Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Bacon has only been my nemesis two times in my life—when I was pregnant. I’ve been avoiding it since the first time I threw up a few weeks ago and assumed I caught a bug, only for it not to go away after several days. But it’s time I face the facts… During the deepest and darkest days of my grieving, I didn’t think about birth control. It was irresponsible and stupid, but I just didn’t have it in me to think logically. My only focus was getting through each day and praying for there to eventually be a light at the end of the tunnel.
Gage was obviously too high to think about it, and he probably assumed I was on something. He never asked, and it never crossed my mind…until now.
Once I’m almost positive I’m done throwing up, I wash out my mouth and brush my teeth, then head back into the kitchen to make a bacon-less egg and cheese sandwich. I’m mixing the eggs when something on the television catches my attention.
“In our dirt of the day, our sources have confirmed that Raging Chaos’s drummer, Gage Sharp, has been discharged from New York Medical after a recent overdose that our sources say was an attempt at ending his life…”
I rush over to the television to hear what she’s saying, but she’s already moved on to her next bit of gossip. Could it be? No, there’s no way. There are a million Gages out there, right? What are the chances that…?
Grabbing my phone, I click on the internet and search Gage Sharp, then click on the images, and sure enough, the gorgeous face of the man I spent almost three months with pops up. It’s been over three months since I’ve seen him, but the moment my eyes land on his curly brown hair, broody blue eyes, that strong jawline, and the single brow—that’s sporting a simple bar through it—quirked up, silently telling the world to fuck off, my belly does a quick flip-flop.
I drop onto the couch—my food forgotten—and spend hours learning everything I can about the mysterious man who carried me out of the cemetery and, in his own way, took care of me for months. Once I’m done, everything suddenly makes sense: the nice apartment, him not working, his roommates… Gage Sharp is the drummer for Raging Chaos, one of the world’s hottest rock bands… and he’s also a drug addict.
My hand instinctually goes to my belly, knowing what I have to do. If what the news is saying is true, then Gage not only overdosed on drugs but he also did it with the intent of ending his life. I pray to God that he’s okay and gets the help he needs, but I will do everything in my power to keep the little miracle growing inside me safe, including making sure Gage never finds out. I already lost two babies and a husband to drugs, and there’s no way I’m going to let that happen again. I didn’t protect my babies the way I should have last time, but I won’t ever make that mistake again.
CHAPTER NINE
GAGE
Breakfast. Group therapy. Work out. Free time. Lunch. Individual therapy. Music. Free time. Dinner. Free time…
My life has become a routine of wash, rinse, repeat, but it’s not a bad thing. I know what to expect, thrive on the structure and stability, and even revel in it. I haven’t done a single drug in months, and my body recognizes that it’s better because of it. But my brain… fuck, it still craves the high every goddamn day.
“I’m not ready,” I tell Pamela, the woman who’s been by my side every step of the way. From the first few weeks of hell during detox to the months I’ve spent trying to analyze every part of my life so I can go back into the real world and function like a normal adult. Only I feel like one of those animals who’ve been injured and saved, spent months getting rehabilitated, but because they’ve spent so much time there, they’ve become domesticated and wouldn’t be able to survive in the wild.
“Why don’t you believe you’re ready?”
“Because I did drugs for six years, and I’ve only been drug-free for three months.” The thought of going back into the wild scares the shit out of me and makes my heart race in my chest. We’ve been talking several times a day every day this week to help prepare me, but it’s not fucking helping. I’ve had three anxiety attacks and had to be hospitalized because I thought I was having a heart attack.
“Gage, do you think it’s possible you’re scared because you’ve refused to speak to anyone outside of these walls? You’re afraid of stepping back into a life you’ve only known while high?”