Page 4 of Saving Grace
As he shuts the door behind us, he says, “You know that’s not what this is about, man. But if you want to go that route, then what about the motorcycle through the barn door at nineteen? Or the time you tried to go bungee jumping off the roof of the barn that same week? Or how about the time you jumped on that stud colt and nearly died? How about that one, huh?”
Irritation finally snuffs out any of the anxiety I had a moment ago, and I snap. “I get it, okay? I do stupid, reckless shit when I drink. It’s why I quit. I just…” I look at Jace, trying to muster the courage to admit this.
I didn’t go to the barn this morning expecting to find myself in this situation.
But Jace is my person. My best friend. He’s who all of us go to for comfort, for reassurance that we aren’t beyond saving. But this? I feel myself ripping apart at the seams.
“Jace…” My voice catches in my throat before I drop onto the couch in here and struggle to take a breath.
Jace’s entire demeanor changes, his hand that was tapping out a rhythm on his desk now frozen mid-beat. He leans forward, watching every little movement I make, reading into every breath before saying, “Empty your pockets, brother.”
I blanch, the panic setting back in tenfold. “All I did was say your name.”
“You’ve been fiddling with that pocket since we started talking. You came into my bar and poured yourself a drink when you know that shit don’t fly with me.” He shakes his head, irritation and concern clearly warring with each other. “You just got your struggle with pain pills under control a few months ago. Are you really willing to sit here and lie to me right now?”
I sink deeper into the worn couch cushions, unable to make eye contact. “I haven’t taken any. I swear.”
Jace expels a harsh breath of relief.
I continue before he has time to ask anything. “But I had the pills in my hand.”
Faster than I can react, Jace grabs the red and blue stress ball off his desk and chucks it at my good shoulder, hitting his mark with force.
A curse slips out as I rub the injured spot, but I don’t say anything else. He’s entitled to his frustration. Jace witnessed the development of the issue and my recovery firsthand. After my accident, the doctor had prescribed acetaminophen-oxycodone. The pain was so intense, the damage to my shoulder and back so bad, that I never once questioned taking something stronger than over-the-counter pain killers. Before anyone realized it, my body was hooked. Not long after, so was my mind.
Jace continues staring at me, waiting for me to find the courage to say the rest.
“Just wanted to knock off the edge. I’ve been restless, like my skin’s too tight. Shoulder’s been burning again.” I almost tell him why I’ve been restless, but it’s been a secret for so long at this point and I don’t want to give him another reason to be disappointed in me.
He rakes his hands over his curls and sighs. “Where did you even find any? I thought we went through your apartment and the barn cabinets.”
I watch as the gears turn. He’s too intelligent to not piece it all together. The silence is deafening, indecision playing in Jace’s eyes. I hate the looks of concern and pity that keep flashing across his face.
“You hid them.”
“I swear I forgot about them.” I hold up my hands defensively. I really did. “Once I found them, I remembered doing it, butI’d just opened the drawer in search of a syringe for a mare on antibiotics. That’s it.”
“You need to let your brother know.”
“No,” I snap, shaking my head.
“Yes. Drew, you can’t be riding twelve-hundred-pound animals while on that shit, especially when you’re not fully cleared as it is.”
“I didn’t take them, though. We don’t need my brother, or worse, Kristen, getting involved. They have enough stress on their plate. Don’t add me back to their list.”
My brother and his wife, who happens to be the town’s only psychologist, have been trying to grow their family but have had issue after issue. They finally decided to quit trying and go the adoption route. Except the excessive amount of red tape is causing even more headache.
Jace sighs again, a sound only I seem to cause, as he paces along the front side of his well-loved computer desk. I think he’s had the thing since high school.
Stopping in front of me with his hand outstretched, he lifts an eyebrow expectantly. “Hand them over.”
Without much hesitation—which I’m proud of, by the way—I pull the snack-size baggie from my pocket. Jace quickly removes it from my possession.
“This all of them?” he asks.
I almost nod before guilt immediately sets its claws in me.
He holds his hand out as I reach into my pocket and produce two loose pills. The monster in my mind demands I hold on to them, but I know better than to listen to it.
