Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
The night was a fractured mess, but parts of it were clear enough to cut. The dizzying rush of an overdue high, the harsh taste of scotch on Dexter’s lips, the weight of too many hands looking for a little release and comfort. Equally sharp: skinning his knees on the rough carpet when a cop hauled him out of bed, the bruising pressure of a boot on his spine to keep him down, the pinch of handcuffs snapped too tight. The officers were so horrified by the debauchery they’d stumbled upon they almost forgot to tell him about Noah.
“Dexter was the obvious fall guy, since he was the only one old enough to buy the alcohol, but my parents knew he’d bring me down with him. They cashed in every favor they could and spent a literal fortune trying to protect the Wilshire name. The alcohol and sex were already out there, courtesy of the first responders, but the drugs got swept under the rug. Dexter lost his captaincy and his prospects, but he didn’t face charges, and my parents covered his remaining tuition in exchange for his silence.”
“He wasn’t silent,” Jean said. “Connors knows. So does Torres.”
“Torres went to high school with me, so he knew when I started doing drugs,” Jeremy said. “Connors was at the party. Like most of the others, he’d been closeted until then. Soon as word got out that he was getting drunk and shacking up with other men, his parents publicly disowned him and kicked him out of the house. Safe to say he still hates me for that.”
“Did you sleep with him?”
Jeremy stared at him. “No.”
“Then it is not your problem.”
“It is,” Jeremy said. “Jean, I—half of those guys never saw court time again, at least outside of practice. Fowler had to transfer down to a Class II school to get away from his team’s relentless bullying. That’s my fault. The police only found out about them because they were looking for me.”
“You are not the one who jumped.”
It was blunt enough to crush Jeremy’s lungs to his spine. He shifted to get up, needing to put space between them, but Jean’s hand came down hard on his shoulder. Jean’s, “Did you know he would?” was probably meant to be a gotcha, but Jeremy flinched so hard Jean recoiled from him. Jeremy put a hand over his chest, desperate to keep his heart from breaking out, and wished he’d been smart enough to bring one of Faser’s bottles back with him.
It came out barely louder than a whisper: “We all knew.”
That wasn’t quite true, but maybe that was worse. Bryson stopped caring about any of them after his accident, and Annalise couldn’t see Noah’s pain past her own. But Joshua and Noah were Irish twins and the best of friends, and Joshua knew his brother was in trouble. He’d begged Jeremy for help when every appeal to their mother failed. Jeremy tried, off and on for months, but neither of his parents wanted to hear it. Warren had no patience for Noah’s bottomless sadness, and Mathilda only said, “All boys are strange at that age.” She’d blamed him for setting such a poor example for his younger brothers.
She’ll listen when she loses him, he’d thought, angry and defeated and so, so tired.
He hadn’t meant it, not really, but—
A rush of nausea left him dizzy and hot. “I don’t want to talk about Noah anymore.”
Jean didn’t push it. Jeremy closed his eyes and counted his breaths: four seconds in, seven seconds out, over and over until his roiling stomach finally calmed down. It did nothing for the loss gnawing through his chest, but at last he opened his eyes again.
He moved to get up, but Jean’s hand on his knee warned him to wait. “Tell me you are clean now.”
“I’m clean.”
Not by choice, at first, but that wasn’t worth getting into. The guilt and heartbreak had almost destroyed him, and he’d wanted nothing more than to spiral completely out of control until he couldn’t feel anything. Mathilda refused to endure any further embarrassment on his behalf, however, and forced him into a rehab facility near the northern border of California. USC received a seven-digit donation from his share of the inheritance, and he’d done his first five weeks of classes long-distance.
“Look at me,” Jean said, and Jeremy obediently dragged his stare to Jean’s face. Jean’s expression was inscrutable as he studied Jeremy, but his tone was firm: “You are my partner. My success is your success; your failure is my failure. Do not ever backslide, Jeremy. I will not forgive you.”
“I can’t,” Jeremy said. When Jean appeared unimpressed by that immediate reassurance, Jeremy insisted, “I walked away from my brother, Jean. I knew he wasn’t okay, and I knew he needed me, but all I cared about was having fun and getting high. I left him behind, and I never saw him again. I’d rather die than ever be that person again. Believe me.”