Page 45 of A Very Addicted Christmas

It wells up in me. My unwavering, constant love for Maximoff.

He eases more against the wall, and as our eyes meet, he whispers, “You have this weird effect on me.”

“Relaxed?” I smile.

He laces our fingers again. “This is a doomsday scenario; I shouldn’t be sitting on the damn ground.”

I raise my brows. “But you like it here.”

“No. Sort of… maybe.” His eyes scream,love me.

I hold his hand tighter. “Maybe,” I repeat like he’s full of shit.

He shakes out my hand, just so he can slide his strong arm over my shoulders. I keep my forearm on his knee. We’re quiet for half a second, and right when I’m about to speak, voices pitch high from the tower room.

Our heads turn forward.

I strain my ears.

“If you want her to stop, just fucking tell her!” Thatcher yells.

Shit.

Maximoff stiffens, on edge.

I stand off the ground, and he’s quick to follow suit. I wrap an arm around his muscular waist, my pulse trying to ratchet up.

“You tell her!” Beckett shouts.

“I can’t!” Thatcher yells, but whatever he says after that is harder to hear.

A long pause strangles the air.

I barely catch Beckett’s next words. “I’m getting Moffy.” Footsteps squeak along floorboards, nearing the door.

My eyes burn.

Now this shit is digging into me. It’s about to gut me. And I can’t take his spot. I can’t join him in using drugs. He’d want me to be sober and in control so I can take care of him when he feels out of control, and I will be.

But I’m concerned about this entire shit plan. Addiction runs in his family, and he’s going to be paranoid if he crosses that line.

And I can’t see the future.

I don’t know if he’ll crave a second hit of coke after the first, but the fact is that cocaine is extremely fucking addictive after just one use. People constantly chase after that high, and I’m not banking on Beckett stopping Maximoff if he’s not even willing to stop his sister.

Instinct tugs at me to keep him safe.

Keep him safe.

Maximoff blinks, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “What’s it like?”

I frown. “I don’t follow.”

“Cocaine. What does it feel like?” He’s packing his survival kit. He wants me to prepare him for this shit.

My esophagus sears like I’m swallowing pain, but we’ve drawn closer. I cup the back of his head, my fingers threading his thick hair. I give him what he needs. “You’ll most likely feel physically numb at first.”

His brows furrow. “Is it like weed?” He accidentally ate a pot cookie during the FanCon tour, so he understands that edible high.

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