Just like old times.

What could it hurt?

It’s not like I was going to the club. I wasn’t going to put myself back into a situation that could trigger me.

So why not?

I looked down at the newspaper on the coffee table opened to the want ads.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Gash is going to be stoked,” Marco said with a grin as we pulled away from an old mill on the outskirts of town. It was a spot I had found months ago but knew instantly it was perfect for the club. It was out of the way. It was quiet. And best of all, it was far away from the police.

Gash would love it.

“Yeah, well, you just have to know where to look for these places,” I said noncommittally. The truth was that I had enjoyed doing this small thing that had once been a part of my life.

Though it made me crave more than I should. More than was good for me.

“So why don’t you come back? Just to do the scouting thing. You don’t need to do the other stuff unless you want to,” Marco proposed, beating the subject to death. He had repeated this same sentiment at least a dozen times in the two short hours it took us to find the spot for Compulsion. He should have recorded himself so he’d stop wasting his damn breath.

“God, you’re like a fucking broken record, Polo,” I moaned, hating to admit how appealing his suggestion was.

I already found myself justifying it in every way that I could.

I need the money.

It’s better than drudging it at a crappy minimum-wage job.

I don’t have to even go to the club. I wouldn’t be putting myself back in a position where I’d be tempted to do anything like what had gotten me into trouble before.

Marco sensed my hesitation and grinned, knowing he had me. He must have been happy with my lack of denial, because he didn’t threaten to make me swallow my teeth for using my patented piss-off-Marco nickname.

“Yeah, but you want to do it. I just don’t see what the big fucking deal is. You’ve done a total one eighty and it makes no sense. You want to finally tell me what happened? What made you go all straight edge?” he asked me, parking in front of the convenience store where I lived.

Yeah, like that was going to happen.

“Maybe I’m just sick of playing skeevy douche bag,” I told him.

Marco snorted. “But you’re the fucking king of skeevy douche bags, dude.”

“You really are asking for my fist to make nice with your face,” I said.

“Whatever. I’ll come by next week and bring you your cash. Then we can do this all over again. Should be a blast,” Marco said, then made a high-pitched squeal.

“I haven’t said I’ll do it,” I pointed out.

“You haven’t said you won’t either,” Marco threw back.

I felt it. That moment when I started to move backward was almost imperceptible, but it was there all the same. I felt almost powerless to stop it.

“Yeah, yeah,” I agreed finally.

“Cool, man. It’ll be good to have you back,” he said, and he sounded like he actually meant it.

“Sure,” I responded, and knew that deep down I agreed with him.

I walked back up to my apartment and picked up the letters that had been delivered through the mail slot. Bills. And more bills. In a sudden flash of rage I crumpled them into a ball and tossed them across the room. I sat down on the couch and turned on the television, only to find static. I tried to flip the channel, but they were all the same.

I figured that somewhere in that pile of overdue notices was my cable bill. Unpaid.

I turned off the television and threw the remote against the wall. I watched with satisfaction as it smashed into pieces, the batteries rolling across the floor.

I picked up the newspaper I had left on the coffee table. There was nothing there. Nothing for a guy with limited work experience and no college degree. Even with the financial aid I had scraped together to cover the rest of my classes, I’d still be short to cover the total cost. I was getting really tired of worrying about money and whether I’d be forced to eat ramen for the fifth night in a row. Or whether I’d have enough to help Landon the way I wanted to.

How did I think I’d ever be able to start a life with Aubrey if I had nothing real to offer her? I was slowly becoming a pathetic fool living on delusional dreams and nothing else. I thought of Gash’s offer to come back to the club, and I knew I had very few choices. And having no options was a dangerous position for me to be in.

I’m still here, Maxx. In the back of your drawer. I’m not going anywhere.

The voice teased me. The need crawled like a snake up my throat, making it hard to breathe. I got to my feet and went into the bathroom, quickly running the water in the sink. I splashed cold water on my face and rubbed my eyes.

I braced myself against the smooth porcelain of the base and stared at the man looking back at me from the mirror. I wished I could say I liked the person I saw there. But I couldn’t.

Sure, my eyes were clear. Gone was the sickly sallow pallor of my skin. I had gained some weight since my stint in rehab, mostly because I was eating cheap shitty food full of fat and chemicals, because that was all I could afford.

But the person I saw there, in the smeared glass, looked tired and lost and more than a little depressed.

He looked defeated.

I pushed away from the counter and rushed back to my bedroom, slamming the door shut.

I ripped open the drawer and pulled out my socks and boxers, throwing them onto the floor. I found the tiny plastic bag I had put there weeks before. The two pills taunted me.

I wanted them so much it hurt. I wanted to cry and shout and kick shit. Then I found myself running back down the hallway with that bag clenched tight in my fist, as though the devil himself were chasing me.

I pushed open the door to the bathroom and dropped to my knees in front of the toilet. I dumped the remaining contents of the bag into the water and with shaking hands flushed. I fell to my side, curling my knees to my chest, and sobbed.

I hated myself for still wanting them, and for being so weak that I had almost given in.

Most of all I hated myself for the brief moment when I had felt that those drugs were my only choice. That they were all I needed.

Trembling and sick, I crawled out to the living room and found my phone. I dialed a number I had programmed and had never used.

I put the phone to my ear and listened to it ring. “Recovery hotline, this is James. How can I help you?”

I took a deep breath and didn’t say anything. I thought about hanging up.

The road stretched out ahead of me, and the choices I made now would define how I moved forward.

It terrified me.

“Hey, James, I’m an addict and I feel like using . . .”

chapter

twenty-seven

aubrey

i wasn’t expecting my day to end with a decision to go home.

It had started like any other typical day.

I had gotten up. Gotten dressed. Had a cup of coffee. Made small talk with Renee. I had met Brooks in the library, careful to avoid any reminders of our awkward conversation in my apartment. I had gone to class, eaten lunch, spoken to Maxx on the phone.

And then my mother happened.

My phone rang just after I settled into my evening of homework and required reading.

I answered it without looking at the number on the screen. I assumed it would be Maxx or Renee.

I was the queen of repeat mistakes.

“Aubrey, I’m so glad you picked up.” I paused, in shock to hear my mom’s voice on the other end. We hadn’t spoken since our last phone call weeks before, and by my calculations I shouldn’t hear from her again for at least another two or three months.