by Jewel E. Ann
I blinked at the bottle, internally scolding myself for letting him distract me, but it wasn’t a big deal. At least I tricked myself into believing it wasn’t a big deal because the pill bottle for oxycodone didn’t have his name on it.
His fingers slid out of me, and his hand on my chest released me. I picked up the bottle and stepped to the side, re-inspecting the label, wanting so desperately to give him the benefit of the doubt. At that point in our lives, trust felt like everything.
Forrest Johnson, it said on the bottle.
Ronin didn’t acknowledge the bottle or me as he hit the pump on the soap and washed his hands while staring straight out the window. He shut off the water, grabbed the towel, and turned toward me. After a few seconds of his head bowed toward the towel, he swung his gaze up to meet mine. That look said it all.
The pills weren’t in his name, but they were his pills.
Good doctors didn’t give opioid prescriptions without a legitimate source of pain, I assumed. Ronin’s pain wasn’t his own, but it was real.
My pain was real too, the pain I felt when he looked at me with so much guilt and anguish. I returned my attention to the bottle in my hand. “These are some strong pills. Forrest Johnson must be in a lot of pain. I …” I shook my head. “I just hope he doesn’t get addicted to them. Lila had a friend, a boyfriend toward the end of college, who had a football injury. He got addicted to pain meds, and he eventually overdosed. That’s why she’s so opposed to taking them if she absolutely doesn’t have to take them.”
Biting my lips together, I narrowed my eyes, feeling an ache in my chest. There wasn’t a right answer. An easy solution. Those little pills allowed Ronin to go back to work. It made sense, even if it broke my heart. Lila would be utterly crushed if she found out—if she could wrap her head around the fact that Ronin felt her pain and was taking opioids to deal with it.
With one hand, I took Ronin’s hand, and with my other hand I put the bottle of pills in it. “I trust you.”
He closed his fingers around it, making a tight fist. “Evelyn …”
I shook my head a half dozen times. “It’s fine. It will be fine. She’s getting better. You won’t need them very long. Everything will be fine.” Glancing up at Ronin, my lips attempted a smile. “Right?”
I didn’t ask where he got the pills.
I didn’t ask about Forrest Johnson.
I didn’t ask the things I didn’t want to know, the things that would chip away at my trust in him. Those answers weren’t going to change our situation. They were just going to drive a wedge between us.
“Right,” he murmured halfheartedly. “I have to get to work. Thanks for breakfast.” He slipped on his jacket and boots by the door and leaned over to grab his canteen and the English muffin wrapped in a paper towel sitting on top of it. With his other hand, he reached into his pocket for his keys, first pulling out the note I left.
After he read it, he glanced up at me.
I shrugged.
He knew how I came across his pills. I could see it in the tension that gathered along his brow. More guilt.
Shuffling my bare feet to him, I took the canteen and muffin from his hand, setting it back on the counter. Then I lifted onto my toes and wrapped my arms around his neck, hugging him to me tightly. He hugged me back, burying his face into my neck.
I was so close … so damn close to saying it, and I think he was too.
I love you.
We didn’t. We weren’t there. Not yet. There were still too many ways to say it without actually saying it.
Before I released him, I batted away a few stray tears on my cheeks. He didn’t need any more guilt.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Ronin
I felt like a failure. As a husband. As a man.
The pain and fear in Evelyn’s eyes when she glanced up at me after telling me about Lila’s boyfriend, who died from his opioid addiction, was almost too much to bear. Before I asked a friend to get me the pills, I tried high doses of over-the-counter medications. I tried all the things I suggested Lila try like acupuncture, but it wasn’t cutting it—not enough to get back to my physically demanding job.
We weren’t the Porters. Since having children, we experienced what it was like to live paycheck to paycheck. Even with not having a mortgage, the cost of living in Aspen was insane. Was I too proud to ask for help from Graham? Hell yes.
