So, mostly—I guess—I made sure he didn’t burn the house down.
Lexi texted me regularly.
I hadn’t video chatted with her in a while—even though she’d been trying.
I didn’t want her to see me like this.
Sweaty, cramped, and in so much fucking pain—it almost blinded me at times.
I stared at my backpack.
Knowing the cure for what ailed me was right inside.
One zip.
One pop.
One swallow.
And I’d be cured.
I’d also be divorced.
And without a career.
Fuck.
How had I let this get so out of control?
It seemed like one day I was coming home from the hospital, fresh from a coma in the ICU.
And the next—needing more and more pills just to get me through the day.
My guts squeezed again, and I knew I’d be rushing off to the bathroom soon.
My phone rang.
Lexi wanted to video chat.
I declined the call.
A new text came through from Lexi.
“Would you answer the freaking phone? Decline me one more time and I’m getting on a plane…”
Shit.
She called again.
I touched the screen. “Hey,” I said, my voice sounding gruff and raw.
“What’s—” she stopped cold. “Are you okay? You look like crap.” Her face moved closer to the screen.
I knew exactly what I looked like—and she was being kind.
“Got some food poisoning. Ordered at the wrong place, I guess,” I lied and cleared my throat.
“Holy shitballs. Do you need a doctor?”