Page 234 of Before We Were

"What can I get for ya?"

Any other time, I would've drowned the anxiety with whatever I could get my hands on. Cocaine would've been my first choice—that familiar rush, the way it made everything sharper, brighter, more manageable. The craving hits me like phantom pain, my fingers drumming against the bar in a rhythm my body remembers too well.

One call. That's all it would take.

The numbers are still carved into my brain like scars.

But I can't do everything right now.

Jay has helped me keep that unspoken promise through countless late-night calls and impromptu drives. Through the shakes, the cravings, the moments when the walls of my bedroom felt like they were closing in and the only escape I could think of was chemical. He'd let me show up without question, sometimes just to sit in silence, sometimes to drive aimlessly until the sun came up and the need subsided.

But it's Nora's eyes that haunt me the most.

Every time the craving hits hard enough to make me consider breaking, I see them. I remember the fear that lived in them the night on the beach when she saw me high, fueled with anger. I hit thirty days clean last week and didn't tell a soul, too afraid that speaking it might break whatever fragile progress I've made. Of all the uncertainties in my life right now, there's one thing I know for certain: I never want to see that fear in her eyes again.

“Scotch,” I tell the bartender, even as every nerve ending in my body screams for something stronger.

The bartender places the glass in front of me, then leans forward slightly, his voice dropping. "You just missed your old man."

My hand freezes mid-reach, ice sliding down my spine. "What?"

"You're Sullivan's kid, right?" In a town like Eden, there's no escaping who you are.

"Yeah, he was here with his lady friend." The bartender smirks like we're sharing some private joke.

The divorce papers aren't even cold and he's already found his next victim. My throat tightens as I think about Mom, how many"lady friends"there must have been while she was at home, trying to hold our family together with bloody hands and broken bones.

"Wait, does he come here often?"

The bartender shrugs, his rag making lazy circles on the polished wood. "Lately, yeah. Been in here a fair bit the past week. Tips well, too."

Of course he fucking does.

It's hush money, just like everything else with Scott—buying silence, crafting his image, making sure everyone sees exactly what he wants them to see. But what eats at me more is why he's still in Eden.

Then the pieces click into place like a gun being loaded. Jake's whereabouts during the day. The way he's been disappearing for hours, giving vague answers about where he's been. The subtle changes in his behavior, the new edge to his anger, the way he's started parroting Scott's words like they're gospel.

Fuck.

Every time Jake went M.I.A., every time we couldn't reach him, every time Mom's calls went straight to voicemail—he was with Scott.

My grip tightens on the glass until I'm afraid it might shatter. While I've been trying to keep Jake away from Scott's influence, the bastard's been working his way in through the back door, poisoning my little brother's mind one "father-son" moment at a time. The same way he did with me, before I learned the truth about what kind of man he really was. Before I understood that his attention always came with a price. That his love was just another weapon in his arsenal.

I'm halfway through contemplating whether smashing the glass against the bar would be cathartic or just messy when Jay walks in—hood up despite the heat, hands shoved in his pockets. His eyes sweep the room once before locking on mine, and he heads over with that easy, no-nonsense stride.

"You look like shit," he says, sliding onto the stool next to me. No preamble, no bullshit—just Jay being Jay.

"I look better than I feel," I mutter, taking another sip of my drink, wishing it was strong enough to dull the frustration gnawing at my chest.

He gestures to the bartender for a Coke, then leans back. His body language is casual, but his eyes scan me the way they did that night. He found me bloody-knuckled in a parking lot—the night everything changed between us.

"All right, you gonna tell me what's going on, or are we playing twenty questions?"

I huff out a laugh, low and humorless.

"Same shit, different day. Jake blew up at me before I came here. Scott is pulling his strings like a pro all while fucking around with any woman under twenty-five. Guess the only good thing that's happened as of late is Mom finally signed the divorce papers." I swirl the liquid in my glass, watching it dance.

Jay lets out a slow whistle. "Hell of a week."

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