I didn’t even have the guts to ask my parents for help so I could spend more time healing right along with Lila. The thought of my skeptic father handing me money, for a condition he questioned, made me nauseous. I just … couldn’t.
Two months passed without major incident.
Madeline fought more frequent headaches, but she managed to stay out of the hospital. That gave Evelyn hope. I worried about that hope, and so did her parents. Lila made a near-full recovery. Her leg had fractured in more than one place, requiring a longer healing time, but she managed to use crutches and occasionally a scooter to get back to her daily duties as First Lady.
With the end of the ski season, I opted out of working as a paramedic with the fire department (per Evelyn’s request) and stayed on with the resort, providing safety services for bikers and hikers, as well as organizing tasks to improve safety for the next ski season. We spent as much time as possible taking the kids on the trails and enjoying all the facets of mountain living.
“How do I look?” Evelyn turned in a complete circle, showing off her new strapless red dress. Her birthday dress.
“Like you won’t be wearing that dress long.” I adjusted my black tie, giving her a conspiratorial look in the full-length mirror opposite our bed.
“So I look hot. Forty is the new thirty, right?” She slipped on her matching red heels.
I wasn’t kidding. That dress was minutes away from finding a new home on the floor of the bedroom, next to the black thong I saw her slip on minutes earlier and those shoes. On second thought … I decided the shoes could stay on.
“You look stunning.” Satisfied with my tie, I brushed past her to get my shoes from the closet.
She grabbed my tie to stop me. “I don’t want to look stunning. I’m forty. I need more from you.”
I chuckled, prying my tie from her death grip before she wrinkled the hell out of it. “Evie, I’m not sure I can find a word better than stunning. I mean … it trumps beautiful. Or were you thinking more along the lines of sexy.” My gaze swept along her lithe body. She was definitely sexy. And as I adjusted myself, she grinned.
“More than sexy.” She rubbed her glossed lips together, batting her mascara-covered lashes at me.
Smokey eyes.
Red lips.
And some sort of aphrodisiac as her perfume. I was ready to eat her alive in every way imaginable.
“More than sexy?” I raised a brow at her.
“If I were standing here naked, what would you call me?”
“Evelyn … I’m seconds away from tearing that dress off you. Why are you teasing me with these questions?” I took a step toward her.
She took a step back, her backside hitting the wall. I rested my hands on the wall above her head, caging her in with my body.
“Evelyn Alexander.”
“Yes,” she whispered, mid-swallow.
“You look so damn fuckable.”
The sexiest grin crawled up her face as I said the words she needed to hear. “Thank you.”
I shook my head, failing to hide my own grin. “You’re one depraved woman.”
“Thank you.” She pushed against my chest until I surrendered, letting her escape.
The only reason she made it out of the bedroom with that dress still on her body was because it was her birthday, and Graham had a jet waiting to take us to Denver for a surprise birthday party at the Porter estate. She thought we were just meeting Graham and Lila for dinner.
“You should open your gift now.” I pulled it out of my nightstand. “I don’t want to forget to give it to you later whe
n I have you tied to the hotel bed, wearing nothing but those heels.”
She turned. Lips parted. Cheeks extra flushed. Still … after years of marriage, I could make her blush. I could make her bend to my will with one look, make her scream, make her beg, make her mine a million times over again.
After I straightened my tie a bit more and winked at her, she rubbed her lips together again and swallowed. “A gift, huh?” She picked up the small box and opened it. “A … soap dish.” She inspected it carefully. “How … nice.”
“I carved it out of wood from that broken branch, the one where your grandpa hung the tree swing for your grandma.”
Her hand flew straight to her chest. “Oh my god …” she gasped. “Ronin …”
“Kidding … I got it from the gift shop at the lodge. Someone hand carved it. But I thought it would have been really amazing of me to have done it with some wood from that branch. Then I remembered I have no artistic talent and a terrible gift-giver reputation to uphold, so I bought this one from the shop. After the fact … I noticed you have a whole display of soap dishes at your shop.” I shrugged. “Go figure.”
