Pulled Within Read online

  I was relieved that he wanted to get help. He never had before, which meant he’d inevitably gone back to using after every one of his breaks. Internal silence would be impossible for him, every addict I knew had told me that, but rehab would help him identify his demon and teach him how to quiet it. And then, once the facility thought he was ready—or once his money ran out, whichever came first—they’d spit him back onto the street. I’d be there when it happened. I’d make sure he didn’t fall again. Or I’d try to, at least.

  But I had no idea what I’d do in the meantime.

  I’d sent Brady’s dad a text when we’d gotten back to the apartment. He probably wasn’t awake to hear it. I was happy the ringing had woken him. “Shane,” I said, holding the phone up to my ear. “Brady’s here.”

  “What? When did he get back?” The sleep in his voice began to vanish. “How is he?”

  Either in person, on the phone, through text, or during our weekly lunches, Shane and I had talked about Brady almost every day since he’d disappeared. It was comforting to have someone else want Brady to return as badly as I did. But having Shane to talk to did more than just comfort me where his son was concerned. It was a reminder that not all dads were assholes.

  Not like mine was.

  Not long after Brady had taken off, Shane had called his connection at the rehab center. He wanted to be prepared for when Brady came home…if he came home at all. He’d been told there was a waiting list. But Shane had done most of the carpentry work at that facility, so they knew him well. If anyone could get Brady moved to the top of their list, it was him. “He wants to go to rehab,” I said. “Can you help him get in?”

  “You’re at the apartment?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll call you right back.”

  Setting the phone down next to me, I ran my hands along the ends of his hair, careful to keep my fingers off his sweating face and the beard he had yet to shave. I didn’t touch him enough to hurt him, just enough to let him know I was still there.

  He could barely open his swollen lids. Through the slit between them, the light blue of his irises looked foggy. He was an overcast morning. “How did I get here?” he asked.

  “I practically carried you from the shower.”

  A drop fell from the corner of his eye when he shook his head…just one. It slid slowly to his mouth. Most of the blood was gone from his lips, but there was still evidence in red. “No…how did I get here?”

  He meant his addiction.

  It was something he’d struggled with for a long time. Sometimes, he used several times a day; sometimes, only once. And sometimes, he went weeks or months without touching anything. But he’d told me the urge was always there.

  My stare drifted to the corner of his room, where my clothes were folded in piles on the floor. My shampoo was in his shower. My rotten loaf of bread was in his kitchen. I didn’t know how I’d gotten here, either.

  Thirty-one days.

  “I’m no better…no different,” I whispered. “You know that.”

  “It took me further this time.” He rubbed his knuckles over his chest. When he’d gotten out of the shower, I’d noticed all the bruising. Someone had beaten him, and it didn’t look like they had used their fists to do it. “It got so fucking dark out there.”

  He hadn’t told me what had happened on the streets. But I knew dark. Most of my life had been continuous cloud cover.

  “Your dad’s getting you help. You’re going to be okay.”

  He mumbled something I couldn’t understand. I didn’t need to; I saw the uncertainty on his face. A few of his boys had gone to the same rehab. After getting out, they hadn’t stayed clean for more than a few days. I had no doubt this knowledge was among the many things eating at him.

  “Don’t think beyond right now,” I continued. “We’re going to get through this moment, just like we’re going to get through the next.”

  I needed to take my own advice.

  My phone began to ring. Shane’s name appeared on the screen.

  “They can get him a bed in two days.”

  “Two days?” I echoed, but with greater disappointment.

  “No…I can’t wait two fucking days,” Brady groaned.

  I agreed. There was a good chance he’d change his mind by then. We needed to get him in sooner.

  “But he’s in rough shape, Shane, and he’s so sick.”

  “They’re going to write him a prescription that will help with the withdrawal. I’m on my way to the pharmacy to pick it up, then I’ll swing by the apartment.” He hesitated. “Do you think it would be best if Brady stayed…with me…in the meantime?”

