Edge of Recovery (Love on the Edge) (6 page)

She smiled. “Good. No lies. Ever. Or this can never work.”

I stood there gaping at her, having no clue what to say.

“And two,” she said and tapped the pocket of my jeans—the same pocket I had a baggie of pills nestled in. “They’re doing a surprise room check today. You might want to run.”

My eyes widened as her words sunk in. Fuck. Devlin’s most recent delivery was hidden in several different places in my room, and not all of them were brilliant spots. If I was caught, it’d be straight back to prison, and right back into Devlin’s control.

Fuck that.
“How---“

“Don’t ask,” she cut me off. “Just hurry.” Her voice was barely above a whisper now.

“Thank you,” I said and took off in the opposite direction.

“I’ll see you soon!” She hollered from the end of the hallway, just as I’d made it to my door. Orderlies were just rounding the corner, hitting the room three doors down from mine.

I bolted past Conner who casually leaned outside his room next to mine, and I quickly rearranged some things, cursing myself for being so lazy with the pills Devlin wanted me to push in the first place. After a quick scan of the room, I decided the least obvious hiding place was inside the wrought-iron bed frame holding up my mattress. The poles connected to the decorative ornaments at the head were hollow inside. It wasn’t exactly easy to get the tops off, but it would do.

I hadn’t realized sporadic room searches would be a thing—not like it had been at the prison where Devlin paid off the guards, so they skipped our room or simply
pretended
to hunt. Now that it was so close, and the possibility of going back to prison only one clever orderly away, I felt like an idiot for ever agreeing to this.

Sure, I needed the cash but the stakes were so high. Not to mention Devlin was a pain in the ass with his threats. Problem was, I knew he could make good on them even behind bars, and if I went back there? Fuck, it’d be hell.

After the orderlies had deemed my room clean, I stepped back into the hallways where Conner hung out with an unlit cigarette between his fingers, his eyes locked onto Charlie who still stood where I’d left her. He cracked a smirk, nodding at me.

“See you’ve finally met your sponsor,” he said, bringing his gaze to me.

My head snapped back to her, and it was like a sledgehammer hit me in my chest. “What?”

“Charlie? She’s awesome. I’ve seen her work magic on people in way worse shape than you.”

I closed my mouth, which had come unhinged with the feeling of loss that trembled through my core.
She was never a possibility anyway.

But damn I’d wanted her to be.

As my sponsor, she was absolutely off limits. Not only would she be attempting to tear information from me at every turn, she was the one I was supposed to go to for help when I felt myself slipping. Romantic relationships were completely against the rules because it complicated the process of recovery.

It’s a good thing you weren’t looking to be with anyone anyway.

I repeated this to myself three times, but it still didn’t do a damn thing about the vacuum like feeling sucking the glimmer of light that had sparked in my chest when she’d spoken.

“Wait,” I said, something donning on me. “She said her darkness was E.”

Conner shrugged. “Yeah, so? Not all of us have one vice, bro. If I remember right, her drink was Gin.”

I shook my head. “Damn.”

“Oh, no, man. You didn’t realize who she was?”

“Nope.”

“Sorry, bro.”

“For what?”

“Crushing your dreams. I get it. She’s wicked hot. You just don’t want to tangle the beast that is sponsor and the beast that is girlfriend.

I scoffed. “Come on. Do I look like boyfriend material?” I joked to hide my panic on the inside. I had been once before I’d become what I was. Before I grew to resent Blake and all the possibilities in life she had that I didn’t, knowing full well I’d never be good enough for her. So I stopped trying. I know it wasn’t her fault, but I also knew I hated myself more when she’d been in my life.

Conner pulled his pack of smokes out and nodded toward the door that would lead to our designated smoking spot. “Yeah?”

I shook my head, still reeling from nearly getting caught holding.

“Look at you changing.” He smirked and headed outside while I turned back into my room sinking onto my bed, the springs creaking under my weight. That was too close. If Charlie hadn’t---

The thought stopped me dead in my tracks.

Charlie warned me about the search like she knew I was holding. Had she felt the pills in my pocket?