Her hand moved from her chest to her mouth. She snorted and shook her head. “Only you, Roe … only you would give the owner of a bath and body shop a soap dish.” She tossed the dish over her shoulder, clearly not impressed with Walter Greenfield’s hand-carved creation, and then she grabbed my tie again and pulled me in for a long kiss. “Let’s go.” She nuzzled her nose against mine.
“Be right out. Let me grab my jacket.”
After slipping it on, I filled the cup by the bathroom sink with water.
“Forgot my lipstick—” Evelyn’s gaze locked onto the pill bottle in my hand as I swallowed the water and the pills.
I didn’t try to hide them because I knew she saw them. Hiding them would have felt like an admission of guilt. She reached over and plucked the bottle from my hand. I blew a breath out my nose, clenching my teeth.
“Ronin …” Her blue eyes met mine, a sea of disbelief. “What are you doing with these? You …” She shook her head. “You told me one week … just one week after I found the bottle in your pocket. You said you were tapering off. It’s been months. Months! Ronin … what are you doing? Th-these are addictive drugs. Are you—”
“Addicted?” I snatched the bottle from her hand and slipped it into the inside pocket of my suit jacket. “No. I’m not addicted.”
She mirrored my posture with a clenched jaw, eyes unblinking as she stared at me with an unrelenting anger. “Did someone else not die? Did you save another life? Bring back the dead?”
“No. But in case you hadn’t noticed, Lila is still in a cast.” I angled my body to slide past her to make my escape. “We need to go. We’re going to be late, birthday girl.”
“Lila’s leg doesn’t hurt.” Evelyn followed me out to the living room.
I held up her cream wool coat like a gentleman to help her put it on. She stood there with her arms crossed over her chest, no intention of sliding those arms into the coat.
I sighed, draping the coat over her shoulders. “Did I ever mention I went through a lot of schooling to become an EMT? I have to take additional training to keep up my license. I know a thing or two about pharmaceuticals. Now, please, baby … can we talk about this later if you feel the need for more talking? Your friends are waiting. We don’t want to be late.” I grabbed our overnight bag. Since we had Sue watching the kids all night, we were staying in Denver—at Porter Suites.
Champagne.
A huge room with a city view.
And my naked birthday girl.
The longer I stood there engaging in her stare off, the guiltier I looked. So I opened the door and waved my hand, shooing her out to the car. She narrowed her eyes but obliged. I hadn’t heard the end of that lecture, but I hoped it was dropped for the night.
As expected, she gave me the silent treatment on the way to the airport. We were greeted on the Porter jet with an open bar and privacy. Graham told me I should use that opportunity to join the Mile High Club if I hadn’t already.
I took Evelyn’s coat from her and handed it, along with mine, to the flight attendant.
“Anything else I can get you, sir?” he asked.
“We’re good. Thank you.”
“I’ll give you some privacy. Push this button here if you need anything.”
“Great. Thanks.” Even he knew I was supposed to be doing the Mile High Club activities on the way to Denver. As we took off, Evelyn gripped the arms of the seat, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes. Once we were in the air, I unfastened my seatbelt and reached forward for her foot, pulling it onto my lap, removing her shoe, and massaging her sexy foot, admiring her newly painted toenails.
She ignored me, tipping her chin to her chest, focusing on her phone.
After massaging both of her feet and getting the cold shoulder the whole time, I poured two glasses of champagne. “You look like you could use a drink.” I tried to hand her the champagne flute, but she ignored it.
“Dizziness, mental confusion, nausea, vomiting, apathy, and difficulty breathing …” She read from her phone screen. “Those are just a few short-term effects of mixing opioids with alcohol. Long-term effects include impaired vision, mood swings, liver disease, and increased risk of overdose and death.” Evelyn glanced up from her phone, pinning me with a hard look. “But surely you know this since you’ve had extensive medical training and know a thing or two about pharmaceuticals. Right?” She canted her head.
