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“Yes, I do. I know what Brent’s addiction has done to you. I know how wary you are of people like him.”
“People like you,” she snapped, regretting the words.
But he nodded, dragging a hand through his hair. “Drugs were my escape,” he said quietly, with an inner-strength she couldn’t help but admire. “It was never about getting high. It was a way to cope with my feelings and the expectations that I had carried for too long.”
Sympathy clawed her throat but she ignored it. “Yes, well, lots of people feel lots of pressure and don’t turn to drugs.”
He nodded; she had expressed his very worst fear. “You’re right. It was a weakness on my part. I should have known better; been better. I owed so much more to my father, my brother, my family.”
“And yourself,” she said angrily.
“Yes. But at the time, I just wanted to obliterate everything in my head. And I found no shortage of ‘friends’ who would help me do that.”
“Blaming other people? Classic junkie behaviour.”
“I blame only myself,” he clarified sharply. “And I am not a junkie. I have come a long way in two years, and it has not been easy. I can tell you, Melinda, that I am not the same man I was then. I could be in a room with people high on God knows what and I would feel not a hint of interest. I am myself again; freed from the oppression of dependency that once controlled me.”
Her breath was ragged in her chest. She wanted so badly to believe him. “You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“About who you were, and about this. Has any of this been real?”
“Melinda!” He groaned, crossing into the kitchen and standing right beside her, his eyes clinging to hers. “Search your heart and ask that question of it.”
“If there were no Jordan, and no Brent, I would still find it impossible to trust you,” she said simply.
He closed his eyes, but he was a fighter, not a quitter, and the most important thing he’d ever fought for was within reach. He just needed to find the way in.
“I fell in love with you as soon as I came into this flat and saw all this.” He ran a hand through the air, indicating the explosion of festive paraphernalia. “I have seen the way you live your life and I have wanted only to be a part of it.”
“Tough,” she said, but the word lacked venom. “I have to think about what’s best for me and what’s best for Jordan. And that’s definitely not you.”
She was underscoring every single one of his fears. He didn’t deserve someone like her. He had felt it often during their relationship.
He nodded. “I’ll go,” he said quietly, something in his eyes instantly extinguishing.
“Wait.”
For a second, hope flared.
“You at least owe me more of an explanation.”
He sighed. “What do you want to know?” He crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture of reticence. Yet he stayed. And he waited patiently.
“How long were you in rehab for?”
“Four months.”
“Four months? And you say you’ve completely kicked the habit?”
“Yes.”
“This is why you were cut from the … order of succession or whatever?”
He nodded.
“Because you were on drugs.”
