Edge of Recovery (Love on the Edge) (2 page)

“Here’s a fresh twist,” she said. “You’re going to jail this time.”

I snapped my eyes to her.

“Oh yeah.” She nodded and pointed toward the closed door. “They’re giving me this courtesy of speaking with you only because they’re waiting on the nurses to discharge you. Once they do? You’re going straight to jail.”

The wind knocked out of my lungs like I’d gotten body slammed to the pavement again.

“You want me to bail you out?”

My lips parted open. How would I get a drink in jail?

“Too bad,” she said before I could answer.

Flames licked my chest. “Then you’re just here to gloat? To tell me I turned into the exact,
horrible
human being you knew I’d turn out to be?”

Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she didn’t move. “No, Justin. I want to help you.” She swiped the tears away. “I need to own my part in the way your life has gone. And that starts with getting you help. You’re sick.”

I glanced down before cocking an eyebrow at her. “I’m perfectly healthy.”

“No, no you’re not.” Her bottom lip trembled as she tried to hold back more tears. “You’re an alcoholic, prone to violent tendencies, and
you need help
.”

“I’m not a fucking alcoholic,” I snapped. “I’m just…” What was I doing? I didn’t have to explain myself to someone who hadn’t ever been there for me in the past.

She fed you. Took you on family vacations. Sang to you when you had nightmares.

I clenched my eyes shut forcing the memories away.

“I’ll make you a deal,” she said. “I’ll talk to the judge on your behalf. Get you as little jail time as possible, if…”

I finally looked up at her. “What?”

“You commit to a live-in rehabilitation clinic.”

“You want me to go to rehab? Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. I’ve already put down a deposit on a room for a ninety-day program for you.”

The sound of clear liquid hitting an empty glass echoed in my ears—the sound that acted as a balm for my burning soul. The feel of it sliding down my throat, the sting, the numbing that came with each swallow, tugged on my tongue, begging, aching, for a taste.

“You have two options,” she said after I’d remained silent for who knew how long, envisioning the easiest way to get out of both jail time and rehab. “One, go to jail, refuse my help, and take the time they give you. It’ll probably be at least a year with your past offenses. Unless, of course, you get out in six months because of good behavior, but let’s face it, Justin, that temper of yours? Encased and trapped behind bars and nothing but the cold concrete walls to keep you company? You’ll probably only extend your time there.”

Damn. She may not know me, but she knew me on the surface. “Rehab is just another type of jail.”

She shrugged. “Well, this one has counselors and better food. Not to mention people who have been through situations like yours…
lived
through it, and want to help.” She crossed the space between us and cupped my cheek. “Option number two has more perks than prison. It’s the most prestigious facility in Oklahoma. They treat all manner of addictions and mental health difficulties there.”

“And if I go to the crazy house, do my ninety days…then what?” Maybe I could do it. Get it over with. Get out and never see her again. Forget this ever happened.

“You live your life. Finally.”

“I
have
been living,” I said.

She shook her head. “Oh, honey. I don’t think you can remember the last time you actually lived.”

I moved out of her touch, uncomfortable with how close she hit the mark. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt complete. Even before Blake happened…something was missing. Maybe I was broken. Maybe there was no help for me. I was too dark, too twisted, with a hunger to feed the rage inside that was hard to slake with anything other than the alcohol she wanted me to give up.

“Mr. Hobbs?” The officer opened the door, a pair of cuffs in his hand. A nurse came in behind him, holding a stack of my discharge papers and my torn up shirt from the night before. I slipped it on and signed the papers before holding my wrists out to the cop, my eyes on my aunt.

“What’s it going to be, Justin?” She asked as he slapped the cuffs on me.

“Two. I’ll take door number two.”

The officer led me out of the room, each step sending another shockwave of pain across my nerve-endings. The farther I got away from my aunt and the closer I got to prison, I found it harder and harder to breathe.

Rehab wouldn’t work. I wasn’t the kind of person who could be redeemed. But I also wasn’t the type of man to survive prison. My short fuse would either kill me or someone else. Plus, I wouldn’t be able to drink there. And I could drink on the outside. Rehab or not, I’d be free after gritting my teeth for a few months. Maybe I could sleep half the time away.

Only if the nightmares stopped.

Nightmares. I wish they were only that, but what I dreamt about was
real
. Memories from my past, haunting me until I could do nothing but drink to erase them. Without it, I wouldn’t have a defense against them or the thoughts that plagued me on a second-by-second basis.

Fuck. It would be a
long
three months.

* * *

“
T
ell
me I’ve got a trial date,” I said, gripping the ancient beige phone between my fingers. An officer stood just to my left, practically humping my leg. “It’s been three weeks in this shit hole.”

“The judge finally set a date. You’re due in court next Thursday.” My aunt’s voice was light and hopeful on the other end of the line, and my shoulders drooped.

Thank fucking hell. “About time.”

“You’re lucky we got it to happen that quickly,” she snapped.

I swallowed and ground my teeth. Damn it. She was right. I knew it. I would’ve been stuck in here for over a year if she hadn’t pulled every old connection she had from when she’d worked as a paralegal years ago.

“Sorry.” I tried not to spit out the word. Despite her help in this stupid ass situation, she hadn’t been present in my life in over a decade. “It’s not a picnic here.” I shifted my weight, completely aware of the stiff cop’s eyes on me, hanging on my every word.

“You haven’t gotten into any tussles have you?”

Tussles? Who the hell says that?

“No.” Not that I’d ever tell her but I sure as hell wasn’t going to elaborate on why my stay in state prison hadn’t been worse. My cellmate—Devlin—had made me an offer on day two I couldn’t refuse. I’d remain untouched and unfucked with if I simply pedaled his drugs to the pathetic junkies he kept on his full list of clients.

