Half Truths: An Opposites Attract Romance

by Rachael Brownell

  Copyright © 2020 by RACHAEL BROWNELL

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  Cover Design by Cassy Roop of Pink Ink Design.

  Editing by Maria Rosera of The Paisley Editor.

  Interior design by Classic Interior Design.

  * * *

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Worth The Fight

  Chapter 1

  About the Author

  Also by Rachael Brownell

  To all those that have struggled with addiction, that have beat the addiction, and those we have lost.

  * * *

  You will live on forever in the hearts of your family and friends. <3

  1

  Alex

  * * *

  Silky ebony hair. Glasses perched on the top of her head. Sun-bronzed skin.

  She’s a beauty.

  But I’m an asshole, so instead of focusing on her face, the deep blue of her eyes, long eyelashes, her warm smile, or the sultry sound of her voice, my eyes are trained on her long legs. And when she turns around, my gaze goes to her perfectly heart-shaped ass that’s begging to spanked.

  The woman in front of us makes me wish I had a drug addiction.

  That I was the one being checked in against my will today, not my sister.

  Not that I want to live at a rehab center when the beach is only a few miles away. Don’t get me wrong. This place is nice. Upscale. Daphne won’t feel out of place here at all. It’ll be like living back home, in our parent’s mansion with servants waiting on her hand and foot.

  Only here, she can’t come and go as she pleases. She won’t be able to text her drug dealer so she can get her next fix. Her friends won’t be able to stop by to party on a random school night.

  Nope.

  I removed her from that life.

  Against her will.

  Because I’m not about to watch her throw her life away.

  She hates me right now, but that’s low on my list of concerns. Her anger doesn’t even begin to compare to mine. To the fact my parents were oblivious to what was going on in their own house. Or how she was kicked off the soccer team. That her grades plummeted.

  None of that compares to my anger, but what really got my blood boiling was the day I walked into her room and found her unconscious. Or the week she spent in the hospital after, looking frail and hollow as she went through withdrawal.

  Daphne’s not the same little girl I left behind when I went away to college. Sure, it’s been four years. She’s grown up quite a bit since then, matured, but she was also left with little to no supervision. She’s been on her own and making her own decisions. Decisions that took her down a dark road, and it’s time for her to face the consequences of her actions.

  I feel partially responsible. If I hadn’t chosen to pursue my degree at Cambridge, stayed closer to home, closer to Chicago, maybe she wouldn’t have gone down this path. Maybe she wouldn’t have turned to drugs to deal with her stress. I could have been around more, kept an eye on her, been there for her when she needed me.

  Facts are facts, though.

  I wasn’t there.

  I didn’t want to be. I needed to escape my parents as much as Daphne did. For me, that meant running away to college. A place where no one knew who I was yet. I could be my own person without being prejudged by my last name.

  For Daphne, that meant turning to drugs to help her escape her reality. Her way of dealing with the lack of love felt in our house growing up.

  Because of her choices, here we are.

  In sunny California. At a drug treatment center where she’s going to get the help she needs before starting her final year of high school. Twelve weeks of mental and emotional therapy I’m hoping will help her see her own worth and eliminate the need to pop whatever pills she can get her hands on to get through the day.

  Because I found a variety in her room when I turned it upside down after she overdosed. A combination of uppers and downers along with a stash of alcohol. I couldn’t tell the doctors what she took or how much. Most of the bottles were empty, and if there were any pills left, there were only a few.

  My parents never came to visit in the hospital even after I told them what had happened. You’d think they would have noticed their daughter was missing after a few days, but they didn’t. They both live in their own worlds.

  My father, the real estate king of Chicago. You can’t turn a corner without seeing his face on a billboard. He built his empire from the ground up over the last thirty years, and it’s the only thing that matters to him. At least, that’s the way he comes off. Nothing matters more to him than his work—it takes precedent—and money. Money is the driving force behind everything in his life.

  My mother, with all her “charity” work, is always off to a luncheon or event. At least, that’s what she leads people to believe. You might find her at a gallery opening on occasion or a ribbon-cutting ceremony for a non-profit. More often than not, her days are spent at the country club, sipping on drinks with her girlfriends and flirting with the waiters. She goes straight to bed when she gets home, passes out, and then repeats everything the next day.

  No wonder my sister has a problem with substance abuse. Look at her role models.

  A workaholic and a drunk.

  If my father hadn’t been grooming me to take over the family business most of my life, I probably would have developed my own substance abuse issue.

