CHAPTER 19
Sterling’s hands shook as he lay in bed. Gripping the sheets with his fingers, he tried to control the tremors, to think outside of the mutinous response of his body. Hell, he’d gone through training to deal with torture if he were ever a POW. He could deal with this...whatever it was.
He knew what was going on, but admitting it out loud, even in his own mind, was like raising a white flag of defeat. It had only been a few weeks, a few pills.
He couldn’t be addicted.
And it was impossible for him to be experiencing withdrawals. Wasn’t it?
Shame washed over him as he thought back over his last minutes at Harper’s house.
But his leg had hurt so damn bad that his body had broken out in a cold sweat after their second round. It had been all he could do to stand and walk to the bathroom. When he’d opened the medicine cabinet to at least find some Tylenol, he’d zeroed in on the orange bottle like a man wandering in the desert and finally finding water.
Sterling had known he should close the cabinet door, walk away, and forget about it, but instead he reached out and read the label.
The same exact prescription as what he had at home, the empty one. Before he could question his actions, he grabbed the bottle, swiped the medication, and tucked it in his pocket.
He felt like the biggest bastard in the world for what he’d done, but it was as if he’d had an out-of-body experience. He’d wanted those little pills, needed them like air. Clearly, since he had potentially sabotaged his entire relationship with Harper if she ever found out.
Even now, he wanted to tear apart his shorts to find the little pills, but something held him back.
Harper.
His head throbbing, he breathed in deeply through his nose. Think around the pain. Think around the need. He repeated the mantra, but it wasn’t helping. If anything, it was reminding him that relief was only a few steps away.
Why didn’t he just swallow the pills?
Why hadn’t he taken them right away in Harper’s bathroom?
Because deep down he knew he didn’t want this.
A low growl escaped his lips as he fought against the hungry monster within. It was like fighting for inches in battle, rather than miles. Crawling along the dirt and mud, not knowing if he’d survive the next stretch. A violent tremor racked his body, making the headboard bump against the wall. Sterling stood from the bed then dropped to his knees, reaching for the shorts and feeling the small shapes in his pocket. He took out the pills and studied them in his hand.
He was about to lift them to his mouth, swallow with a hunger that was terrifying, when he had the sobering thought. What about tomorrow?
His hand fisted around the small spheres, squeezing them tightly as he re-asked the question.
What about tomorrow? And the day after that? What happened when he didn’t come across the medication? What lengths would he take to get his next day of relief? Would he try to use Laken’s connections as a nurse? Right now, as his body shook, he admitted that he’d consider it.
The realization was like ice water pouring over him, and before he could talk himself out of it, he practically crawled to the toilet and tossed the pills in. But one lingered, stuck to his hand, taunting him.
Only one.
He flicked it into the toilet and flushed, watching them disappear.
With a shuttering breath, he used the sink to stand and looked into the reflection of the mirror.
Addiction had many faces.
Never once had he thought that his would be one of them.
And as much as he hated to admit it, he needed help.
Again.
Pride be damned, he might be addicted, but he wasn’t going to be a statistic where dependence won the war in his life.
So, with a decided limp and a sacrifice of the last of his dignity, he walked back to his room and pulled out his phone. Middle of the night or not, he was doing this now when he had the balls to do it.
He unlocked his screen, tapped the name, and listened to it ring.
Just when he thought he was going to have to lay it all out in voicemail, Laken answered sleepily, “Are you alive?”
He would have smiled if he hadn’t been so damn depressed. “Laken...” He took a deep breath, forcing the words that didn’t want to be spoken. “...I need your help.”
The tension on the phone was palpable as he heard sheets rustling on the other end and Cyler’s voice ask if there was an emergency.
There was...just not the kind that usually happened on a ranch in the middle of the night.
“Anything, you know that, Sterling. What’s going on?” Laken’s voice had the edge of professionalism that bled through when she was hyperaware.
“What are the symptoms of drug withdrawals?” he asked, sitting on the bed as his legs shook from the strain of holding him up. The question alone would put her on high alert; it would say everything he didn’t know quite how to articulate.
“How long have you been on the medication?” Laken was in full nurse-mode now.
“A few months, on and off, but recently I’ve been on it regularly.”
“What are your symptoms?”
Sterling ran a hand down his face, mopping the sweat. “Chills, sweating, shaking like a damn leaf and...” He took a breath, needing to steel himself for the rest of the truth.
The whole. Damn. Truth.
“Yes?” Laken encouraged.
Sterling closed his eyes and braced his hand with his forehead. “I stole Harper’s prescription meds that were in her bathroom cabinet. I didn’t take them, but damn if I didn’t want to,” he answered.
“Take or ingest?” Laken needed clarification.
