Page 23 of The Plan

Opening my mouth, I freeze when someone rings the doorbell, and I let out a relieved breath. “Fuck.” I’m not expecting anyone, so I just walk out of the bathroom to dismiss whoever it is.

Before I reach the door, they ring the bell twice, and I know exactly who it is because only one person actually rings my bell instead of knocking.

Opening the door, she immediately pulls me into her embrace. “How's my favorite doing?” The twins would pitch a fit if they heard her call me that.

“I’m good, Ma.” I step aside so she can come in, and she enters with the biggest smile on her face. She loves it when I call her Mom, and I’m not sure why she still gets so happy. I’ve been calling her that since I was eight.

I mean, she does look like she could be my bio mom more than the twin's mom. Her light brown complexion matches mine instead of the darker skin August and Sage have.

Her eyes also match my brown ones rather than the emerald eyes that captivate you when looking at my idiot siblings, and her hair is wavy instead of the twins' curls, those they get from Dad.

At the reminder, I ask her about him. She walks over to the couch and sets her bag down. “He’s good, busy as always. Hotshot FBI agent and all.” I give her a small smile. I’m definitely closer to her than him, but it isn’t his fault he’s so busy. I’m actually surprised she makes so much time for us, considering she’s the district attorney.

I plop down on my couch and tap the space next to me, letting her know to sit. “I have to use the bathroom, be right back.” She walks out, and I slouch onto the couch, sighing.

I am so damn exhausted, and everything fucking hurts. She’s probably going to try to drag me to brunch or something, and I hate saying no to her, but I don’t feel like faking a smile today.

Running a hand through my hair, I sit up when I hear her coming back.That was fast. I force a smile, but it drops when I see the oxy bottle in her hands. Fuck, I forgot I didn’t put those away.

I curl back into the couch, mentally preparing for a “talk.” If she was anyone else, I’d walk right the fuck out right now. She sits on the coffee table in front of me instead of beside me on the couch.

I keep my eyes on the ceiling, not wanting her to see me. “Did you relapse?” I shake my head no, even though I know that isn’t a good enough answer for her.

I hear her set the bottle aside before she speaks up again. “Look at me and say it, Sire.” Her voice comes out so soft it could break, and I feel a weight in my chest, one that hasn’t gone away all day.

I lean my head down and let my eyes meet hers. “I didn’t. You can drug test me if you want. I—”

“I don’t want to. If you say you didn’t, then you didn’t. I trust you, Sire.” She has no idea how much that means to me. Even after seeing the open bottle… she trusts me. She takes my hand in hers, but I slowly pull away, and she falters only for a beat before looking back up at me. “Where’d you get them?”

I let out a sigh at her question. “That doesn’t matter, Mom.” My leg starts to shake at the aggravation that’s beginning to set in, and she puts both her hands on my knee.

“When was the last time you went to a meeting?”

A few days before Vid came back. It’s not her fault, but I don’t want to talk about her, and that’s what I’ll end up talking about if I go to a meeting.

I look away from her again and shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know.”

She makes a ticking sound that she usually makes when she knows I’m lying. “Well, since you don’t know, maybe you should go to one.”

Rubbing my temples, I start wishing I could just rub a damn genie bottle and wish today away. “Can’t. I have physical therapy today.” That was a shit excuse, and I know she knows that.

She’s quiet for a while, and I open my eyes to check what she’s doing, but she’s just sitting there, staring at me like she’s trying to figure out a puzzle. “Is that why you were going to use again? Because you have PT and have to go see Viddy?”

I can’t believe she still calls her that. I have no idea if they’ve spoken in the last four years. I mean, I doubt it, but she still calls her Viddy for whatever reason.

“No. I’ve seen her multiple times, including at our session on Saturday, and I was fine.” She gives me an unsure look, but Iwasfine. Sure, we fought the whole damn time, but that's becoming routine for us.

“This has nothing to do with her, Mom.”

“I disagree.” Of course she does.

“Well, then we’re agreeing to disagree.”

She nods once, and I rest my head on the back of the couch, looking up again.

“Is it because of what today is?” When I don’t answer her, she lets out a sigh. “I know you would have been ten years sober today, and yes, the last four years have been hard, but that’s a part of this, honey.”

It wouldn’t be this hard if that night didn’t happen four years ago. I haven't been able to make ayearsober. I started using liquor as a substitute for pills a few years ago, and although I’ve tried stopping, I always end up drinking. It’s starting to feel like a never-ending fucking cycle.

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