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I knock on his door and wait, but he doesn’t answer. I raise my fist to knock again when a voice stops me.
“He may not be here, and if he is, you’re not going to be able to wake him up," Knuckles says, looking up at me from downstairs.
“Oh. I don’t… know what that means.”
“You should talk to Pres. He’s in here.”
I head down the stairs to where Knuckles is pointing, and he opens the door to poke his head in. “Nell is here to talk to you about Tree.”
“Send her in,” the president says from behind the door, and Knuckles pushes the door wider. “Shut the door.”
I push the door shut and look at the president at the head of the table. “I was just trying to ask Knox about my car, but Knuckles said he’s not here?”
“No, he is here.” He rubs at his jaw and frowns. “Take a seat.”
I chew on the inside of my lip and sit down with an extra seat between him. “Did I do something wrong? I’m not trying to bother him.”
“No, honey. You didn’t do anything. What do you know about what Knox has been doing lately?”
“Um, I don't, I guess. He’s always so busy it’s hard to find time to talk to him.” This situation is making me so nervous. My hands are shaking and I’m panicking. Something doesn’t feel right, but I don’t know enough about the biker culture to say for sure.
“Do you know anything about how he's been handling Layla’s death?”
This I do know. “He’s not. He avoids it completely. He’s acting weird. He’s like a completely different person.”
Pres’s eyebrows raise. “Knox has a cocaine addiction. Do you know anything about addiction?”
My heart jumps into my throat. No, he doesn’t. Knox is just grieving. He’s not an addict. He’s heartbroken and learning to live a life without his other half. I’m shaking my head.
“His brain has gotten so used to being high that he feels like he’ll die if he isn’t.” Pres’s voice is calm, his tempo steady. He’s going slow for me so I can try to keep up.
“When? When did he start doing that?”
“As far as I can tell, it was about the time your sister passed. He goes on benders. Which means he’ll do a lot of coke for a few days, and then he crashes. He tends to disappear when he’s on a bender, and come back when it’s time to crash. He’s been on this cycle for almost a year now. He needs help, Nell. Right now, you’re the closest person to him. What do you want to do?”
“Do? What doIwant to do? What- don’t we, like, send him to rehab or something?”
Pres looks down at the table, then back up at me. “That’s an option. Do you think an inpatient rehab facility would work for him?”
No. Knox would kill everyone in there before he let them get between him and something he wants. Here at least he has some emotional attachment to these people. “Shit!” I look up at the ceiling and huff out all the breath in my lungs. “So what do we do then?”
“He has to choose to get clean or he’ll relapse. That’s just the way drugs work. So, how do we make him choose sobriety?”
What would Layla do?“Do you have a key to his room?”
“I do. Do you want me to let you in?”
“Yes.” I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I know it starts with smacking him in his stupid face for doing this. I’ll figure the rest out as I go.
Pres follows me up the stairs and unlocks the door. “Do you want me to stay with you in case he gets violent?”
“No. He’s not going to put his hands on me.”
“He’s not the person you remember. He’s an addict that believes he has nothing left to lose.”
I put my hand on his arm and give him the Layla look, all confidence and knowledge regardless of my lack of experience in this arena. “Pres, I appreciate everything so much. I’ve got this.”
Chapter Eight
