Page 73 of Endurance

I smiled, but my concern for him prevented the smile from reaching my eyes. I was worried sick. As much as I tried to understand his reasoning, I wished he would end this insanity.

“Of course,” was all I could say, then hurried upstairs to change.

When I returned to the bathroom, I quickly stripped out of my jeans and slipped into a pair of yoga shorts. I left my red Atwood Racing Enterprise T-shirt on, a recent wardrobe addition I’d snagged from Sloan’s latest merchandise shipment, then pulled my hair back into a ponytail.

“What is this crap, Kallie? It smells weird,” I heard Sloan yell from downstairs.

I chuckled to myself as I smoothed my hair fly-aways with a brush.

“Just put it on,” I called back. “I’ll be down in two minutes after I put my stuff away.”

I moved to toss the hairbrush back into my bag. In my haste, I banged my hand against the marble top of the vanity.

“Damn it!” I cursed when I saw I’d broken a nail. It was only partially torn, but it had broken near the nail bed. Reaching into my makeup tote, I dug around for nail clippers but came up empty-handed. Wondering if Sloan had any, I opened the bathroom vanity drawer and began rifling through the contents. I didn’t see a pair at first glance, so I bent to look into the back of the drawer and pulled the contents forward.

I didn’t find nail clippers, but I did find pills—and they didn’t appear to be the over-the-counter kind. They weren’t cold pills or aspirin, nor were they in a bottle from a pharmacy. Instead, the little white tablets were in a clear plastic Ziplock bag. Upon closer inspection, I saw letters and numbers carved into the pills. My heart began to pound in my chest.

Bending down to where my jeans lay on the bathroom floor, I pulled my cell phone from the back pocket to do a quick Google search. I forced myself to relax, hoping beyond hope the pills were not what I suspected. Maybe I was wrong—perhaps it was just flu medicine or something of the like. However, deep down, I didn’t think that was the case. Copying the indented text from the pills, I typed “white tablet M 05 52” into the browser and waited for the results to populate. Once they did, I sucked in a breath and felt my eyes widen in disbelief. Although the internet pictures varied slightly, an educated guess said the bag in my hand was full of oxycodone.

The betrayal was a slap in the face—both personally and professionally. On a professional level, I worried about what would happen to the Quinn & Wilkshire name if this got out—especially after all I’d done to bolster Sloan’s image. While improving his reputation was in my job description, it was what I did during off-hours that made Sloan unique to any other client—that was personal.

I’d spent the past month watching him silently suffer, unable to do anything but show my support in every way I knew how. Hours upon hours had been spent caring for his physical condition. From learning his PT exercises and teaching him yoga to researching the best natural remedies for pain, I’d done everything in my power to make sure he could get out of bed each day and do what he loved most. But it was more than how much effort I had poured into this—he had made a promise to me. No more booze. No more pills.

And I had believed him.

Have I been nothing but a fool?

My heart felt heavy, my emotions twisting up into a knot. I loved Sloan with my whole body and soul. To know he would disregard his promise to me and risk everything for a few pills not only made me feel betrayed but angry. Fury at what he had done surged through my veins and pulsed at my temples. My brain scrambled to organize every feeling and thought I ever had about him, trying to make sense of it all. I knew he’d been in pain, but I hadn’t realized it was so bad that he had to resort to taking painkillers.

Why didn’t he just tell me?

I hurriedly tossed the rest of my things into my overnight bag, then stalked out of the bathroom with the bag of pills in hand. Going downstairs, I found Sloan sitting on the edge of the couch with his pants pulled partially down on one side, massaging cream into his hip.

“This stuff isn’t half bad,” he said. “I already feel it working.”

“Sloan, what are these?”

He glanced up and frowned as he focused on what I was holding. The moment he realized what it was, his furrowed brow raised, and he momentarily froze. Shaking his head, he looked back down at his hip to return to the task at hand.

“It’s nothing,” he brushed off.

“I don’t think these are nothing. Is this oxy?”

His head snapped up, and regretful eyes raked over me. It was as if he were processing a million thoughts. However, whatever he was thinking was quickly masked with a blank expression.

“So what if it is?” he challenged.

“Are you serious right now? I had to practically scrape you off the floor after you saw Tyler’s crash. You drank yourself into a stupor, admitted to wanting to take painkillers but decided—.” I stopped short as a new realization came over me. “Or maybe you did take the pills after all. Is that why you promised me no more boozeandpills?”

“Kallie, listen to me. I—”

“No. You listen to me! I’ve bent over backward to make sure you’ve received positive coverage by the press. I’m going above and beyond what is expected of me based on our contract. I get that you want to race again, but this isn’t the way. I thought I was helping you, but you’ve been lying to me this whole time!”

He slammed frustrated hands through his hair, then stood up to adjust his pants back into their rightful place and began to pace.

“Kallie, it’s not what you think. Milo gave them to me and—”

“Milo!” I covered my mouth and choked back a sob. “Of course he gave them to you. Why the hell would he give two shits as long as you win and he gets a chunk of the prize money? What’s his cut in all of this?”

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