Page 47 of Bitter When He Begs

He can’t.

Not yet.

He sweats through his sheets by three a.m. I sit on the edge of the bed, wiping his face with a cold cloth every few minutes while he mutters incoherent shit in his sleep.

Half the time it’s curses, the other half it’s apologies. Sometimes he says my name. Sometimes Sage’s. Once, he sayshis dad’s name and asks why he’s not good enough, and my blood turns cold.

By the next morning, he’s a wreck. Pale. Unsteady. Pissed off at everything, especially me. He tries to get dressed like he’s going to class and almost falls flat on his face.

“Fuck this,” he snarls, shoving the shirt off again. “Fuck you, Damon. Fuck this whole pity project you’ve taken on.”

“Cool,” I say. “You done? Or do you want to try again with fewer dramatics?”

He glares at me. “You’re such a smug prick.”

“Better than a lying addict,” I shoot back, and for a moment, I think he’s going to hit me. Instead, he just turns away and throws up in the trash can.

The house starts to notice.

I don’t wait for them to ask questions. I gather them in the living room mid-morning after I’ve stripped Luca’s sheets for the second time and gotten him to drink half a protein shake between vomiting.

Roman sits beside me on the couch, his expression tense but unsurprised. He already knew because we discussed how we would handle it while respecting Luca’s privacy. My boy’s good like that—loyal in the most painful ways.

The rest filter in one by one. Eli and Julian are fresh out of practice, damp from the shower. Thorn has a coffee in hand and a towel around his neck, eyes narrowed like he already knows something’s wrong. Ryan looks confused, Damien concerned. Killian’s unreadable, as always, even as he talks to Liam, and Adrian leans against the wall with his arms crossed like he’s bracing for bad news.

They all look at me.

I stand up and take a breath. “Luca’s in withdrawal.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

“What?” Julian’s the first to break it, his eyebrows pulling together. “Withdrawal from what?”

“Opioids,” I say plainly, because there’s no point dressing it up. “He’s been addicted for a while. He’s been running on fumes and pills and pride. That’s a dangerous fucking combo.”

Ryan’s mouth opens, then closes again like he doesn’t know where to start. “But… he’s Luca.”

“Yeah,” I say. “He’s Luca. King of Blackthorne, star quarterback, arrogant prick. But also a guy who’s been carrying this shit alone and doing a damn good job hiding it.”

“He’s the one who’s always in control,” Eli says, voice rough. “The one who keeps all of us in check.”

“And that’s exactly why none of you saw it,” I tell them. “Addiction doesn’t look the same for everyone. He still showed up. Still won games. Still kept up the image. But I saw it.”

“Shit,” Eli says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “This why Coach told us Luca would be MIA? Coach knew?”

I nod. “I told him so he would be aware.”

“How long?” Adrian asks from the wall, changing the subject. “How long has he been using?”

“Four years, maybe more,” I answer. “He told me it started after an ankle fracture and got hooked during recovery. He hid it well. Kept his shit tight. That’s how most high-functioning addicts survive. They build a life where nobody questions them.”

Killian tilts his head slightly, one brow lifting. “So he asked you to help him?”

I nod. “A day ago, after coming back from seeing his dad. I’ve been staying with him through the worst of it.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Thorn asks, his tone unsure. “I mean, he’s not exactly the kind of guy who wants sympathy. Luca’s proud as fuck.”

“No,” I agree, “he doesn’t want sympathy. He wants normal, and he wants honesty. Which means this—” I gesture around theroom, “—this awkward tiptoeing around the truth? You need to drop it. Don’t treat him like glass. Don’t act weird. But you do need to be aware of what’s coming.”

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