I tore my fingers through my hair. My sponsor—a former drug addict and alcoholic, the one person I was supposed to turn myself over to completely and let her guide me to sobriety—knew I was pushing drugs in rehab. Oh, Conner was right, everything
was
changing.

Fuck. My. Life.

“
T
his all you got
?” The guy—God, what was his name again? I tried to remember but came up blank. Huh, so much for sobriety making you sharper. The only thing I could remember about him was that he made money playing guitar for some emo band I would never listen to even if someone paid me…then again, Blake would probably love them.

I shook off the familiar jolt of pain every time I thought about her outside the context of what I’d done to her. When I only thought about her as the person she was, the friends we used to be—instead of the possession I’d treated her like toward the end—it was like looking at two different people, the man I’d wanted to be, and the one I had been. And now? Well, now I hoped I was reinventing myself, but the jury was literally still out on that one.

“For now,” I finally answered him.

He sank back into his oversized leather armchair, his hands smacking the armrests like a toddler at the beginning of a tantrum. “I’ve got plenty of cash.”

“That’s nice for you.” I pocketed the wad of twenties he’d given for a few pills of valium. The dude was lush in the finance department, his band doing everything—including throwing money at him—to keep his situation quiet. That’s why they’d chosen a rehab center in the middle of Oklahoma City as opposed to a fancier one in L.A., or so he’d told me fourteen times already. Guess druggie guitarists for a new band climbing the charts was out this year.

“Fuck, man. What will it take? You gave me
three
. I said I wanted twelve.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Exactly. And how do you think it would look if the orderlies found you in here, sprawled out on your bed, dead from oding on the drugs that you’re here to get over?”

He huffed, rolling a guitar pick back and forth between his fingers. “Thanks for the faith.”

I shrugged. “I’m not in the business of killing off my customers. Three will be plenty until Thursday. Unless, of course, overdosing is your goal.”

“Of course, it isn’t. Shit, I just don’t want to see you that much.”

I laughed. “You and me both, man.” I loved that we could be honest about our true dislike of each other but still do good business. “Same time in three days?”

He jerked his head in what I took to be a nod, and I walked toward the door, my hand pausing on the knob. “I don’t have to come back, you know?”

He cut his black eyes to me.

“Not being a dick,” I said quickly. “I meant if the program is working for you, or you
plan
to make it work for you, just say the word and I’ll disappear.”

“You would?” He put the pick between his teeth.

“Yes.” I wouldn’t have said that during week one. I would’ve kept pushing the hard sell until I’d convinced him he needed me to deliver pills every week. Now, five weeks in, sober for thirty-four days,
I could honestly say I didn’t wish addiction on anyone. Not that I was free from it. Hell no, I craved vodka like I craved water. The need was constantly there, tapping on my shoulder, whispering how good we used to have it.

“I’ll see you on Thursday,” he said, dismissing me.

I nodded and shut the door quietly behind me.

“Making friends, I see.” Charlie’s voice boomed in the quiet hallway, and I jumped.

“Fuck, make a noise. You’re like a cat.” Yes, that was accurate—a very sexy cat in today’s choice of leggings which looked like the galaxy, the sections of deep blues matching her hair.

“Meow,” she said, curling her fingers into claws. She flashed that smile of hers, the one I only ever saw her give me, and I again wondered if she felt the connection I did…or if I was delusional and just wishing for something more when there was nothing but professional concern.

I chuckled and shook my head—laughing more at myself than her adorable cat impersonation. I walked down the hallway, and she fell into step beside me.

Charlie had shown up at random times, every day since I found out she was my sponsor. She’d tried several times, unsuccessfully, to get me to open up about the past that led me here, but she was much more laid back than I’d ever expected. Especially after the knowledge of my drug sales. She never asked about it again, so I assumed we were operating under a
need-to-know
relationship.

“I have plans for today,” she said, the long black shirt she wore fanning behind her as we moved down the hallway.

“Of course, you do.” She always did.

She could never sit still. I’d learned that—among other dark pieces of her past that made mine look like a fluffy PG-13 film—in the past couple weeks. Not only had she overcome some serious fucked up shit—like being abused by a family member she chose not to identify—she was using her sobriety to help others in positions similar to her past.

