Page 166 of Life of the Party

“Of course he will.” Riley hugged me tightly against him again. “Grey wants you to be happy too.”

I pressed myself against Riley’s hard chest and shut my eyes, knowing his words to be true. For a moment, I imagined it was Grey holding me instead—his strong arms around me, his blue eyes shining, his lips smirking as he whispered in my ear.

“Live. Be happy.”

I will be happy, Grey, someday.

But I’ll never stop loving you.

CHAPTER 66

I tore into my rehabilitation with such fervour, I surprised everyone but Riley.

He knew once I made up my mind there’d be no stopping me, and he was right. Now, instead of rolling my eyes at the twelve-step program, I deliberately and wholeheartedly went through each one, embracing them as necessary for my healing. I opened up with my personal therapist, allowing him to recognize my utter lack of coping skills—how my answer to stress or hurt or anger was to push it all away, choosing drugs and alcohol instead of actually dealing with my troubles. Together, he took me through healthy coping strategies, showing me how to deal with my problems instead of ignoring them completely. Digging at the root of my issues, he told me how my feelings of inferiority with Marcy were completely unfounded. How we were two totally different people—special and unique and gifted in our own way—and our parents loved us both, equally and as individuals.

I was still working on that one.

I still had my bad days—I still had days when I missed Grey so badly it felt like I couldn’t breathe. Sometimes, like a masochist, I’d lie on my bed and just think about him, dredging up all our memories together, remembering the velvet perfection of his voice and the handsomeness of his face until my pillow was soaked with tears.

Through it all, I never lost hope. Hope it would get better, hope that I’d get better. Sheltered in the purest love I’d ever known. Giving me the strength. The will.

And I slept. At night I slept like a baby, and awoke nearly every morning rested and renewed. I read my Bible whenever I had a spare minute, curious and eager to learn as much as I could about this amazing God I’d only just discovered. I badgered Riley with questions and revelations whenever he came to visit, whenever I had a chance tocall him on the phone. The time seemed to fly by, each and every day faster than the one before it, easier with my newfound courage.

With it, I felt like I could take on the world.

Other times I was terrified of that very thing.

Allison was leaving me. Her three months were up, and I sat on my bed, sadly watching her pack. She was humming a familiar tune, her blue eyes twinkling excitedly as she quickly folded her clothes into her suitcase.

I stared at her a moment, curious. “What song are you humming?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s that“Jumpin’” song. Destiny’s Child?”

I frowned in concentration, trying to remember.

“You know. ‘Ladies leave your man at home, the club is full of ballers and their pockets full grown’…” She sang, absently.

Something flashed in my memory—an image—of Riley and me in the front seat of his car, the song blasting from his new stereo. Dancing to it. Laughing with him.

“It reminds me of the club. Remember clubbing, Mac?” She squealed with excitement, interrupting my reverie. “Fuck, I can’t wait to go out again.”

I shook my memory away and attempted a smile…but I was worried about Allison. Worried about her freedom. Worried where her decisions would lead.

“I’m really going to miss you,” I admitted. “Promise you’ll be careful?” (It was very ‘Riley’ of me, but I couldn’t help it.)

Allison snorted. She grabbed a pen from the side table and pulled the lid off with her teeth, scrawling an address down on a notepad. “When you get out, come find me.” She offered. “And I will treat you to the finest tar money can buy.”

Unbidden, an image arose, a needle penetrating my skin, drugs slamming into my veins. The depth of my craving took my breath away.

“Please don’t give me that.” I pleaded desperately.

She rolled her eyes, crumpling the note in her hand. “Thought so.”

“I want to stay sober, Allison. Don’t you? After ninety days?” I put my hand on her shoulder, my dark eyes pleading. “Don’t use again. Please? Will you try, at least?”

Her blue eyes met mine for just a moment, softened by my words.

I saw the exact moment when they hardened again, when her resolve was strengthened, when her decision was made. She cackled mockingly and pulled her arm from my grasp.

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