do with it what they will.”

I twist my lips as I stand with my hips against her kitchen counter and my hands shoved in the pockets of my jeans. “I think Dad did it.”

“Okay.” She stretches the word out.

“And I’m mad at myself for believing him all these years, because if I had really listened to what he wasn’t saying, then maybe I could have stopped this years ago. Our family’s pain. Your battles with addiction. The lull in my career—”

“No one is to blame for my addiction other than me, Drew.” She moves forward so she’s standing right in front of me. “Sure, I was lost and needed something when our world went to shit, but that’s one hundred percent on me. Not Mom. Not Dad. Not you. Me. It took me a while to comprehend, but one of the rehab mantras is this: Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” She pauses, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. When she opens her eyes, she says, “I took that first hit when Bobby Bufford offered it to me. If I blame Dad, then I also have to give him credit for my recovery and I refuse to do that. I’m doing this on my own and I deserve all of the credit.”

“You do.” My smile is wide. I couldn’t be prouder of her than right now. “You deserve all of the credit.”

“So go do it, Drew.”

“What?”