Page 92 of Fragile

My mind races to process the question. And then my stomach churns. “I—” I look up, meeting the concerned eyes of the doc. “I didn’t know it was cocaine. I thought it was just amphetamines. I’ve only been using it for a couple of months, and I didn’t realize what else was mixed in. But this is the first time I’ve passed out.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I need you to be honest with me, because all I’m here to do is help.”

“I swear that’s the truth.” I swallow, my throat feeling like glass. “I took amphetamines at the beginning of fall, but I’ve never had a reaction like that before. I haven’t used for weeks now. But…”

“Your dealer may have given you a mix without telling you. That mix is fatal and we’re seeing a rise of people overdosing across the country. It’s serious, Miles. You’re lucky to be alive.”

A cold shiver snakes down my spine, making me flinch. My shoulders tense up, and I feel the hairs on my arms prickle. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not me who you need to apologize to, it’s you.” Folding the chart back at the foot of my bed, he levels me with a look. “Do you want to get better?”

“I do.”

“Good. We’ll start by keeping a close eye on your vitals and making sure there are no immediate health concerns, and book physio for your arm,” he explains. “Once we’re confident that you’re stable, we’ll discharge you and connect you with a counselor who specializes in substance abuse. They’ll help you navigate through this and find ways to cope with the pressures you’re facing.” His gaze softens, a hint of empathy in his eyes. “It would also be beneficial if your father was included at some point too.”

My throat tightens at the mention of him. “Do you think he needs to be involved right away?”

“Not immediately, but at some point, I think you’ll need to address whatever is going on between you both.”

I look away to collect my thoughts, picking at a thread on the sheet draping over me. “I just don’t know if he’d understand or even want to be involved.”

The doctor nods once more. “That’s something you can address when you’re ready. For now, focus on your health and getting through this. We’ll help you with the resources and get you support you need.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly, feeling uncertain and so exhausted. How did I let myself get this far? How can I come back from this?

And then a flicker of something echoes in my mind, like remembering you found treasure on the beach as a kid. Except my treasure has red hair usually tied back with a bow, and incredible green eyes and the most beautiful smile. “This might sound odd, but is there a girl outside?”

“A girl?”

“Probably in a cheerleading uniform. Probably looking real fucking scared right now.”

The doc smiles knowingly. “If I can find her, you want me to send her in?”

I nod, which hurts like hell. “More than anything.”

He leaves, and I let myself relax for a second, only to tense right back up with anxiety. What if she’s not here? What if she doesn’t want to see me? What will she think when I tell her I messed everything up?

Then the door opens and my whole world centers around those piercing green eyes of hers.

I’m lost, so fucking gone for her, that I never want to find my way out.

“Miles,” she cries, her voice breaking on a sob, and then she’s moving toward me.

The moment she gets to me, everything else fades away. The pain, the fear, the guilt. All I know is the feel of her body against mine is like coming home. And I never want her to leave.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. Am I hurting you?” she rushes out, backing away from me.

It takes all the strength I have to hold on to her. “Don’t even think about moving away from me,” I plead, pulling her close and burying my face in her hair.

Quinn’s breath hitches, and for a moment, there’s silence between us. She shifts slightly, her voice soft but firm. “I’m not going anywhere, Miles. Not now, not ever.”

Chapter forty-three

Miles

Sometimes when life presentsyou with a decision, we can choose to fight or fall. The idea that I have to stare Seb straight in his eyes and admit everything that has happened over the last few months is terrifying, but losing him is worse. I need people who love me, who believe in me, who aren’t afraid to show me that it’s going to be okay. But most of all, I need to be honest with everyone and let them see how much I need their support.

I don't want to be the person who runs from the hurt, who hides behind the temporary comfort of a substance that only drags me down further. I want to feel alive, to face the world with open eyes, even if it means feeling every single emotion—no matter how overwhelming. I want to be free from this grip, to live a life where I can breathe again, where I don't have to rely on something outside of myself to get through the day.

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