Page 48 of In the Stars

“You know those types. Can’t stay away from the pills. Once they start, they can’t stop.”

“I did,” a new voice says. Either a guest or a third DJ. I’ve never listened to this station, so I can’t place the voice. “I was on pills for years and went to treatment. It’s not easy, but it’s possible. You know that, Cecil.”

Cecil grumbles, “You’re different.”

“How? Because you know me?” She scoffs. “Ryder, if you’re out there, and you can hear this, keep going. We’re rooting for you. You’re stronger than your addiction.”

I glance over at Wesley. He’s still a little pale, but there’s a soft smile on his face. “That wasn’t too bad. Could have been worse.”

“Yeah,” I scoff. “Or they could stop speculating on your life like you’re a fucking sideshow exhibit.”

He squeezes my hand again. “You have to remember, I’ve been in the spotlight for years. That was nothing. At least they said I looked good.”

I glance at him quickly, an involuntary smile crossing my lips when I see his mouth tip up. “You do. They got that right.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “for wanting to protect me. It means a lot.”

Around twenty minutes later, we pull up to the trail I take when my head gets too full. It’s picturesque, all kinds of breaks in the woods so you can see the view of the forest below.

Wesley grumbles as we get out of the car and start up the trail. “Pointless walking.”

“It’s not the hike itself I’m after,” I tell him as I adjust the straps on the backpack. “It’s the view when we get to the top. They have a nice bench where we can sit and have a light breakfast.” I look down at his feet, catching sight of his tennis shoes. I frown. “I wish I had told you we were going hiking.”

“I’m good. As long as we’re not trekking for three to four hours.”

I grin over at him. “Nah. It’ll take us around forty-five minutes to get to the spot I want to show you. While we hike, we can talk…unless you’re huffing and puffing before we reach the top.”

“When I was in rehab,” he says, looking around at the surroundings and hopping over roots, “we had gym time. And fucking yoga. I still do yoga every morning, and I run a few days a week. I think I’ll be fine.”

I’m quiet for a few seconds. There is so much I want to know, so much I want to ask, but it might be intrusive, so I keep my thoughts to myself.

Even though me and Wesley have been separated for fifteen years, it’s like he can still read me. “Ask what you want. I’m an open book for you.”

“Just me?” I tease, bumping his shoulder.

Wesley doesn’t joke back—he stops in the path, pulling at my elbow. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know because I’m certain you won’t judge me. You’ll keep my secrets, unless they’ll hurt me. Doesn’t matter what happened in the past. I trust you. So yeah, just you.”

He means it. He really fucking means it. That last vestige of guilt I felt for telling my mom what was going on with him vanishes. I held on to that last little sliver of guilt because I couldn’t forgive myself because he left me. For years, I blamed myself for him being sent to live with hisfather. Mainly because I wasn’t able to protect him while he was hundreds of miles away.

It’s like he gave me permission to no longer beat myself up. A huge weight lifts off my shoulders, and I breathe in the first deep breath I’ve had in over a decade.

We start walking again, the air between us less tense. It’s like that barrier that was between us is gone.

After a few minutes, I ask, “What was it like in there?”

He takes a while to answer as we hike at a leisurely pace.

We’re about halfway to the top when he says in a low voice filled with pain, “It was hell. Most people would say it wasn’t so bad, so no one pities them, but it was fucking hell. Having to face my demons wasn’t fun. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I’m still working to wade through all the shit I need to fix about myself.

“For the first few weeks, I had the shakes so bad I could hardly pull on a shirt without slapping myself in the face. And the insomnia. I didn’t get more than two or three hours of sleep for a week. Hell, I still have that.”

“Do you think it was a waste? Going for inpatient treatment?”

“Not at all. I feel like shit some days and want to use, but I don’t have the same urge as before. I don’t need to reach for a bottle or my stash when I wake up every morning. Some days, I almost feel normal. Like I never had an addiction. But I know that’s not true.”

We’re quiet as we make our way up the trail. It hurts to hear him talk about his time there so matter-of-factly. It was a painful chapter in his life, something that will define every day from here on out. I wish I could take that away from him so he can live how he wants.

A few people pass us on the way down, smiling past thesweat on their faces. Wesley follows them with an incredulous look on his face. “I thought we got here early. Sheesh. You people are animals.”

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