  I was the golden child, though. The firstborn. The one who would ensure the family’s name would live on.

  At least I was. Until yesterday. When my parents found out I took my sister and I refused to tell them where we were. I gave them the highlights. Her overdose, the drug and alcohol abuse. Neither of them wanted to believe me and demanded I bring her back home.

  I hung up on them. I wasn’t about to let her go back there. Not now. Not ever. When this is over and she’s better, we will go back to Chicago, but she’ll live with me. I’ll watch her, care for her, make sure she feels loved. Until then, she’s staying here, and her location will remain a secret.

  “Are you ready?” I hear the sex goddess ask Daphne.

  Her voice… God. It hits me in all the right places. There’s a depth to it that makes me wonder what she sounds like when she’s coming apart. Especially what she’d sound like if she were beneath me and I were the cause of her undoing.

  “Please, Alex,” Daphne begs one last time, wrapping her arms around me. “Don’t make me do this. I promise I’ll stop.”

  We’ve had this conversation more times than I c
an count in the last two days. Daphne wasn’t going to come here willingly, so I had to trick her, pretending I was planning a vacation for the two of us. So she could recuperate after her ‘incident’ as she likes to call it.

  I finally came clean with her as the plane touched down in San Diego. She was irate, begging me to reconsider my decision the entire way to the hotel. That first night, she never stopped crying, pleading with me to take her home. She was over the withdrawal for the most part and thought she could handle it on her own.

  What she wanted was to spend her summer with her friends, not with a bunch of recovering drug addicts. The very friends who were probably supplying her with the pills. The same friends who didn’t care enough to offer to help her when she started to spiral out of control. Maybe they didn’t notice. Maybe they were spiraling with her. It doesn’t matter either way.

  She should have thought about the consequences of her actions before she started popping pills. If she had, she might still be in Chicago right now, walking Navy Pier and acting like a normal teenager.

  “Go, Daphne. Let them help you. I’ll visit every day. You’re not alone. I promise.”

  She nods, relenting to my request. My black-haired beauty wraps her arm around Daphne, leading her through a set of double doors and down the hall. Just before the doors swing closed behind them, I watch as Daph shrugs away from her.

  “Mr. Neil, Daphne’s in good hands. I promise. Ms. Anderson is one of our best. She’s able to connect with the younger patients and get them to open up.”

  Ms. Anderson.

  So she’s not married. That’s a good sign. I should have snuck a look at her hand to check for a ring, but I was too entranced by her magnificent ass.

  “I have no doubt,” I reply, extending my hand to Vivian, the facilities director. “Thank you for all your help. I appreciate you working with us on such short notice, especially with our unique situation.”

  Unique situation.

  That’s how I put it.

  Because as far as Vivian knows, our parents recently died. That’s when Daphne’s addiction started. And since they’re dead, I’m her appointed guardian until she turns eighteen years old later this fall.

  Lying was the only way I could get her in here. Trust me. I tried three other facilities first. One’s that were closer to home, more established, with better reputations. The first two denied me without explanation. The third was the one that let me in on what I was doing wrong.

  It could have been because I was openly flirting with the woman I met with that day. Her beauty has nothing on the woman who just walked away with my sister, but she was obviously interested in me, in what she saw, the person I portrayed. She also thought it was sweet that I was trying to help my sister, but without parental permission, they couldn’t enroll her in the program.

  So I killed my parents.

  Metaphorically, of course.

  Although, I doubt I’d miss them if they were actually dead. Since leaving for college, I can count the number of times we’ve all been together, as a family, in the same room on one hand. Most of that time ‘together’ was spent in silence, eating the delicious meal the cook had prepared for us during the holidays, or with their faces in their phones. Daph and I used to try to hold a conversation, but we were met with silence more often than not.

  No one even came to my graduation, not that I blame them. It was four hours of boring speeches that I was tempted to walk out in the middle of myself.

  Still, a monumental moment. One I should want to celebrate with the people who care about me most. They ruined it for me like they’ve ruined a lot of things for me. If it hadn’t been for my roommate and his family, I would have been celebrating alone that night.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I state firmly as I turn to leave.

  “She’ll be in isolation for at least a week. It’ll give her time to acclimate to her new surroundings. The only person she’ll interact with is Ms. Anderson until she’s ready to begin treatment. We’ll call you when you can come back and visit her. As long as she cooperates, it’ll only be a week, but it could be longer depending on how she handles the isolation. It’s all up to Daphne right now.”

