Page 164 of Yearn
Still leaning against the wall, he stared at the bottle in his hand. "T-Teyonah. . .I'm dying."
I didn’t want to get Dominic in trouble, but I was also done being Scott’s fucking nurse. I let out a long breath. "Let's call an ambulance."
If they did figure out he had a sedative, I would have Dominic’s back all the way. I wasn’t home before he passed out. There was no proof Dominic had ever entered the house. It would be our word against his.
But to my shock, Scott quickly shook his head.
"No! Don’t call!" Panic flared in his eyes. "No hospitals. No. . .no questions."
I crossed my arms. "Then you're not dying."
"I. . ."
Something didn’t seem right.
I studied him. “What aren’t you telling me? Why don’t you want to call the ambulance?”
Scott shivered. "I had a few lines. After the kids went to sleep. And some beer. Maybe. . .maybe too much of both."
The words hung in the air between us, taking shape like something toxic and alive.
"Lines?" My voice went dangerously edged. "Cocaine? You brought cocaine into this house? With J and Oliver sleeping upstairs?"
He couldn't meet my eyes.
"Are you fucking insane, Scott?" The words exploded out of me. I forced my voice down but the rage stayed at full volume in my chest. "You forced your way back in here, inthishouse that you haven't paid a dime toward in months. Then, used a court order to violate my boundaries, just so you could bring drugs into the house with our children? And you think you’re aman?"
"You threw me out. . .like. . .trash. . .I was alone." His voice broke. "At Genny's place after. . .she didn't care for me. . .not like you do."
"I will never care for you again." I stepped closer, making sure he heard every word. "And you’re out of here soon. Trust me on that. And we’re getting that divorce—”
“T-teyonah—”
“I don't care what a judge says. And, you could get the President to fly here and deliver another court order personally. I will never be your wife again. That time is gone, Scott. You killed it."
"Please, Teyonah. . .Don't. . .say that."
But I was already turning away.
He stumbled past me, and came further into the bedroom—mybedroom, the one I'd reclaimed after he left, the one that smelled like lavender and freedom instead of his cologne and broken promises.
“Oh. . .God. . .my heart. . .” He collapsed onto the bed, still clutching the Tylenol bottle, his body sprawling across sheets I'd washed clean of him months ago.
"Scott?" Fear crept back in when he didn't move. "Scott!"
Shit!!
I hurried over to the bed and shook his shoulder, harder than necessary.
His eyes fluttered open.
Unfocused.
Even more glassy.
"Please," he whispered. "Let me stay here. . .on this bed. . .I can't. . .can't move anymore."
I stepped back like he was contagious.
