Chapter Ten

"

Y ou're an addict."

The weight of that statement has blanketed me my whole shift.

"You sure?" Melinda asks as she gathers the last of our tubs together.

"Sorry, what?"

She looks over to me. Evident worry etched on her features as I recall our conversation. An attempt by her to set me up with her church's new youth pastor. She's no dummy—in fact, she's become an expert at gauging my moods. More often than not, she's bringing extra lunch on her shifts to make sure I'm eating. It's comforting to know she cares, her concern for me maternal.

"Yeah," I say, wiping down our workstation. "I'm just going to head home."

She pauses as we pack up. "Honey, it's been months and months. I just don't want you wasting away anymore."

Months and months. And today more than ever, I feel the weight of that truth.

"You're an addict."

"I'm fine," I assure her. "I went on a date not too long ago."

This seems to perk her up. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yes. Great guy. And we're going to give it another go, sometime soon." The lie comes easily, but I feel no guilt when I see the relief in her eyes. Though invasive and maddening at times with her chatter, I've grown real affection for her and consider her a friend.

"That's so good to hear." She bristles. "Well, excuse me for saying it, but he's a damn fool. And I promise you he will regret it if he's not already. I can't believe he just up and left like that."

We both know the he she's referring to is Sean, but I dart my eyes away. When the conveyor belt comes to a halt signaling the end of our shift, she takes a step toward me and hesitantly pulls me into a hug.

I hug her back tightly. "I'm going to miss you, too."

She pulls back and grips my shoulders. "You won't miss my motor mouth." She laughs and nudges me. "But I'll sure miss your ear. How long do you have left?"

"Just a few months."

She winks. "We'll make it count."

I nod and manage to muster a genuine smile as she leaves the line to punch out. I trail behind her, my thoughts going back to this morning's conversation in my kitchen. To everyone close to me, I'm that girl now—the one who got her heart broken and retreated into herself.

Tobias sees me the same way—weak—but the irony is that it's people like Melinda who struggle daily to make ends meet, and my affection for her and those in our circle that keeps me silent, compliant. If I thought for one second Tobias's plans included hurting her or the people I've come to care about, I would have blown the whistle long ago. But that's not the case. And despite my hatred for him, I know Tobias's plans include giving the power back to the people of this town.

And that plan I'm all for.

Does it make me a bad person if I'm willing to let my father suffer because of it? Maybe.

But this is the part I chose to play.

And maybe some of my disregard for his welfare has to do with the grudge that he chose his empire over me.

Maybe losing everything he owns will bring him some much-needed humility and give him a second chance to do something else with his life. Find a more meaningful purpose. I know for sure that humility has changed me in a major way. And these lessons I haven't taken for granted, even if I've been taken for granted in the process.

But if I thought Dominic was cold, his brother is far more callous. An impenetrable wall who thinks love is nothing but a nuisance.

Bad for business.

"You're an addict."

Anger flares as I gather my phone from my locker and check my messages to find one from Christy declaring she's on a date and will call me tomorrow. She checks in with me daily now. And I know some of it has to do with the fact that she pities me. She worries for me.

I can't even get my worst enemy to take me seriously because I walk around wearing my heartache like a badge on my sleeve, and it's become the bane of my existence.

I slam my locker door, aggravation snaking around me. The people in my life are walking on eggshells, worried about my fragility. It's then that a sickening thought strikes me.

I'm becoming my mother.

An addict.

An addict.

Am I addicted to the high?

If I'm honest, that's a lot of what I felt when I was with them. They fed it to me at every turn. But then that's the crux of love, isn't it? It is very much a high, a high people thrive on. One that can rip your soul apart once you've lost it.

And maybe it's the chase of the high that has me breaking the rules tonight. It's been eight months without a word. And if I'm an addict, it's been way too fucking long without a hit. Physically, I can feel the added tension on the thin thread between the three of us now more than ever as I replay what happened in my kitchen.

Again, Tobias taunted me.

And again, I wanted him .

Guilty and cringing at the thought, I take the road that leads to the townhouse on the cul-de-sac. I haven't, not once, done the psycho ex-girlfriend drive-by, and it's past time I do.

It's when my headlights beam on a FOR RENT sign as I approach their house that I feel the thread give a little more.

Anger courses through me as I step out of my running car and walk over to the house, cupping my hands on the window from the porch to peer in. Empty. Not a trace of life. No trace of the memories made here.

All of it's gone.

On my walk back to my car, I realize the grass is at least a foot tall, which means it's been vacated for a month or longer. My gut tells me much longer.

Back behind the wheel, I tear down the road, blood thumping at my temple as I try to understand the why of it. Where is Tyler living now? I just saw him so he can't be far, which means they can't either. Sean had to know his request for me not to go looking would be too much to ask. And up until now, I've honored it because of "one day."

Furious with my findings, I drive through the roads I know by heart, intent on getting answers. It's when I hit the garage parking lot and slam on the brakes that I'm relieved to see the light on in the lobby. A sign of my old life, unchanged. Faint music drifts from behind the garage as Russell walks into view, eyeing me just before I step up to the door and rap on it lightly, knowing he saw me. When it doesn't open, I knock again, this time much harder.

"Open the door, Russell," I demand, my heart sputtering with the image of the abandoned house.

Nothing.

"Russell!" I step over and glare at him through the thick lobby window when my knock again goes unanswered. Russell cranes his head to avoid my livid gaze just as Jeremy joins him in the lobby. The second Jeremy sees me, he hangs his head.

"I just want to talk to you," I plead through the thick glass, knowing they can hear every word. In the next second, the light clicks off and Russell retreats to the garage. Jeremy holds the door to follow, pausing when he hears me speak up.

"Don't do this," I beg, pounding on the window. "Please don't fucking do this to me! Jeremy!" He stops where he stands, and I can see the sincere regret etched in his posture. "Please, Jeremy!" I watch as he cups his jaw in frustration, his eyes never lifting before he walks into the garage. I back away from the window, outraged, and that's when I come to grips with the truth I've been battling all day.

I am an addict.

I'm the pathetic girl who just can't take a hint, the one who refuses to let go.

If I'm being honest with myself, I've seen it in the face of every person who looks at me now—the pity and the concern. Their withdrawal has cost me my pride, my self-respect, and the respect of the people who know me.

It's cost me far more than any high is worth.

And it's past time that I remember how to kick...