Travis
The Foster Boys Book One
Rebecca Elise
Travis
Foster Boys Book One
Rebecca Elise
Published by Rebecca Elise
Copyright © 2015 Rebecca Elise
Cover by Double J Book Graphics
This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places and characters are purely figments of the author’s imagination.
The author holds all rights to this work. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All rights reserved.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
This book is dedicated to Dave and Felicia Neff,
Who are the two most amazing friends a girl could have,
And whose contributions to this book were invaluable.
You two are awesome!
Prologue
Travis
I can’t believe this!
An intervention?
My parents and my brothers have staged a fucking intervention.
I am so angry right now that I can’t even hear what they are saying. Deep down, I know I have a problem, a fact that is pretty evident right now seeing as they are staging this nonsense and the only thing I want to do is get the hell out of here so that I can get my next fix. I need something to dull the pain of how pathetic my life is and how much of a disappointment I am to everyone in this room. Why can’t they just let me live my life the way I fucking want to live it?
“Travis, look around the room,” the counselor, or whatever he is, tells me. “I want you to look at every single face that is here for you.”
I can’t stand this bozo. He’s short and pudgy with graying hair and a stupid bow tie. Who wears bow ties anymore? I do as he asks, though. Maybe if I play their game for a little bit, everyone will leave me the fuck alone. It won’t be an easy thing to do, though. I’m still a little drunk from last night and not really in the mood to play nice with figures of authority.
With a dramatic roll of my eyes, I begin looking around the room. Mom looks exhausted, so does dad. My oldest brothers, Aidan and Nathanial, look worried. My brother, Remy, who is barely a year younger than I am, looks pissed, like it is a great inconvenience for him to be here. The one that affects me the most though, is Liam, who is the youngest of us boys. He is barely able to look at me as tears stream down his face while he quietly cries.
“Liam, are you able to read your letter?” the counselor asks.
Liam nods. He takes a deep breath and wipes his eyes with the back of his hands. He pulls a wad of paper out of his pocket, uncrumples it, and licks his lips.
“Dear Travis,” he begins, his voice wavering with emotion. “Even though you are four years older than I am, you have always been my best friend. We did so much together before you started using drugs. I miss you. I miss my best friend, my protector, my brother. I hate what the drugs have done to you, to us all. I’m slowly watching you kill yourself, and I hate that there isn’t anything I can do to help you. I’m here today to ask you to seek the help that I know you need. Please don’t let your addiction win. I know you can fight through the darkness and find enough reasons to get clean. I want my brother back. I love you. Liam.”
Unable to look at him any longer, I glance at the counselor. He nods to my dad. Dad turns towards me and clears his throat. This ought to be good.
“Travis, your mother and I love you very much,” dad starts. I know what is coming. To be honest, I’m surprised it has taken this long. “We can’t sit back and watch you destroy yourself any longer. If you refuse to check yourself into rehab, you can no longer live under our roof.”
And there it is. The ultimatum. Angry, I stand up and storm out of the room. I need something to get me through this bullshit or I am going to completely flip the fuck out. I am halfway down the hallway when someone grabs a hold of the back of my shirt, spins me around and slams me up against the wall.
“What the fuck, Remy?” My hand flies up to the back of my head, rubbing the spot that just became up close and personal with the faded striped wallpaper.
Remy grabs a hold of the collar of my black t-shirt. “Listen to me, everyone else may have written you a sob story but I am not going to sugarcoat shit for you.”
“I wouldn’t expect any less from you, Rem,” I say dryly.
“You wanna hear my letter?” he sneers. “Well here it is. I’m fucking tired of seeing mom cry every fucking night because she is so worried about you. I’m tired of dad being too afraid to answer the door or the phone because he is terrified that it is going to be someone telling him you are dead, and I am sick and tired of driving around with Aidan and Nate trying to find your pathetic ass when you go out on a bender. You either get the fucking help you need or you get the hell out of our lives so that we don’t have to watch you kill yourself any longer.”
“Are you done?” I spit out. I raise my hands up and attempt to push myself out of his grasp, but he tightens his hold on me.
He pulls me forward, slamming my back against the wall again. My knee flies up, hitting him in the balls hard enough that he lets go of me. As he bends over in pain, I take the opportunity to run down the hall towards the front door. Just as I am about to reach it, Remy tackles me from behind, knocking me to the ground. We struggle, rolling around on the floor with our fists flying and our legs kicking.
“What is your Goddamn problem?” I shout.
Remy pushes me onto my back and sits on top of me as his fist smacks into the corner of my mouth. He pulls his fist back, and I think he is going to hit me again, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans forward, jabbing one of his fingers in my face.
“You!” he yells. “You are my problem. I hate what your addiction is doing to all of us, but I really hate what it is doing to you. This has to end. We can’t keep doing this shit with you.”
Climbing off of me, he sits on the floor with his back against the wall. Turning over onto my knees, I push myself up and slump down next to him. We sit there, side by side, panting as we try to catch our breath.