  A tiny bit of Brady’s swollen lids popped open. I wasn’t on speakerphone, but Shane spoke loud enough for him to hear. “I’ve gotta go to his place.” He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. His skin was drenched. “The meds aren’t going to do shit. I’m only going to get sicker.”

  I pressed the phone against my shoulder so Shane couldn’t hear what we were saying. “I’ll go with you. I’ll—”

  “No.” He sat up and moved to the other end of the bed. When his back pressed against the wall, he winced. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

  “Brady, I want to take care of—”

  “You’ve done enough. I’m not dragging you down anymore. Tell him to come get me. Now.”

  All I wanted to do was care for him. It hurt that he wouldn’t let me, but I had to do what he’d asked. I pulled the phone off my shoulder and held it to my cheek. It pressed against my scar. “Come get him, I guess.” I didn’t try to hide the emotion in my voice, and I didn’t say anything more. I ended the call and stared at my hands. It was too difficult to look at him…I had to think very carefully about what to say. He felt horrible, and I didn’t want to make him feel worse.

  “Dad can afford to take a few days off,” Brady said. “You probably don’t have any time off yet, and I’d never let you use it if you did.”

  He was assuming that I’d sorted out my life in the month he’d been gone. That I’d gotten a new job after losing mine at Saint’s restaurant. That I was paying for the apartment and the utilities. That there were more than a few bills in my wallet.

  None of that was true.

  His arm shot out from his side, and he grasped handfuls of air. “Bucket…bucket!”

  I’d left it in the bathroom. I sprinted out of the bedroom to grab it. As I rounded the corner of the kitchen, I heard him retching. I backed up, peeked around the doorway, and saw him on his knees, throwing up on the bed. Yellow bile. It formed a puddle on the white sheets. Sheets that I had to change—again. He didn’t have an extra set, or a washer and dryer. But it didn’t matter…I’d figure it out and get it taken care of. Because he needed me to.

  Brady.

  My family.

  ***

  “He looks a lot worse than I’d imagined,” Shane said, shutting the passenger door.

  We moved a few feet away to keep Brady from hearing us. He didn’t seem to care that we were chatting, or that his dad didn’t immediately get in the truck. He leaned his head against the seat and covered his forehead with the back of his arm.

  “Wait until you see his chest,” I told him. “It looks even worse than his face.”

  Shane’s hand rested on my shoulder. His hands were compassionate and calm…loving. Just like Brady’s. “What happened while he was out there?”

  I shrugged. “He didn’t tell me.”

  “I hope it’s nothing like I’m thinking.”

  I glanced over at the window. Brady hadn’t moved. “He has to stay in rehab. He can’t check himself out. We can deal with whatever happened on the streets after he finishes the whole program.”

  “You’re a good friend to him, Rae.” A furrow formed between his blue eyes—eyes that were so kind and understanding. “I know how worried you’ve been. I hope this means you’ll start taking better care of yourself.”

  If
anyone else had said that to me, I would have probably flipped out. Not that they would have deserved that reaction; they would have been entirely right. It looked like Brady and I had been struggling with the same demon.

  I’d lost weight recently…too much of it.

  It was impossible to hide the amount since it had shed from my face and arms and thighs. My eyes were sunken. Mirrors only revealed how dark my scar had gotten without any fat to plump up the skin and make it thicker. And there was nothing I could do about it for thirty-one more days.

  I didn’t bother with the fake smile. Shane knew me too well for that. “It’s almost December. So…you know.”

  “I know, kiddo, but you’ve got to start eating.”

  I nodded. He’d said the same thing to me every November since I was sixteen. He knew his words weren’t going to change how little I’d be eating—or how little I would be keeping down. He also knew I would gain the weight back after December seventeenth. “Give him a hug for me when you drop him off.” I took one step back, then another. I waved good-bye and moved to the entrance of the building. I rested my side against the doorway, watching as Shane climbed inside the truck and started the engine. The truck stopped as Brady’s window aligned with me, and the glass slowly rolled down.

