Mallory’s not impressed with my condition when we return to the apartment.
“Sorry,” Alvin says, holding up his hands while he backs out the door. “I tried.”
“Not your fault.” She gives me the stink-eye. “He’s a sneaky prick.”
I grin at her. “I love you.”
Once we’re alone, she crosses her arms over her chest and walks around me in a circle.
“Live it up now, big boy. You’re not bringing drugs on the plane. I can’t risk you getting arrested.”
Shit. Hadn’t thought of that.
Can I make it through the long flight without being fucked up? I planned to wean myself off it once we got to New York. Not quit cold turkey right this second.
The thought of going without for so long shoves me into panic mode. In my coked-out mind, it makes perfect sense to snort as much as possible right this second. As if my body will hang onto the high for the trip home.
At this point, I have nothing to hide from Mallory. So, I plop down on the living room floor to fret about the drug-free flight home and snort a few thick lines.
While she listens to all the crazy babble flying out of my high-as-fuck mouth, I try not to notice the tears streaming down her cheeks.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chaser
We made it home.
Barely.
The trip home was worse than I anticipated. I’m dying to get my hands on some coke.
Dad knows what’s up as soon as he takes a look at me.
“Mallory, can you go check on Chaser’s room?” he asks her in a casual tone that would ordinarily set off my danger radar. “It should be ready—”
“Sure.” She pats me on the back before taking off. She may or may not mumble “good luck” as she races down the hall to get away from us.
My father points to his office. “Get in there and sit your ass down.”
Once I’m seated, he walks around me in a circle, disapproval rolling off him in waves.
I struggle not to twitch while he assesses my condition.
Finally, he drops into his chair on the other side of his desk.
“Jesus Christ, son. You look like a bag of shit. What the fuck you get yourself into?”
This sucks so fucking bad. No way do I want to admit to my father—the strongest motherfucker I’ve ever known—that I’ve developed a problem.
Unfortunately, the sad reality is that I need his help to get sober. Time to set aside whatever remains of my pride.
“You using?” he asks.
I blow out a long breath before answering. “Yeah.”
“At least you’re not trying to deny it.” He cocks his head and stares me down. I barely resist the urge to flinch under his harsh scrutiny. “You’re smarter than that. What the fuck happened?”
I work my jaw from side to side. Truth is, my excuses are weak, and my father has a low tolerance for bullshit. “I started using a little here and there to keep up with everything.”
“Yeah, and?”
Nothing’s ever easy with this man. He’s gonna yank every last embarrassing detail out if it kills me. “Now, I’m too strung out to function.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just what I said.” I close my eyes for a second. Verbal sparring with my father won’t help my situation. “I need to lay low and get my head on straight.”
And that’s as detailed as I’m gonna get.
Miraculously, my vague answers satisfy him. He sits back and stares at me for a few seconds. “Proud of you, son.”
“You’re proud I’m a cokehead?”
“No, you dumb fuck. But you’re here. You did the hardest part—admitting there’s a problem. Now, you’re gonna man up and fix it.” He gives me a rare smile. “You’ll be okay.”
“Thanks.”
“What about Mallory?”
“She never touches the stuff.”
“Figured that. Her ass is too juicy to be snorting that shit.”
“Watch it, old man,” I growl, pissed I gave him the reaction he was trying to provoke with that comment.
He grins. “Where’s she at with you?”
“Uh, fed up and about to leave my stupid ass.”
The merriment slides off his face. “She came with you, so it can’t be that bad.”
“I think she feels like it’s her fault.”
“Is it?”
“No.” I need to shut down that line of thinking right now. I won’t have him blaming my weaknesses on Mallory.
He holds up his hands. “Just askin’.”
“I’m a big boy. Fully capable of fucking up my life all on my own.”
“Yes, you are.” He taps his fingers against the desk for a few minutes. “She plannin’ to visit her dad while she’s here?”
“We never discussed it.”
“Sit tight for a day or two. I’ll get someone in to clean up the house. You two can stay there, so you’re not putting up with this while trying to get yourself sorted.” He indicates the clubhouse, not that we keep drugs—or anything incriminating stored here in case we’re ever raided by the government—here, but it’s still not a quiet or sober environment.