“You know the court is going to order you to rehab, Trav, It’ll look better if you admit you have a problem and you go willingly.”
He’s right. If I voluntarily go, I will probably have to spend less time than I would if the court orders me to rehab. To be honest, I am tired of living like this. I’ve spent too many nights being one hit away from a fatal overdose. I don’t have the willpower to stop on my own though. I’ve tried before but it doesn’t last long before I fall back into the same routine of girls, drugs and booze.
“Fine,” I whisper.
“What?” Remy asks, clearly stunned that I agreed to go.
“I said fine,” I repeat through gritted teeth.
“You’re agreeing to go to rehab?”
I clear my throat. “Yes.”
Remy jumps up to his feet and grabs a hold of my hand. In one swift move, he pulls me up to my feet and in for a tight hug. “Thank you, Trav.”
“Shit, I need a hit,” I sigh, stepping back from him. I scrub my face with my hands before running them through my brown hair.
“You know I’m not going to let you take one, I don’t care if I have to knock you out,” Remy says. He means it too. The fight we just had wasn’t the first time Remy and I had gotten into it with each other. The first time was when I attacked him because I was out-of-my-mind
fucked up and I thought he was trying to steal from me. Although, he sort of was. He had come across this rectangular Tupperware kit that held a couple syringes, a dingy rubber tube and a wax baggie that contained my white powdered drug of choice. He was about to dispose of it when I stumbled into my room and caught him. I went from a two to a ten in about thirty seconds and jumped on top of him. He gave me a black eye and a busted lip.
Remy places his hand on my back, leading me back towards the room that I just stormed out of. I know he is only leading me there because he thinks I am going to break away from him and find a place to get high. If I am being completely honest, I would love nothing more than to get away from all of this for a few minutes. I just need one hit and I will be okay.
Back inside the room, Dad has his arms wrapped around Mom, who is sobbing into his shoulder. Nathanial is kneeling down in front of Liam, quietly comforting him and Aidan is talking to the counselor. Everyone looks up at us as we walk in. The room goes completely silent.
I can’t look at any of them. I stop right inside the doorway and glance over at the counselor. “When do we leave?”
“As soon as we are done here.”
Mom jumps up from her seat, runs across the room and hurls herself into my arms. I have to take a step back to steady myself. She begins weeping loudly. I feel bad because I am the one that caused this.
“I love you, Travis,” she cries.
“I love you too, Mom.”
My father and my brothers each take turns hugging me, wishing me luck and promising to visit as soon as I am able to have visitors. I don’t have the energy to tell them that I don’t want them to come and visit me. It isn’t because I don’t want their support or because I am angry. They’ve already seen me at my worse. I don’t want them seeing me in rehab.
“Thank you, Trav,” Liam whispers as he hugs me tightly. I swallow hard and nod, unable to say anything. Pulling away from Liam, I turn towards the counselor.
“I’m ready,” I say.
Chapter One
Travis
Four years, three months, two weeks, four days, six hours and fifteen minutes.
That’s how long it has been since the last time I stuck a needle into the crook of my arm, injecting what I considered then to be my most valuable possession. The fact that I can pinpoint it down to the exact moment like that is probably proof that I am still struggling. I’m sober. I have been since I left rehab, but I would be a liar if I said that I didn’t think about using all the fucking time. It’s always in the back of my mind, to the point where I can hear myself beg for one more hit. One more drink.
That’s when I usually lock myself in my studio and paint until my fingers are stiff and I can barely keep my eyes open. Everything that ends up on my canvas is the product of pure, unadulterated, raw emotion. Those are the times that I do my best work. I should probably go down there now. Not so much because I want to use, but because I am in one of those moods where I am getting exhausted with the way my life is heading.
There is a shift on the mattress next to me, and I glance over, staring at the naked evidence of the other way I occupy myself when I feel like I need to use. I know I need to stop this. The last thing I need is to bring some girl into my fucked up issues and self-loathing. Mel is different though. I met her in rehab and we became good friends. Obviously. We don’t hook up very often, maybe once a month or so, when one of us needs to blow off steam. There’s nothing behind it, though. No feelings, no strings. Just hardcore fucking and that’s all it will ever be. Not because I don’t like her, but because two fucked up people in a relationship is like a volcano waiting to erupt. We get along just fine but I think the two of us together on an emotional level would push one, if not the both of us, back into drugs.
“Mel,” I say, nudging her arm. “Mel, wake up.”
“Mmm…five more minutes, Dave,” she says sleepily.
I stare down at her with one eyebrow raised. Dave, huh? I move so that I am hovering above her, propping myself up on my elbows. Leaning down, I dot a couple of kisses along the side of her neck, moving up towards her ear. I pull her lobe into my mouth, giving it a gentle tug. She lets out a low moan, but doesn’t wake up. Placing my lips right next to her ear, I shout, “Mel!”
Her eyes fly open. She pushes herself out from underneath me, jumping up from the mattress and tumbling onto the floor. Grabbing a hold of my sheet, she stands up, wrapping it tightly around her thin body. “What the fuck is wrong with you Travis?”
