Page 34 of Freefall

It turns out I was right to think his sobriety was headed south after the Fourth of July incident. Two weeks later, he lost his job after he manipulated the pharmacist at Emberfield Memorial Hospital into stealing narcotics for him. That’s when I decided to move back.

Part of me—a small part—wants to tell him what’s going on with Nate, but I don’t want to trigger him. I may have been the one cleaning his vomit off the bathroom floor and tucking him into bed before our parents woke up when we were teenagers, but he’s always been protective of me. When he found out I was pregnant and the father wasn’t going to be in the picture, I had to physically keep him from going to all the dorms in Blackwell to find the son of a bitch.

His words, not mine.

I was always vague with my family about Nate. I told them the father was a boy from college, but didn’t go into any other details. It was easier that way. The less they knew, the better.

I decide not to open up to Jace. Instead, I sit and listen as he tells me about Connor’s latest girl drama while he chops vegetables and boils noodles. I never took my brother for a gossip, but I guess any distraction is welcome when you’re trying to stay clean.

An hour later, the three of us sit at the small wooden table and dig into the most delicious baked ziti I’ve ever had.

“This is amazing,” I say between mouthfuls. I have to admit it feels good not to have to worry about dinner for a night. My parents have us over sometimes, but I’m careful not to lean on them too much when it comes to Daisy. I want us to have our own lives even though we’re living on their property.

“Thanks.” Jace gives us a lopsided grin and winks at Daisy. “It’s all in the sauce.”

“I think it’s the cheese,” she says, stuffing bite after bite into her mouth until her cheeks resemble those of a chipmunk.

“Seriously, Jace. Maybe you should look for a job as a line cook or something.”

“Yeah.” He laughs, scooping another serving onto Daisy’s now-empty plate. “Maybe.”

Daisy polishes off her second helping and asks if she can watch a little more TV before we go. I’m about to tell her no when I see Jace’s expression change. It looks like he has something he wants to say, so I tell her she can have ten more minutes.

I wait to hear the first few bars of the SuperKitties theme song before I pick up the plates from the table and bring them to the sink. Jace follows behind me with the water glasses. He sighs, setting them down on the counter and scratching the back of his neck. “They hate me, don’t they?”

The words are quiet, which only makes them more painful. Like he’s embarrassed to have said them. I don’t have to ask to know he’s talking about our parents.

“They don’t hate you. They just…”

“Don’t know how to be around me?” he offers.

“Yeah,” I say honestly. “I don’t think they know what to say.”

He nods, running a hand through his dark-blonde hair. “They’re ashamed of me.”

Leave it to Jace to twist the knife in my heart. His relationship with my parents hasn’t been good in years—if it ever really was.

“That’s not true, Jace. They need time. This was the first time in a while that they…”

Saw him like that. I don’t have to finish the sentence for him to know what I was going to say. I did my best to shield my parents from his addiction when we were growing up. When I finally told them, they shipped him off to rehab kicking and screaming. He went straight to his dealer’s house the minute he got out, and they kicked him out of the house. He hasn’t set foot on their property since the overdose.

Until a few months ago.

Even in his drunken stupor, he somehow found his way back there.

Jace clears his throat, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Can you tell them I’m sorry?” he asks, the crack in his voice mirroring the one in my chest.

Tears well and sting behind my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. I have to be strong for him. “You should talk to them yourself, J.”

He nods again. “Okay.”

“You know I love you, right?” I say, punching him lightly in the arm.

“I love you too.” He wipes the corner of his eye with his thumb. “This time is different. I promise. I’m gonna stay clean, Harps.”

I force my mouth into a smile and hope to God it reaches my eyes.

Because the thing about addiction? I think it might be a little like love. All-consuming and scary and breathtaking and devastating. The highest highs and the lowest lows all mixed up like finger paints until you can’t tell which color is which anymore.