Everything I hid from her, kept from her intentionally, was only prolonging her time with me, and I knew it was selfish, but I liked her attention. I honestly didn’t want her helping anyone else at the moment, and I analyzed every single emotion I had around her until I was exhausted. I couldn’t tell if my want of her time to myself meant I hadn’t changed—like I desperately hoped I was working toward—or if it meant I was still the same monster I’d been when I’d tied Blake to me without giving a second thought about her choices.

“Justin,” she said, stopping me by putting her hands on my coiled forearms. She slowly unclenched my fingers from the fists they were in and I breathed out slowly, her touch cooling the racing thoughts in my mind. “You’re doing that thing where you grind your teeth and get all contemplative.”

“Well, I’m a thoughtful man.” I tried to joke, but it didn’t hit the beat I wanted. She didn’t crack the grin I’d come to hope for every time she came into the room.

“Sharing is caring,” she said, still holding my hands.

I tugged out of her grasp, shaking my fingers out like she’d burned me. “What’s on the checklist today, Charlie?”

She glared at me, but one swipe of that pretty pink tongue over her even pinker bottom lip and the frustration was gone. For her, anyway. I was still being the over-analytical guy, wondering if I was a demon for wanting something for myself after years of not knowing who or what I was. I still didn’t have a clear image of the man I’d become since entering the clinic but after daily sessions in the ring with Thomas, I knew I was closer to figuring it out than I ever had been before. Not that I’d ever tell him that. Wouldn’t want to give the neighborly doctor a big head.

“You’ll see,” she said, turning on her heels and swishing those perfect hips down the hallway. I followed, reminding myself not to drool but my mouth watered regardless.

Since Blake, there had been Lindsay—the tool’s crazy ex-girlfriend and the closest, easiest piece of ass around at the moment I needed it—and then there had been no one. I hadn’t even looked at a girl in that air after what had happened that night at Blake’s house…I couldn’t and I never thought there would be another instance where I’d ever want someone as badly as I did now…but I couldn’t stop it. No matter how much I tried to cut Charlie out of my chest, she kept cropping up there and making my heart beat in new ways. Each thump was soothing, not rage induced, pleasant, not painful, and the hope that grew there only magnified with each day we spent together.

She had this uncanny ability to make me feel…
normal
. To her, I wasn’t a guy who’d spent years hating himself and taking it out on the only person who every had really loved him. I was merely a man trying to overcome an addiction. I wished it was that simple—even though it was far from that.

I tried to shove the thoughts down into the deep dark hole where I kept every hope buried, and followed her into a room I’d avoided since I checked in.

“No, please not this,” I said, stopping in the opened doorway.

Charlie fastened me with a look I’d quickly realized meant she would get her way—it was a half-pout half-smirk with eyes that sparked with the dare to deny her. My heart thudded against my chest and need ached in my core.

“What’s the matter?” She asked innocently.

I cocked an eyebrow at her. “This is worse than the library you took me to last week.” I glanced over her shoulder, my eyes grazing over the art room. “Pottery day? Seriously?”

“Why not?”

I stepped closer to her, inhaling her delicious strawberry scent. “Not really my thing.”

She spread her slim fingers—painted green today—in front of her face, ticking off facts. “Books aren’t your thing, punk rock isn’t your thing, baking isn’t your thing, and what was it?” She tilted her head, those green eyes exploring a mind I’d love to get a glimpse of. “Oh yes, spa day wasn’t your thing either.” She shoved the four fingers in my face before dropping her hand. “I’m beginning to think you don’t like anything, Justin.”

The words kicked me straight in the balls. Blake had said similar things to me in the past, but I wasn’t that man anymore. I knew it in my heart, in my soul. I was still a fucked sideways asshole with a habit I had to kick—but the man I’d been? The one who had broken Blake over and over again? I’d killed him that night—the night I woke the fuck up. I had drowned him. In vodka.

“Ready to give up on me?” I asked, forcing myself to stay present by focusing on Charlie’s green eyes which had flecks of gold in them when she turned her head the right way.

“Never. We’re just getting started.” She smiled at me, the look genuine and absolutely non-judging. It was refreshing, and I admired her determination. I hated to disappoint her.

