Page 92 of Last Love

“Pot.” I swipe to ignore Law’s call again and plant my hands on the island top. “Soothes the anxiety. And I’m. Always. Fucking. Anxious.”

Sympathy slathers itself in her stare.

“What else?” my pushing ramps up my heartbeat as much as my need for a drug-filled outlet. “What else do you wanna know?”

“How many women have you slept with?”

“Hundreds.”

Her face sneers, and I force myself to face her.

To let her see that I hate seeing that shit.

Being this shit.

“Have you ever had an STD?”

“Twice.”

“How many of them did you l-”

“Fucking. None.”

The corner of her bottom lip receives a bite. “Do you find your friend Kara attractive?”

“Yeah.”

My answer isn’t what she wanted but the openness I struggle to provide is absolutely the only thing that’s going to save us. “Do you wanna have sex with her?”

“The only woman I wanna have sex with is staring me in the face asking me would I like to have sex with someone I created a friendship with because she was the only person who knew exactly how much it hurts to be this fucking broken inside.”

“I love every fucking piece of you whether it’s broken or dirty or tarnished or fucking shining, Ryder.”

Having her say my full name breaks whatever dam was holding back tears.

“Accept that.”

No matter how much I try to hold my jaw steady it won’t.

“And for fucks sake, answer your phone.”

I brush away a fallen tear and pick up the device. “It’s just Law.”

“If he’s the one who’s been calling you this entire time, Ry, it’s probably important.”

“Nothing in this entire fucking world is as important to me as you.”

Her arrival in the kitchen is followed by a gentle cupping of my cheek. “I know, babe.”

“Do you? Because I’m not dealing with any other shit until I know this,” my hand gestures to the space between us, “is gonna be okay.”

She offers me a soft loving smile. “We’re gonna be fine.”

“Swear?

“Swear.”

I finally hit answer and lift the device to my ear. “Yeah?”

“Why the fuck weren’t you answering my calls?” Law profusely panics. “Where are you? What the fuck is in your hand right now?”

His pushiness wrinkles my brow. “My phone. Why?”

“And where are you?”

“With Pres. Dealing with,” the right set of words escapes me, “relationship shit.”

His lack of response strikes me the wrong way.

“Why are you worried that I’m suddenly using? What do you think triggered me?”

There’s instantly a heavy-hearted sigh out of him. “There was a report of a young woman who died of an overdosed in her apartment early this afternoon. They’re not giving out exact details at this time, but it’s rumored that the sleeping pills she took were laced with fentanyl.”

Suddenly, all the blood in my body seems to be rushing to my ears.

“The young woman was Kara, Collins.”

My mouth moves, yet I can’t seem to say a single thing.

“One of the paramedics recognized her from a support meeting. Word spread among the sponsors. I was calling to see if you knew and needed someone to talk to.”

Numbness spreads until my vocal cords are completely useless.

“Do you need to meet me? Do you need me to come to you?”

My gaze meets Pres’s that’s silently begging for me to reach for her rather than push her away like instinct commands. I keep our eyes locked while stating to my sponsor, “No, I’ll talk to Pres.”

“Okay, Collins,” he slowly acknowledges. “You sure she’s ready for this?”

“No.”

“Do you feel you have adequate tools to handle this emotional trigger?

This time there’s confidence in my voice. “Definitely.”

“Alright.” His pause is brief. “Let’s all meet after group tomorrow to check in and touch base.”

“Yeah.”

The single word ends the call, which prompts my girlfriend to ask, “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“Kara died this afternoon.”

Her jaw immediately drops in shock.

“She took sleeping pills that were most likely laced with something fatal.”

“Ohmygod,” she breathlessly croaks, arms rushing to wind themselves around my waist to cradle me.

Protect me.

Comfort.

“Law was calling to check on me. To see if I knew and how I was dealing with such a trigger.”

“Do you need to go meet him?” She rushes out while holding me tighter to her. “Do you need me to drive you?”

“You said you wanted all of me.” Sliding the phone away from me across the counter, I defeatedly shrug. “Here I am. Sad.” Her fingers flex against my figure. “Fucking scared.” She pulls me against her further. “Relapsing is around every fucking corner. Sobriety is as fragile as it fucking comes, baby. Living is something most people take for granted until death is staring them in the fucking face, but something I’ve learned between therapy and recovery meetings is that death stalks an addict, waiting for a. Single. Fucking. Misstep.”

---