“Sooner than later. We have to get answers from Gracie.”
I cross my arms over my chest and look at the contents strewn on the table. I reach out and pick up a couple of ridged coins, flipping them over and over in my fingers. There’s a full year of sobriety coin missing. Gracie’s so close, just weeks away now. I want to believe so badly that she wouldn’t just throw it all away. I trace the number six on the coin I’m holding, showing half a year under her belt.
“I can’t believe this,” mom groans, rubbing her face. “We just went to dinner with her. She was thinking of going back into pottery.”
My eyes shoot up to her. “Pottery?” I question, genuinely surprised.
Pottery was Gracie’s favorite thing in the whole world. It’d slipped away when her attention was only on drugs and drinking. Nothing else existed for her outside of them. Her wanting to get back into pottery says something. My eyes fall back to the coin, and I set it back on the table.
Chapter45
Gracie
Ifollow Colton into my parents’ house, looking over my shoulder again at the numerous cars parked out front. I recognize my brother's car, my sister’s car, and both Devon and Owen’s cars. My parents' cars both sit in their regular places in the driveway, blocked by the rest. Colton’s motorcycle sits next to the curb, away from the cars, for an easy getaway.
“Come on,” Colton beckons, holding the door wide open and steps to the side as I dip inside.
I step over the threshold and come to a stop. Everybody is sitting in the living room. Owen and Devon are both on the couch, with one cushion open, which I assume is for Colton. My parents sit on the side of the couch, each in a chair, and Marcy and Landon are across from them. Tris and my brother stand next to our parents. Right smack in the middle of them all, facing us, is one single wooden chair. It's empty, and it isn’t hard to guess it belongs to me.
The door closes behind me, and Colton steps around, going to take his seat next to the guys, making my assumption all too correct.
“Gracie, come sit,” my mom motions at the chair in front of them all.
I shake my head, eyeing the chair. I don’t move. “What is this?”
My father clears his throat and rubs his face as he stands, rounding his chair. When he turns to face me again, he’s holding two little baggies that I recognize as meth. I’d been offered it before but never once tried it. My eyes flicker to the table and take in the sight of my purse slumped on it, everything that had been within dumped on the table.
“You went through my purse? Again?” I accuse, hurt that they’d stoop so low.
“I did,” Devon states, and it feels like a punch to the gut when I look at him. “I had to make sure you weren’t… I found the drugs…” He can’t continue, the words lost as he tries to speak to them.
I look at my father again and the little baggies, shaking my head. “Those aren’t mine, I swear.”
“It wasn’t yours last time either, Gracie,” my mother chimes in and stands. “But we keep finding drugs in your possession.”
My father tosses them back on the table and rubs his face. “Gracie, just admit this. So, we can get your help—”
“I’m not admitting to shit!” I say loudly.
My father looks at my mother and then back at me, the corners of his eyes tugged downward in sadness. He looks down, but I see him catch Owen’s eye. Owen turns to look at me, his jaw set.
“At this point, Gracie, it's rehab or jail,” Owen tells me, the words grating.
I balk. “What? You can’t do that to me.”
“We can,” my father says softly. “Because these are illegal drugs. I talked to my boss. These are your only two choices—”
“But it isn’t mine,” I say loudly, my voice wobbling. “How is that even fair? I’m being punished for something that isn’t mine. I’m ten months sober—”
“But you’re in possession. Which means you were thinking about using—”
“It isn’t mine!” I scream and wheel around on the hell of my shoes to face Tris. “You believe me, don’t you?”
“Of course, I do, but I couldn’t stop dad from contacting his boss. The drugs are in his house, Gracie, and they were found on your stuff.”
I shake my head vigorously. “I didn’t buy them; I didn’t put them anywhere. They aren’t mine, I swear. I don’t know why this keeps happening, but they fucking aren’t mine.”
“Gracie, why don’t you just sit—” Devon starts.