Wow. I actually didn’t want her to think less of me. But how could I impress her when I barely knew how to impress myself?

“So,” she said, pointing over her shoulder. “Pottery.”

I smirked. “You want to reenact the scene from Ghost?” Blake had once made me watch the chick-flick. Swayze was decent but making out while making a pot? Seriously?

“The part where he dies?” She pursed her lips, and I hissed in mock pain.

“Ouch. Good to know what you’re working toward.” I shook my head.

A light clicked on behind her eyes, and she flashed me a wild grin. “Would it help?”

“What?” I asked, completely oblivious to the track she’d jumped on. “If you killed me?” She often spoke too fast or jumped subjects so quickly I had whiplash, but it was unique to her and something I had started to look forward to, chaotic as it was.

She licked her lips. “No. If I let you spoon me from behind, run your clay-wet fingers over mine…would you talk to me? Like you do with Thomas and the boxing?”

I snorted out a laugh, but the visual burned hot and pulsing in my mind. God, I’d love to know what she felt like, how she would move underneath my touch.

That couldn’t happen.

“No.” I shut that door as quickly as possible.

She sank on her heels, her shoulders dropping slightly. “It was worth a shot.”

“You were bluffing,” I said as I followed her inside.

“Was I?” She took a seat at an empty potter’s wheel, and I sank onto the one right next to her.

I stared at her, taking in every inch of her face, every smooth line, every hint of gold in her green eyes. Shit, I didn’t have a clue.

She burst out laughing then, reaching over to my wheel and flipping the switch. “Don’t think. Just let your hands do the work.” She motioned toward her own where one hand wrapped around a hunk of clay and the other scooped up water from a bucket between us.

I swallowed hard and tried to think about anything other than her skin slick and wet, anything besides the visual of her delicate hands manipulating the clay before her with slow sensuous movements. It was useless. I saw her. And she saw me—for what I was or who I wanted to be or a combination of both, I didn’t know.

She worked silently over the clay, her movements fluid and strong and soft at the same time and all the blood rushed to my dick as a blast of want slammed through me. Charlie was more potent than any drink, any pill I could ever take. I wanted her more than the clink of ice in the glass and the crisp sound the bottle made when freshly cracked open. And she was the one person I shouldn’t want, not to mention I had no right to even think about being with anyone now. Not when I was still so raw, still so unsure of why I’d done the things I’d done.

“I said don’t think.” Her voice cut through my thoughts, and I shifted behind my machine despite knowing she had to have seen the raging hard on I sported. Fuck I might as well have been a teenager again. I set my hands to work on the clay, adjusting my grip and strength as it spun, going for water when I needed more movement.

I wondered what it would’ve been like if I’d met Charlie back then? Back before I’d dropped out. Before I’d been kicked out of the only home I’d ever known.

Blake’s brown eyes filled my mind, and I closed mine, keeping my hands on the clay. Shit, I wouldn’t ever take back meeting Blake…just perhaps, if we hadn’t started so young, fallen so hard so fast, maybe we wouldn’t have become toxic to each other. That’s what she’d called us…
toxic
…and I couldn’t fucking blame her. Not after waking up.

Fuck. We brought out the worst in each other by the end—only her at her worst was a thousand times better than me at mine. I sucked in a deep breath, mentally whispering for the millionth time,
I’m sorry.

I let my mind wander then—eyes still closed as I pictured Charlie and how different things could’ve been if I’d been with her instead. She understood me so well because she had darkness in her soul, the same as me. She’d experienced worse and came out better for it on the other side. She gave me hope even when I knew I wasn’t allowed to have it. It hadn’t taken her years to peg me for who I was, only minutes. Her ability to cut right to the point and strip me of my defenses at the same time only made her more endearing to me, and for a moment, there in the art room of a fucking rehab clinic, I let myself pretend we had a future together.

Damn, I’d lose my guy card if Conner could hear my thoughts. It’s not that I didn’t think about what she would feel like underneath me because I’d given her silky skin quite a bit of thought. It’s just that every time my mind drifted that way, Blake’s cries would shut that shit down faster than a cold shower.