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"Carter's here, okay?" I say softly, careful not to make his headache worse.
He looks over at his best friend and cringes. "He's enjoying this."
"He is not."
Carter quirks his lips. "I mean, he brought it on himself by being a dumbass, so I am a little."
I narrow my eyes at him. "Don't be an asshole."
He raises his hands. "Sorry."
With a kiss on Jace's forehead, I promise him that I'll be back in a couple hours and head out the door.
To be honest, it's nice to have a little break. Watching him like this, no matter how much I mentally prepared for it, is hard. The number of times he has said that he doesn't want to do it anymore and asked me to call Rinaldo for him is overwhelming. But I know he needs to push through. He made me swear before things got bad that I would make him get through it, and I plan on doing exactly that.
WALKING THROUGH MY FRONT door, I instantly feel that comfort only home can bring. The warmth encases me, and I finally feel like I can stop being strong, until the sound of my dad coughing reminds me that I'm wrong. I can't, because I have to be a rock here, too.
Everything starts to become too much all at once, and before I know it, my back hits the front door and I slide down the wood as sobs wrack through my entire body. My mom must hear it, because she comes out from the kitchen and her eyes widen in horror.
"Paige?" She rushes over to me. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
"It's so hard, Mom," I cry. "It's just so hard."
She pulls me into her arm
s and holds me close, the same way she used to do when I was a kid and got hurt. "What's hard, baby? Talk to me."
"Jace is sick, and we're trying to make him better, but I hate this for him. And Dad is sick, and nothing I can do can make him better. And I just hate all of this. I hate it. I hate it. I hate it."
"Shh," she soothes me, petting my head. "It's okay. Just let it out."
That's one thing about my mom. She was never the kind of person who would tell me it wasn't okay to cry. She always told me that tears and emotions are what make us human, and that we should let it out if that's what we feel like we need to do. But this is also the same woman who goes to sit in her car when she cries about losing my dad, because she doesn't want him to hear her.
When I finally start to calm down, she pulls me away and looks me in my eyes. "Now, what's wrong with Jace?"
I don't want to tell her, because the last thing I want is for her to worry I've gotten myself involved in the wrong crowd. Jace isn't a bad guy. He's just made some bad choices lately, and I don't think he can really be blamed for that, given what he's been through. But I'd rather play it safe. My mom might not be the judgmental type, but I still don't want her to look at him differently.
"I can't really get into it. He's just been through a lot in the past year, and it finally all came to a breaking point," I explain. "Carter and I are trying to get him through it, but it's hard."
She uses her sleeves to wipe my tears away. "Well, is he going to be okay?"
"I think so. I hope so."
"Then you go focus on Jace," she instructs. "I promise I've got everything here."
I shake my head. "I should be helping you, too."
Her eyes soften, and she smiles. "I've got the love of my life handled. You go take care of yours."
For a second, I open my mouth to correct her, but there's no point.
It's written all over my face every time he walks into the room.
IF ANYONE EVER TRIES to tell you that withdrawal, or helping someone through a withdrawal, is easy, please punch them in the face for me. By day three, Jace is completely lethargic, shaking like a maniac, covered in sweat, and probably one of the biggest pricks I've ever met in my life. However, when I go to tuck him into bed one night, he murmurs something about pulling a letter out of his nightstand.
My brows furrow as I open the top drawer and pull out an envelope with my name on it. He's asleep before I can even ask what it is, so I cover him with a blanket and make my way back out to the living room. Once I'm alone, I open it.
Paige,