  “Rae!” Brady yelled. “Come here.”

  I walked back over and leaned in through the open window, glancing between the two men inside. Air conditioning pumped through the vents. The droplets on his forehead told me he was having another hot flash. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked. His fingers lifted and curled around mine. He’d picked off a scab on his knuckle; blood that had dripped a few inches along his skin was already dry.

  He was in the middle of his own personal storm, and he was wondering how I was doing. But this wasn’t about me. It was all about him. “I’m fine.” My voice would have convinced anyone but Shane and Brady. I couldn’t be any stronger than that—not even for them. “Just go to rehab and get sober…for us. Everything will be better after that. I promise.” He knew that was a lie, too. Brady couldn’t make everything better. He’d tried…for years. And here he was again, in the same place he’d always come back to. I hoped this time it would end differently.

  “You sure? Cause if—”

  “I’m sure.” My hand clamped down on his, and I squeezed. It was the closest thing to a hug I could give him without causing more pain. I couldn’t hurt him any more than I already had today, and I couldn’t risk him coming too close to my hair…not even unintentionally.

  I pushed off the door, rushing toward the building. This time, I didn’t stop in the doorway, and I didn’t look back. I walked straight up the stairs and headed for the bathroom. The piece of bread I had eaten earlier—the one I’d picked the mold off of—wasn’t sitting well in my stomach.

  I wasn’t surprised at all.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I UNDERSTAND. Thanks for letting me know.”

  I dropped my phone onto the bed and stared at it as if it had just slapped me—and really, it felt as if the words on the other end actually had. I’d been waiting over a week to hear back from the managers of those two pubs. Each of them told me the positions I’d interviewed for had already been filled.

  There was nothing left in town for me to apply for.

  Bar Harbor was too seasonal. Most of the restaurants and many of the shops shut down during the winter months and reopened again in the spring. I’d applied to the pubs that stayed open all year…and a boutique, and some warehouses. Even several office jobs. I tried for every position I found in the paper and online: twenty-seven in total. With no experience at anything other than serving, I didn’t expect to get those jobs. I just hoped something would come through regardless. I figured after being at Saint’s lobster pound, the Trap House, for four years, one of the pubs would appreciate my experience and hire me.

  I’d figured wrong.

  Fucking Drew. She made me lose my job, in addition to making me lose my boyfriend.

  She put me in this situation.

  I couldn’t think about her. I had to find a new job, no matter what had gotten me here. My Uncle Irving ran a small convenience store in town. There was a chance he would help me out if he had extra shifts available. I hated to ask him, but not because the only time I went in there was when I needed something.

  It was more because of his hands.

  They looked so much like his.

  That was why I only saw my uncle when it was necessary. Using that as a reason to keep my distance wasn’t exactly fair to him. Even though Uncle Irving had nothing to do with it, what had happened to me wasn’t fair, either. After all this time, I still wasn’t able to separate the two. But I had no choice.

  With one day until my eviction and no other way to make money, I walked to his store. It was only a few blocks from Brady’s apartment. He was waiting on a customer when I got inside, so I hung around the chip display. He’d owned this place since I was a kid; my brother and I used to come here for candy. Uncle Irving would give us small paper bags and let us fill them to the top with whatever we wanted. We always chose the gummy stuff: worms, bears, fish. Those were our favorites. Then we’d help him stock the shelves to pay off everything we’d eaten. We didn’t mind. Darren and I got to do it together, and that was all that mattered to us.

  Uncle Irving smiled when he saw me. “Rae, my girl! What brings you in?”

  I dragged my eyes away from the candy aisle and the hunks of penny gum that I remembered Darren chewing so he could blow bubbles in my face. I slowly glanced at my uncle, my eyes moving to his hands even though I didn’t want them to. They were harsh, weathered from hard work. His face was entirely different. There was a softness to it. A weakness, too.