Leaning back in my seat, I set the two glasses of champagne aside and folded my hands in my lap. “Fine. I won’t drink. What will it take for you to let this go for one day?”
She grunted a laugh as her eyebrows slid up her forehead. “One day? My husband has an opioid addiction that he’s been hiding from me, and I’m supposed to let it go for one day? What’s one more day? I don’t know … maybe when I see Lila, I’ll ask her if one more day is reasonable to give someone with a drug addiction.”
“Jesus …” I rubbed my face, closing my eyes. “I’m not a fucking drug addict, Evie.”
“That’s what all addicts say until they hit rock bottom—if they live to hit rock bottom—and check themselves in for treatment.”
“Treatment?” I dropped my hands and my jaw, agitated we were having such a ridiculous conversation. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”
Tears reddened her eyes as she clenched her jaw. “I am a scientist with a background in chemistry. Do you know how fucking insulting it is for you to look at me like I’m crazy? Like I don’t know what I’m talking about? The very day I found that first bottle of pills in your pocket, I poured through every bit of research I could find on opioids. I guarantee I know more about them than you do by this point. I knew there was a chance you were already addicted that day, even after only a week. But I know that there is a one hundred percent chance that you have an opioid addiction after taking them for months.”
“That is not true.” I shook my head.
“Lila’s pain is gone!” She slammed her fists on the armrests and the tears won over. “What are you doing?” Her words broke apart as her tears painted black mascara lines down her cheeks. “My …” She swallowed hard. “My mom is dying. You’re going to leave me too, and I will hate you for letting this end our life together. I will hate you for leaving me to explain to our kids why they no longer have a father.”
I kneeled on the floor in front of her, grabbing a tissue and wiping her face. “I’m not leaving you,” I whispered.
“You check into treatment, tomorrow.”
“Evie …” I continued to shake my head. She was overreacting.
“You check into treatment, tomorrow.”
“I’ll taper off. I can do it on my own.”
“You check into treatment, tomorrow.” Every time she repeated that line, her words lost emotion, like she was losing any sort of feeling, shutting down, and putting up this indestructibl
e wall around her heart.
I fucking hated it. Where had my wife gone? The woman who looked at me like I was her king? “Please … just listen to me.” I squeezed her hands. “This isn’t a prob—”
“Over 70,000 people die every year from opioid overdose, including really well-educated—well informed—healthcare professionals like doctors, nurses, and paramedics. You check into treatment … tomorrow.”
“Give me a week … just a week.” I rested my forehead on her shoulder. “Please … one week.”
“You check in for treatment, tomorrow … or you move out of my house.”
I sat up, shaking my head over and over. I didn’t hear her right. There was no way a few pills could end our marriage. Before I could try harder to make my case, the pilot announced we would be landing in Denver soon. I knew Lila and Graham would be waiting for us the second we stepped off the plane.
Flowers.
Balloons.
Presents.
They planned a luxury ride to her surprise party with all her favorite foods and lots of champagne—champagne I was clearly not going to drink.
I hated lying to my wife. And I hated that she mistook truths for lies. I didn’t have a problem. I wasn’t addicted to drugs. There was no reason to check into treatment. But … it was her birthday. I needed to salvage what I could of it before a misunderstanding ruined the whole thing. So … I lied.
“Tomorrow, I check in for treatment.” I forced a smile and wiped the rest of the mascara from her cheeks.
Her body melted on a long sigh as she pressed her palms to my face and rested her forehead against mine. “Thank you,” she whispered.
After she fixed her makeup, we slipped on our coats and I took her hand, leading her off the plane.
“Surprise!” Lila held up her arms, both hands holding balloons as part of her body poked out of the moonroof of the limousine.
I laughed, knowing it was the best she could do with a broken leg.