Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
I lightly shake Carter’s shoulders, and he cracks open one eye.
“Where am I?” he asks, voice groggy and full of sleep.
“You’re at my place. I wasn’t gonna take you home. Not that you were in any condition to even tell me where home is,” I bemoan.
He sits up, looking straight ahead, refusing to meet my eyes.
“Listen, Bailey.” He pauses as if trying to formulate his words. I think he’s going to change the subject, but I see his face drop, and he continues. “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have seen me like that.”
My lips are pressed into a thin line, and I don’t say a word. I wasn’t going to lecture him because I am the last person who has any right, but I also don’t want him to think that was okay.
He knows I’m dealing with my own shit and being thrust right into the middle of someone else’s has the ability to throw any recovering addict back into the fray. At least he has the decency to look regretful. That’s a start.
But at the end of the day, this isn’t about me and my issues. My friend needs help. He’s in bad shape, and if I don’t step in, who will?
“What made you get like that?” I ask, because there’s always a reason behind that type of use.
He looks away from me, but I don’t miss the way his cheeks redden.
His voice is thick when he asks, “The truth?” He’s staring at the ceiling and still not looking at me. I remain quiet, allowing him to speak on his terms.
“Your promotion,” he finally says, and my head jerks back as if he’s slapped me.
I’m the reason he used?
“How so?” My question comes out with the exact inflection to showcase my bafflement. He sighs. “I’m happy for you, Bailey. Truly. It has nothing to do with you, just the fact that you’re moving ahead while I’m stuck in the same rut. I just feel like my life isn’t going anywhere. I’m a middle-aged bartender with no real direction.”
He runs his hands roughly down his face, finally looking at me.
“You know how hard it’ll be for me to get clean working at a bar.” He looks tormented, and I have the dire need to reach out and soothe away his pain.
It won’t be enough.
“I’m going to die from this shit, Bae. I don’t know how to stop.”
A tear runs down his cheek, and my heart threatens to crack in my chest. His pain is palpable, and I feel it so acutely as if it’s my own pain. Having been in his exact situation, I empathize more than most ever could. I want to help him, but he has to want to help himself before anything I do will work. His words seem like a cry for help as far as I’m concerned, so I’ll offer help.
“I’ll help you, Carter. I promise.”
He smiles, but it’s written all over his face—he doesn’t believe help is possible.
My smile falls a bit at the realization, but I know it’s time for me to get a move on. This conversation will have to pick up at another time if I don’t want to be late for my first official day.
“Listen, I have to get going.”
“Ah, first day,” he says with a fake smile plastered to his face. He’s trying to be supportive, but I know it’s hard, considering what he just confessed. “I’ll grab a cab.”
I pull him into a hug and squeeze. “I’ll see you later?”
He nods before I run off to shower, leaving him to pull himself together and find his way home. The conversation about getting clean will happen. I’ll make sure of it.
But something else niggles at the back of my mind with everything Carter said. Why did Drew give me this job?
I’m seated at a small, round table in a back corner of some grand restaurant on the Upper East Side. The place has an old-world charm to it. White marble columns bleed into the white marble floors, and ivy vines snake their way up the posts. The entire ceiling in the section where I sit consists of windows like a greenhouse. There are trees and bushes throughout the interior, making you feel like you’re in a garden and not indoors. The white tables coupled with yellow high-back chairs make everything bright and airy.
I might not know much about Drew Lawson, but this place doesn’t fit his personality. The fact he chose this one of all the restaurants in this area is surprising. This place couldn’t be any further in style from Silver.
My eyes wander the room when they catch on the sight of Drew. He’s wearing a dark navy suit, sans tie, and the first two buttons of his white collared shirt are undone. The virility of the man is so potent, I almost choke on it. He is beautiful—in an all man sort of way. His confident gait makes my mouth water.