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My heart stops.
That's the first time Dean has ever said those words to me.
For just a little bit longer, I’ll lie and tell myself everything will work out.
EIGHTEEN
NOW
Camille
I didn’t think I’d be as nervous as I am right now, standing outside Harbor Point Rehab Center waiting for Declan to be released.
After ninety days, I’m going to see my husband again.
Ninety-three days ago, I found Declan passed out in our condo with a needle still stuck in his arm, surrounded by empty liquor bottles. It wasn’t the first time I saw him like that, and every time I found him, he promised it would be the last. I gave him an ultimatum.
Either divorce or rehab, because I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t sit back and watch him slowly kill himself and blame his addiction on the loss of our son.
When I confronted him, he said dealing with Luca’s death sober was too hard, and he couldn’t take it, and that’s when I freaked out on him and gave him the ultimatum.
The truth is, Declan struggled with addiction long before our son died. Hell, he struggled with addiction before we even got married. But I looked past it all and told myself he was okay.
Yes, it got worse after Luca, but he’s always had issues.
I dealt with our son’s death alone because my husband was too high or drunk to function. I didn’t get to numb or distract myself as he did. He took the easy way out.
Then he started blaming the doctors, claiming they started his addiction. After the accident, he was given painkillers, and it’s been downhill since then.
Even though the painkillers didn’t start his addiction, he lied to himself and chose to believe he didn’t previously have issues.
Declan was born with addiction issues. His birth mother was an avid drug user, and he was born with drugs in his system. His first drink was at thirteen, and his first hit of weed soon after.
Declan always partied on the wild side, but nothing as crazy as heroin. That began over a year ago.
I didn’t realize how deeply addicted he was until recently.
He hid it well.
The needles. The heroine. The cocaine. The alcohol. He hid it all so well.
Until a few months in, when I caught him, and he promised to stop using, and for a while, I thought he did.
Drugs, at least. He still drank himself stupid.
Then ninety-three days ago, I learned that he wasn’t sober and never had been. He went to rehab a couple of days later.
And for the past ninety days, he’s been here at Harbor Point Rehab Center getting the help he desperately needed.
I couldn't bring myself to go inside, so instead, I stand outside, waiting for the doors to open and for him to appear.
At first, I don’t recognize him. He’s gained back all the weight he lost, even gaining muscle. His skin is lively again instead of sick and pale, and his chocolate eyes are vibrant instead of hidden beneath deep bags. He looks good. He looks like the man I married and not the addict I grew to resent.
Declan’s arms open for me, and I run into them on instinct, finding comfort in the familiar touch. My legs wrap around his waist, and his strong arms hold me against his warm body.
He buries his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling my scent. “You smell so fucking good,” he mumbles against the skin of my neck. I pull back, take his face in my hands, and press my lips against his. They are plump and soft… and all wrong.
They're familiar, but they're not the lips I want.