I throw my head back and laugh. It was a dick move but she did call me by another man’s name. Not that I actually care. I’ve had jealousy issues in the past, but not with Mel. We don’t have that kind of relationship. I don’t care what she does or who she does it with.
“Who’s Dave?” I ask.
Mel’s hazel eyes widen. She clears her throat and brings her hand up, brushing it through the tangled mess of blond hair on her head. “Who?”
I slide off the bed, moving closer to her. My hands graze over top of her sheet-covered hips. My head dips down to the hollow of her throat, where I drop a couple of kisses before moving to her ear. “Five more minutes, Dave,” I say, my voice low and raspy.
“Dave is my, uh, my-” She trails off, swallowing hard.
“Boyfriend?” I finish for her.
Mel looks away from me and nods. I back away from her and drop my head into my hands as I groan loudly. “Jesus Christ, Mel, why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was going to, I-”
I cut her off by grabbing her skimpy black dress and tossing it to her. “Sorry, Mel, you know you and I will always be friends, but this,” I point back and forth between the two of us. “this is over.”
“Dave and I have an open relationship,” she says.
“That’s just great, but I don’t play that game. I don’t screw girls in relationships.”
“He’s a great guy,” she says quietly.
Why the hell is she telling me all of this? When do we ever have heart-to-hearts?
I throw my head back and laugh, a loud, mocking laugh. “Then why are you here in my bed?”
“I…I…I,” she stammers.
“I’m not mad at you, Mel. I’m just not sleeping with you anymore.”
“I would leave him. If you tell me right now that you want a relationship with me, I would tell him that it’s over.” She reaches her hand out to me but I take a step back. She knows how I feel about relationships. We’ve discussed them before but this would be the first time she has ever brought up the possibility of the two of us getting into a relationship.
“That’s not going to happen, Mel. Ever.”
“With me or with anyone?” Her face tightens, all emotion leaving her normally bright eyes.
I stare at her. I don’t have the heart to tell her that I wouldn’t want to be with her even if I wanted a relationship. I don’t have to though. I can tell by the tears gathering in her eyes that she can see it written on my face. Without saying another word, Mel pulls on her dress, grabs her purse and her shoes, and walks out the door.
I feel like an asshole for hurting her. It’s times like this that I wish I still drank. I would go to my cabinet, pull out my bottle of SoCo and drink it until I didn’t give a fuck anymore. Maybe I should, just this once. I don’t have anything in the house but I’m sure I can get a hold of it somewhere. My brother, Remy, will have something in his house for sure, or I can wait a few more hours until the liquor store opens up. I’d have to try out of town to get it though. There are two liquor stores in Brooksville and neither of them are going to serve me.
Right on cue, as if he knew what I was thinking, my cell phone goes off with a message from my brother, Aidan, asking me to meet him at the diner he owns for breakfast. Of course Aidan has no idea what I am thinking. As a matter of fact, I put my family through so much when I drank and used, that I typically keep my urges to myself, only admitting them when I attend my meetings. The anonymity prevents anyone from being able
to run and tell my family. It isn’t that I want to keep things from them, but the last thing I need is them hovering over me like I am some broken baby bird. Which is exactly what they will do. Plus, I spent a lot of time regaining their trust back. I’ve spent just as much time regaining the trust and respect of the community too. If word gets out that I am struggling with thoughts about injecting and drinking, that could cost me my business, and right now, that is the only thing I have going for me.
I let out a deep sigh before walking into the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face and brush my teeth. Stepping back, I lean over the counter, placing my hands on the edge. Looking up, I stare at myself in the mirror. My gaze instantly settles on my “20” tattoo, which is inked right off the corner of my right eye. A constant reminder of what I am striving each day for.
“It’s not worth it,” I mutter to myself. “It’s not worth it.”
I push my hands off the counter and stride back into my bedroom, quickly dressing in a pair of jeans and a faded black t-shirt. Before I leave, I grab my keys, phone and my bag of art supplies, which I take with me everywhere I go.
I hop into my Jeep and pull out of my driveway, glancing around for any signs of Mel’s baby blue convertible. Thankfully, it isn’t anywhere to be seen. I guess I should feel bad that I am relieved that Mel is gone, but I don’t. I was concerned for a moment that she might still be outside my house, waiting to talk to me. The last thing I want is a confrontation with her. I don’t want to be mean to her but I will be if it becomes necessary.
I pull into an empty spot in front of the diner and climb out of my Jeep, making sure to grab a sketchbook and pencil out of my bag of supplies. Not too many cars are parked outside, but that’s not surprising. It’s still pretty early and the only people that ever come here are people that live in this shitty little town. I push open the door and right away my eyes land on the back of a blond standing behind the counter. I can already tell she’s a newbie. This town is so small, you can literally recognize outsiders without actually seeing their faces, plus, I can see her ass from where she is standing. Trust me when I say, I would have noticed if I had seen that ass around here before. She laughs at something Molly, one of the other waitresses, says and then she turns around.
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