  He knew there was a reason for me coming here. My past had obviously set a precedent, and I was thankful for that.

  “I wanted to see if you had any extra shifts I could take.”

  He moved out from behind the counter with two plastic bags in his hands and began walking down the aisles, dropping things in them as he went. “Extra shifts?”

  “Yeah…I could use some hours, if you have them.”

  He stopped when he reached me and handed the bags over. They were full—and heavy. “These are for you…take ‘em. Don’t know what you’ve been eating, but it ain’t enough. You’re all skin and bones. Has your mama seen how thin you are?”

  I shook my head, holding the bags back out to him. “No…I can’t take these.” It would all grow mold, just like the bread had.

  “Please, take ‘em or I’ll be offended,” he said. He wiped the corners of his mouth and crossed his arms over his chest. All IAllAll I could focus on were the backs of his palms while he gripped his biceps. His hands were really starting to wrinkle. To age…

  My stomach began to twist.

  “Saint not giving you enough shifts? Thought things were real busy for that boy.”

  He didn’t know. It had been months since I’d last been here, and I was selective with what I told my mom.

  “I don’t work for Saint anymore.”

  He stood a little taller, his eyes narrowing as his hand reached up and scraped along the edge of his jaw, clenching and unclenching. His fingers knotted into fists. I read his body language as a sign of protection. “If that boy crossed any lines, I’ll—”

  “No, no, it was nothing like that.” I almost laughed at his response. Hands that looked so much like my uncle’s hadn’t shown the same concern when it came to the safety of others. “It just isn’t easy working for your ex, you know? Especially when he’s dating someone new.”

  That wasn’t totally a lie. It wasn’t the whole truth, either. But he didn’t need the truth because whatever I told him, he’d then go tell my mom. The less she knew, the better.

  He nodded. “I know how that can be. I’m sorry, my girl, but I’ve got nothing to give you but a few bags of food. Only servicing the townies until summer, so I’ve cut down on my help. Your mama as
ked for some shifts, too. Had nothing to give her, either.”

  I should have known she would have asked him for hours. It was November after all, and December seventeenth was quickly approaching. My body dealt with the upcoming date by rejecting anything I put in my stomach. Mom just worked herself to death.

  My fingers tightened around the plastic handles of the bags. “It’s okay. I’ve got some things going on up in Bangor. I just wanted to check with you first to see if I could save myself the commute.”

  “Whereabouts in Bangor?”

  I avoided answering, leaning forward instead and blocking his hands with the bags so he couldn’t use them to hug me. “I’ll stop by again real soon so we can catch up.” Then I planted the quickest kiss possible on his cheek. His scruff was so sharp, it practically bit me.

  “Good to see you, Rae,” he said as I walked out the door. “You be careful.” I raised one of the bags to wave without bothering to turn around.

  Once inside Brady’s apartment, I dropped everything on the kitchen table. My stomach was growling, but I knew it wasn’t from hunger. Still, I needed to put something in me. It had been hours—no, it had been a full day since I’d last eaten.

  Rather than fiddling with the wire tie, I ripped a hole in the plastic bag that held the loaf of bread and shoved a corner into my mouth. I washed it down by sticking my face under the faucet. I rolled the rest of the slice into balls and slowly popped them in one at a time. They were just a little smaller than the penny gum from Uncle Irving’s store. They didn’t taste nearly as good, and they definitely didn’t make me smile.

  And they hadn’t come from Darren’s sweet, innocent hand.

  Still, I was grateful for my uncle’s gesture.

  I plowed through several more pieces, and was full by the time I’d devoured the last bite—full and exhausted. There wasn’t time for a nap…I might have lied to my uncle about having an opportunity in Bangor, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one waiting for me. I had enough gas to get me there and back, and maybe even enough to stop at several places along the way if the first one didn’t hire me. Someone would give me a chance. They had to.