“I didn’t swallow them.”
“Where are they now?”
Sterling glanced up toward the bathroom. “I flushed them.”
“Good, that’s good, Sterling.” She released a small sigh. “People don’t realize just how easy it is. I should have taken the pills and administered them to you dose by dose—”
“Laken,” Sterling interrupted. “This is not your fault. This is me, all me. And I...I need help making it right. Lord knows, I have to tell Harper, and she’s probably going to never forgive me, and I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself for that. I just... How can you love someone but love the hit more, Laken? How does that happen?”
“It happens more often than you think,” his sister answered, and he could hear the sheets rustle then silence on the other end. “But several bad choices don’t determine your course, Sterling. You’re ahead of the game in this. Sometimes people don’t stop till they’ve destroyed everything good in their lives. You’ve screwed up with Harper, yes...but being honest will give you more of a chance to fix this than lying. That’s for certain.”
Sterling nodded. “I know.”
Laken sighed into the phone. “We’ll get through this, I promise you.”
Shame mixed with gratitude washed over him. “Thank you. I’m sorry that—”
“Shh, nope. Stop now. I appreciate your apology. You’re forgiven. We’re moving on, but don’t you dare let this turn into a pity thing. Hear me?” Laken’s tone was firm, brokering no argument.
“Yes, ma’am.” The faintest hint of a smile teased his lips.
“Listen, we’re heading home now—”
“But—”
“Damn it, Sterling. Just be glad.”
He released a sigh. “I am. Thank you. I really do appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. Cyler says hi, and he’d be happy to hog-tie you if you think that’s necessary. I said no, but he wanted me to offer. Ass.”
Sterling chuckled in spite of himself. “Tell him I’ll remember that, and if necessary, I’ll let him.”
“Fine. Now this is what you’re going to do. Pay close attention, okay?”
A violent shake rattled his teeth, but he nodded, focusing on her words, picturing them through the haze of pain, the fog of need.
“Sterling, it’s going to get worse for you in the next few hours. While I’m on the phone, I want you to find a few extra blankets, several water bottles from the fridge, and your cell phone charger. Next, I’m going to call Harper—”
“No, let me—”
“You’re not going to be in any position to say shit. It’s going to be the flu like you’ve never had before, with hopefully less vomiting. You haven’t been on them long enough to deal with more than these types of symptoms, but, oh! One question. Do your joints ache?”
Sterling was still caught up in the idea that Laken would be calling Harper, but he tried to focus on her question. “Yeah, my whole body hurts, and my damn leg feels like it’s been set on fire.”
“Yeah, that’s normal and probably won’t get any worse as far as pain, so hold onto that.”
“Praise God,” Sterling offered in sincere gratitude.
“But everything else is going to get worse for the next day or so. And you need someone to be there till we can get to you. That’s why I’m calling Harper.”
Sterling shut his eyes in defeat, in utter failure, certain that Laken was not only asking for the impossible of Harper, but the impossible of him as well. He’d promised her that he was strong enough to hold her broken heart, and now...for her to see the truth...
That he was a failure...
It was too much, and as his body shook, his teeth chattered, jarring his face just enough to send a lone tear down his cheek. His soul touched the gravel found only at rock bottom.
“Sterling?” Laken asked gently.
He wiped the tear away, angry at the weakness it showed, the desperation it displayed. “Yeah.”
“You’re going to win.”
Sterling repeated her words over and over in his head, soaking them up, gripping them like a lifeline in the middle of the ocean. He would survive this. It wouldn’t win.
But damn if he didn’t feel like he had no energy to fight it.
“You’re not alone. I’m going to go now, but I need you to text me every half hour, okay? It will probably take us a few hours to get packed up, checked out, and down there, all right?”
“Got it, every half hour.”
“Sterling? I love you,” Laken added with a slight catch in her voice, thick with emotion.
“Love you too, sis.”
He ended the call and leaned back onto the pillow, closing his eyes. After taking several deep breaths, he rose and stumbled down the hall, his leg burning, his joints protesting, and his teeth chattering like he’d taken a swim in a frozen lake. Sweat trickled down his temples, and he kept swiping it away, gritting his teeth with each step till he made it to the hall closet and pulled down several thick quilts. After laboriously placing them in his room, he repeated the same painstakingly slow process to the kitchen for the water bottles, but never once was Harper far from his mind.
And he cringed to think of what she’d find when she came face to face with his failure, his weakness.
Assuming she even showed up at all.
He wouldn’t blame her if she refused.
Nope.
The only one he had to blame was himself.
His own damn self.
The thought of losing her was crushing him.
He’d promised he’d never break her heart.
Instead, he broken both hers and his own at the same time.