Why me?
I’d asked.

Other than you’re my new best friend for an undetermined amount of time?
Devlin had stood from the tiny bottom bunk bed, his massive professional-wrestler-like frame taking up more than half of the room.

Yeah.
I’d shrugged, not the slightest bit intimidated by the Rock-wannabe. Hard to be scared when you’ve got nothing left to lose.

You’re an addict, so you get the score, but your drug of choice isn’t what I sell. You won’t steal my shit.

And if I agree?

I’ll make sure no one fucks with you. Word is you’re a short fuse and guys love to test the fish.

I’d stepped so close to him our chests bumped.
Not a fish. And who the fuck talked to you? I’ve been here two days.

I’m in good with the guards. Got a look at your file. I know everything about you, Justin. You’re exactly what I need. Someone who clearly doesn’t give a shit about anything, who is willing to crack skulls at the drop of a douche saying the wrong word.

I’d chuckled and shook my head, taking a step back. I was sleeping on a board of a bed, eating shit food, and becoming intimate with the concrete walls because one bedazzled douche bag had called me a loser. In retrospect, didn’t really seem worth it. Still, the memory of his bone-crunching beneath my knuckles sent a rush of adrenaline through my veins.

I’ll do it.
I’d agreed.
Just give me the score.

“Justin?” My aunt asked as if she’d asked more than once.

“Yeah?”

“Are you prepared to sign into the facility I chose for you?”

I sighed. “Yes.”

“Perfect.” She practically giggled. “You’ll be so much happier, Justin. I know they’ll help. And then maybe we can---“

“My time’s up,” I cut her off. “See you in court.” I hung up the phone and ignored the glance from the cop who looked like he was part robot except for his one arching eyebrow. I had at least three minutes left, but I didn’t need to hear my aunt paint a future I knew wasn’t possible.

She was a means to an end.

While Devlin had made this stay in prison more
functional
by keeping the wrong people away from me, it wasn’t such a grand life that I wanted to stay here. Rehab would be better than this, and she was my only way out. The judge damn sure wouldn’t have listened to me, wouldn’t have trusted my assurance that I’d never disturb the public again—and for good reason. There was no lock for my temper. I’d fucking tried. It was just something I lived with—the hot, bubbling rage just beneath the surface of my soul was always a breath away—so much a part of me I wouldn’t know how to live without it, couldn’t remember a time before it.

“Sup, bro?” Devlin asked as the cop nudged me back into my cell and slammed the bars home. I winked at the cop before flipping him off behind his back, because I wasn’t so stupid to bring down the fury of
the man.

“Court date.”

“When?” Devlin sat up from where he’d been laying on the bed, his massive limbs hanging well over the ends.

“Next week.”

“How the fuck you get it so quick?”

“A family member pulled a favor.” I stripped my white t-shirt over my head, dropped to the small amount of cold concrete we had as a floor, and started doing pushups. That was one thing about prison, the only thing I could do to prevent my mind from thinking about how long it’d been since I’d had a proper drink was work the shit out of it. Devlin had gotten his hands on a few bottles of NyQuil and had helped me ration it to quell the body-shaking withdraws that had threatened me my first night there. The syrup was nothing compared to the sharp bite of vodka my tongue wanted, but it worked.

“So the clinic deal will work?” he asked as I pushed up and down, exhaling on each rise.

“Yup. Wouldn’t be going this soon if it wasn’t in place.”

“Nice, rehab.”

I cut my eyes to him without breaking the pace of my push-ups. “Yeah, it’ll be like Disneyland.”

“Damn straight it will. Get your head out of your ass, Justin.”

I hopped to my feet in an instant, and Devlin was up and towering over me just as quickly. “You got something to say?”

“Drop back to the floor, man. You know you don’t stand a chance against me.”

I scoffed. “Fucking try me.”

Devlin smiled, sitting back down. “Really? After all I’ve done for you? Maybe you really do have an anger problem.” He chuckled and I sunk back to the floor.

“Yeah maybe,” I said. “And maybe rehab will be the answer to all my degraded little problems.”

“They will be for mine, for sure.”

“Last time I checked you weren’t an addict.”

“Nope. But they’re my business. And you’ll be reaching an entirely new market for me. I’ve wanted to expand for years now.”

I slowed my pace, holding myself fully extended for a minute before rising to my feet again. “What’s that now?”

“The rehab clinic you’re going to? It’s outfitted for the elite. Celebrities, trust-fund babies, and the like. You think they’re there because they want to be? Not a chance. They’re there to appease someone—a publicist, the public, a family member with the rights to the bank account. They need drugs, just like you needed any kind of alcohol I could scrounge up for you.”

“I didn’t
need
it.” I crossed my arms over my chest, ignoring the memory of the shakes that had racked my body and the insatiable thirst that had made my insides feel like they caved in on themselves.

“Please. You would’ve sucked my dick for a drink.”

I threw a punch—no thought, no breath—aimed right at his big fucking jaw. A massive paw of a hand stopped my fist cold, and he stood up from the bed, clutching my fist so hard the bones seared. I jerked my hand away from him.

“That one is free, Justin. And only because you’ll be another contact on the outside. A distributor in the clinic.”

I shook out my fingers. “Fuck you.”

“You’re not my type.”

“Your loss, I’m a beast.” I didn’t really believe that about myself, but I could fake it. Blake’s panicked eyes flashed behind my closed lids, and I raked my fingers through the hair I’d let grow too long.

Devlin chuckled, and I shrugged, the tension breaking. I really didn’t want to fight the dude, so I was happy to let the shit slide.

“You’re in, though, right?”

I sighed. “The currency has to change.”

“Ahh, the inevitable negotiations. What do you want?”

“Well, I won’t need your protection anymore.”