Page 9 of Secrets on the Mountain

Cane's body goes slack. The sturdy wooden chair making a protesting groan as the big man slumps back into the seat.

"He told me you left."

He pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut tightly.

"He told me he went to the house to give you an update on how I was doing and you were gone. Packed up and disappeared. Changed your phone number. Didn't even leave a note."

Now it's my turn to fall back in my seat. For a long time, we both stare silently into the flames.

"Why would I do that, Cane?" I finally speak, feeling seriously wounded that he thought I'd have abandoned him.

"Because you knew I was in rehab, because you knew I'd told Rick I was breaking my contract. You didn't want me if I wasn't a pro-ball player. You didn't want me if you knew I was hooked on the painkillers. Because you didn't really want me, you wanted the lifestyle. That's what I thought. That's what that bastard let me think."

Something in his words catches my attention and I can't help but zero in on it.

"Hooked on painkillers? What do you mean?"

Cane swivels his head to look over at me, one eyebrow quirked above a squinted eye.

"Rehab, Junie. They gave me morphine in the hospital. I couldn't kick it. That's why I went to rehab right after."

"I don't understand, why would they give you morphine if you told them you were prone to addiction?"

"It wasn't an allergy. My manager ok'd it. Nobody asked me."

"I thought it was physical therapy. I couldn't understand why I couldn't talk to you."

* * *

Hurricane

Part of the story she got was true, at least. Those first two weeks sucked ass. I didn't want anyone to see me like that. I had my manager take over my calls and my emails, but I expected Junie to start visiting me when I got past the worst of it.

I was nobody in the big picture of pro sports, so there wasn't any press to worry about.

Of course, Rick was planning on changing all that as soon as I got back to the game.

It had just been a stupid knee thing, nothing that should have even slowed me down for more than a couple of weeks after the surgery. I'd been laid up in the hospital for a couple of days for no good reason, while Junie crawled up in the bed beside me and watched TV with me and we talked about our plans for the future.

I kept asking her what kind of ring she wanted.

We'd only been together a couple of months, but I knew the moment I saw her that she was going to be my bride one day.

All this time, I thought she'd found out that I'd checked into the program to clean that shit out of my system and left when she found out I'd told my manager to eat shit and tear up my contract.

I didn't care how much money it cost to get out of it. I wasn't going back to a business that didn't give a fuck about me.

Mom lost a brother to drugs when she was still a kid, her dad had been down the wrong road more than once before he finally got clean for good.

I'd watched my older brother dance with the bottle since long before he was old enough to know he had a problem.

The idea that I might have that gene terrified me. I've always hated the idea that anything could take hold of me like that and I'd been careful to avoid finding out.

It was in the pre-op paperwork not to give me anything stronger than aspirin, and by the time I knew what had happened, it was too late.

I told Rick I wasn't going home till I got clean. He found me a program and I went straight there from the hospital.

Yeah, I did entrust him to deliver a message to Junie for me. Just not the one she got.

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