  Nodding in understanding, I turn and walk out the front doors of the rehab facility. All I can do now is wait. The one thing I’m not good at. I don’t do well sitting idle. It's better if I have more on my plate than I can handle and not enough time in the day. I thrive under pressure and enjoy the challenge of meeting or exceeding a deadline.

  The one positive trait I got from my father is his work ethic. The only difference is I also know how to balance life and work. I understand there’s more to this life than being stuck in an office, on a conference call, or in a meeting. I work hard for the moment I can close my laptop and enjoy a drink. It’s all about rewarding yourself for hard work.

  Crossing the street, I walk the six blocks back to the hotel and contemplate my next move. If Daphne is going to be here for twelve weeks so am I, and I don’t plan on living in a small hotel room the entire time. I need to find a temporary place to live. One that’s close to Daphne’s facility and also within walking distance of things I’ll need in my daily life.

  The grocery store. The beach. A mall. Restaurants and bars.

  Something centrally located.

  It doesn’t necessarily need to be a nice place. It doesn’t even have to be a big apartment. Without a vehicle, location is the most important aspect. It’s pointless to try and find a job for the short term, so I’ll need to find ways to entertain myself. If I sit in a room alone for twelve weeks, I’ll go insane.

  Which makes me worry about Daphne. Being the social butterfly she normally is, isolation is going to be even harder for her than it would be for me. I’ll bring her some books and magazines next time I visit. Maybe a deck of cards so she can play solitaire.

  Stopping at the restaurant in the lobby of the hotel, I order dinner and a drink to be delivered to my room. I’m going to be spending the rest of my evening searching for a new home, virtually exploring the community.

  As much as I planned for this, to get Daphne the treatment she needs, it’s starting to feel like I didn’t plan very well. For starters, we should have driven out here. Taken a cross-country road trip. If we’d had the time, it could have been an option.

  I should have found a place to live before we left. It wasn’t a secret she was going to be here a while. The first three places I checked out were all fifteen-week programs. That’s a long time to stay in a one-room hotel room.

  I’m better than this. I should have done a million different things, but I didn’t because my sole focus was on making sure my sister was taken care of.

  And she is. She’s safe, surrounded by people who are qualified to help her.

  Which means it’s now time to take care of myself. Three months is a long time to live in limbo, in a hotel room or otherwise, but I won’t leave her again. I’m all she has.

  2

  Harley

  * * *

  I’ve seen a lot of gorgeous men in my lifetime but none as gorgeous as Alexander Neil.

  Not that I was checking him out. That would have been wrong. I mean, I’m his sister’s abuse counselor. There’s a professional line in the sand. One I refuse to cross, no matter how delicious the man looks in khaki pants and a dark-blue polo shirt. Or the fact he could likely bench press me without breaking a sweat. The thought alone was causing me to perspire. I was grateful when Vivian finally gave me the go-ahead to show Daphne to her room.

  Helping her settle in, I try to erase all thoughts of her brother. Of the way his sandy-blond hair kept falling in his eyes. The look on his face that told me he was annoyed by it, like maybe he wasn’t used to it being as long as it was. How absentmindedly he kept adjusting the collar of his shirt. Or the way it felt when he was not-so-slyly checking me out.

  “What do I have to do to get my phone back?” Daphne asks as she tosses her empty bag at the foot of her bed after
dumping all the contents on the stark white comforter.

  It’s the same question every patient asks on their first day. I get it. Their phones are a lifeline to the place they really want to be. To the people in their lives. It’s also the one thing that will hold them back from making progress.

  She’ll get her phone back the day she walks out of here and not a moment sooner. Not that I’ll tell her that. I made that mistake once, my answer angering the patient who then tried to attack me. She was still so strung out she barely made contact with my face, but it was enough to leave a bruise on my left cheek and reminded me why we don’t always disclose information to patients.

  “Soon,” I lie, watching her reaction closely. She’s showing very few signs of withdrawal, which is a fantastic start. Not that I’m surprised. She was forced to detox in the hospital after she overdosed on a combination of pills that should have killed her.

  Daphne can’t weigh more than one hundred ten pounds right now, but she rivals my five-foot-seven stature. She needs to gain at least twenty pounds to reach a healthy weight. Before we even begin to work on her physical health, we need to focus on her mental health.

  She needs to admit she has an addiction.

  An addiction that took control of her life. That she’s powerless against it.

  Once she does that, she will be able to take her life back, step by step, over the next few months. She’ll become stronger, both physically and mentally.