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So, mostly—I guess—I made sure he didn’t burn the house down.

Lexi texted me regularly.

I hadn’t video chatted with her in a while—even though she’d been trying.

I didn’t want her to see me like this.

Sweaty, cramped, and in so much fucking pain—it almost blinded me at times.

I stared at my backpack.

Knowing the cure for what ailed me was right inside.

One zip.

One pop.

One swallow.

And I’d be cured.

I’d also be divorced.

And without a career.

Fuck.

How had I let this get so out of control?

It seemed like one day I was coming home from the hospital, fresh from a coma in the ICU.

And the next—needing more and more pills just to get me through the day.

My guts squeezed again, and I knew I’d be rushing off to the bathroom soon.

My phone rang.

Lexi wanted to video chat.

I declined the call.

A new text came through from Lexi.

“Would you answer the freaking phone? Decline me one more time and I’m getting on a plane…”

Shit.

She called again.

I touched the screen. “Hey,” I said, my voice sounding gruff and raw.

“What’s—” she stopped cold. “Are you okay? You look like crap.” Her face moved closer to the screen.

I knew exactly what I looked like—and she was being kind.

“Got some food poisoning. Ordered at the wrong place, I guess,” I lied and cleared my throat.

“Holy shitballs. Do you need a doctor?”