She shrugs and spears her salad as my father takes over to talk so she can eat. “We always knew you weren’t going to pick just one, Gracie.”
Chapter44
Devon
Istare at the black purse that sits on the table, hesitating. I know better than to just go through shit, especially when it doesn’t belong to me. But Gracie’s attitude lately has been… well, off. I don’t know how to explain it. She claims she’s just trying to figure things out, but it doesn’t sit well with me. I don’t want to believe otherwise, but with Gracie’s past, it’s still rubbing me raw. She claimed that the drugs found in her room weren’t hers, and I chose to believe her, but I just can’t wrap my head around why it was in her room then. Especially in the bedside drawer. I chose to believe her at the moment, but with more time to think about it, nothing about it makes any sense whatsoever.
I want to believe her badly, but it’s not like she hasn’t done this before.
I snatch up the purse and drop it like it's suddenly grown as hot as coals. I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this. I grab the purse again and open it, knowing that if I don’t at least peek, I won’t be able to settle down. Besides, if there’s nothing to be alarmed about, Gracie can yell at me later about going through her purse. I’ll be honest with her, won’t I? I don’t fucking know. Maybe she won’t have to know if there’s nothing inside the purse.
I move around a few items. Tampons, gum, some pens, and – I stop, staring at the bottom of the purse. Two little baggies of white powder lay at the bottom. Gracie’s arms fill my mind. Track mark scars line them. This means she shoots up, not snorts. I know well enough that the little baggies at the bottom of the purse are to snort. I’m not stupid. I know druggies can switch if needed, if they want to anyway. If they absolutely need to. Maybe Gracie needs to. A drug addict relapsing will do anything for a fix, even if it isn’t their preference.
I throw the purse down on the table and pull out my phone, dialing up Gracie's sister. If she’s relapsing and in denial, she wants help. She needs help.
“Tris?” I greet her when she picks up. “I think we have a serious ass problem.”
* * *
I stareat the little baggies, my fingers covering my eyes with my elbows propped on the table. I can feel my foot jiggling beneath the table, my view distorted. All I can see are the little baggies, and my mouth goes dry. I don’t know what to say. Gracie has a way of making my thoughts so fucking jumbled up.
“So, what do we do?” Mom asks, sounding defeated. “I can’t go through this again with her.”
“Mom,” Tris chastises, and I look up at her, “this isn’t like before.”
“How the hell is it not like before? She’s fucking hiding drugs—”
“I don’t believe that,” Tris defends and crosses her arms.
I stare at Tris, feeling the same amount of exhaustion as mom does. I don’t know if I can do this with Gracie again either, but I have to save her. I have to do what I can to try and save her. If it doesn’t work, I will forever walk away because I don’t want to spend the rest of my life chasing someone with a death wish.
“The evidence is right here, Tris,” Mom says bitterly and waves at the baggies on the table. “What else do you need to see she’s back at it?”
“Just because they were in her purse doesn’t mean shit. For one, Devon shouldn’t have even been looking in her purse.” Her words spark my interest, and I draw my head up as Tris grabs the little baggies, waving them in front of her parents' faces.
Mom frowns, staring at the little baggy in her face. “Then why does she have it? Holding it for a friend?”
Tris shrugs and tosses the baggy onto the table. “I don’t know, I really don’t, but I don’t believe Gracie is relapsing on this shit. It’s worse than heroin. We’d know if she was doing it, trust me.”
The front door opens and turns the four of us to greet Gracie’s older brother, his wife, and Marcy and Landon.
I catch Marcy’s eye, who shakes her head and averts her gaze, catching sight of the little baggies. The corners of her lips curve downwards, and she looks back at me with heartbreak in her eyes. I know how much Marcy loves Gracie. They’ve been friends since kindergarten, and the two are more sisters than friends. This has seriously got to suck for her.
Marcy reaches out and grabs Landon’s arm, tugging him to a stop. “Maybe it’s a bad idea for us to be here—”
“No,” Tris cuts in. “Marcy, you know Gracie. Do you honestly believe she’d just relapse?”
Marcy shrugs with a shake of her head. “I don’t know, honestly. I feel like I haven’t known Gracie in a long time. I’m sorry.”
“I still don’t believe she’d just change her drugs—”
“Then what?” I snap, snapping my focus back to Tris. “Why were these baggies in her damn purse?”
Tris glowers at me, lips pursed. “You’re the fucking therapist here. You, of all people, should know she wouldn’t just change drugs like this.”
“He’s too close to this,” dad cuts in. “At work, we’re pulled off a case if we’re too close because it clouds our minds, our judgments. It doesn’t matter that he’s a therapist. He’s too close and too in love with Gracie. He’s grappling with the truth right now.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m right here. You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here.”