Page 31 of Beat of Love
He hadn’t belonged, either.
Or had he?
He’d spent years avoiding the stuff. Never used. Not once.
Not until Brazil.
Not until he’d been bound to a chair and injected like clockwork.
Every dose had felt like a theft. Of control. Of dignity.
And now here he was — sitting in a damn diner with the smell of burnt coffee and Step One echoing in his ears:“We admitted we were powerless over our addiction.”
Powerless.
How he hated that word.
He’d built a life on being sharp, careful, always two steps ahead.
But in that dank basement cell?
He hadn’t just lost power — he’d lost himself.
One of the guys at the meeting had said something that stuck.“Doesn’t matter how you started. Only matters what you do now.”
He sat forward and traced a finger around the rim of the mug. He couldn’t go back and change the past. And he certainly did not want to stay like this either — adrift, bitter. Afraid of sleep.
Aunt Marlene returned, sliding the promised slice of buttermilk pie in front of him. “Still warm,” she said with a pointed look, then turned and bustled back to the counter without waiting for thanks.
Rafferty stared at the pie for a beat. The waft of vanilla turned his stomach. He picked up his mug and took a sip of coffee. It scalded just a little. He welcomed the burn.
The bell above the diner door jangled.
Laughter — shrill and unchecked, jarring his nerves — burst through the entrance.
Four teenage girls spilled inside, sports uniforms clinging with sweat, ponytails bouncing. Their sneakers squeaked across the linoleum as they darted toward the ice cream stand.
He recognized one. The blonde-haired one. Brandy-Lyn’s eldest. Amelia, if he remembered correctly.
He tensed, setting his mug down.
And watched the entrance.
Then she walked in.
Windblown, her half-undone braid hitched across her denim-covered shoulder, she stopped and looked around.
Her gaze swept past him — but then she jerked her head and looked right at him. That slight, almost imperceptible narrowing of her eyes made something shift in his gut.
She’d seen him. Registered him.
Rafferty swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He’d tried so damn hard not to think of her since their last encounter. But it had been futile. His pulse hammered, wild and fast, like he’d just pounded out a five-mile run.
She didn’t smile. Just tilted her head, as if thinking about her next move.
Then she walked over. “Mind if I sit a moment?” she asked, voice low and frayed at the edges.
He should’ve said no. For so many reasons.
