~K~

It's as if an eternity passed, but it's only been a few days. I move through the motions of my day, my mind constantly on something else.

My brother's court date got pushed back again. He's out of the hospital and back in prison but he's not getting better. Unfortunately, they're holding him until his sentencing.

I reached out to his probation officer and expressed my concern. He needs to be in a sober home, one he can't leave until he's cleared by both their doctors and his probation officer. Hopefully, he won't have much jail time to still serve. After pleading my case, he told me he'd get back to me.

I spent the rest of the day in between patients calling rehabilitation centers and sober homes to try to find an open bed.

I forwarded my mom and Jane the information I found and which places have openings. The best rehab centers are across the country, mainly in Arizona and California. My mom broke down in tears when I told her how far away he might be, but this'll be good for her too.

She needs to step back and let Ethan deal with his addiction.

It all started when Ethan became friends with the wrong crowd. He began experimenting with different drugs, popping pills, drinking alcohol. His last two high school years he scraped by, only doing the bare minimum in order to graduate.

On Christmas break of my freshman year of college, I'd walked in on Ethan shooting heroin in his arm before slumping lifelessly on the bed.

His first overdose and the beginning of many.

It rocked our family to the core, and our Christmas that year was strained and awkward.

It only got worse from there. Pills were too expensive, so heroin became his go to. In and out of consciousness, in and out of jobs and places to stay, it all became too overwhelming.

Five years have passed since that Christmas. Ethan has overdosed twenty-two times. Narcan has saved his life more times than not.

Will there be a day when he doesn't wake up? When it's his last overdose, his luck having run out?

The dark grip of addiction has my brother in its hold, and the grip gets tighter as time passes. He needs all the help he can get.

And, I'm going to make damned sure he gets it.

* * *

Early Friday morning, I steer my truck into my lawyer's parking lot. The sun is already high in the sky, the air warm and sticky. September is on the horizon and I hope it brings some cooler temps with it. This summer's been brutal.

Ten minutes later, I'm seated in front of Mr. Robert Callahan, an older man with gray hair and plenty of bushy facial hair. He's friendly, his smile warm and it reaches his eyes.

"So, what brings you here today, Knox?"

"Well..." I retell the entire sordid story from start to finish, not leaving out a single detail. Mr. Callahan watches me intently, his attention never wavering.

"I did some research myself, Knox, with the information you provided my secretary. I do have good news for you. All charges have been dropped."

My mouth drops open. Sharon dropped the charges? How in the hell did that happen?

"Surprised?" Mr. Callahan raises an eyebrow.

"You can say that again. I hate to play devil's advocate here, but do you know why?"

Mr. Callahan shakes his head. "No, I don't know too many details. All I know is the charges have been dropped. The one who filed the charges left no explanation."

I nod as I absorb the information. Nothing is ever simple with Sharon. I want to know the entire story because there's more I don't know.

"I'm happy to hear it turned out this way. Is it possible you can assist me with something else?"

"Sure, what is it?" Mr. Callahan scratches his beard.

"I need a restraining order against two people immediately. My friend does as well, but I'll bring her here in person to file with you."

"Of course. I'll gather the forms and we can get started." He stands and moves to collect the necessary paperwork.

I let out a breath, the knot in my stomach somewhat eased. I'm in shock Sharon dropped the charges. There must've been something in it for her, because she wouldn't have backed off so easily. If she can't have me, no one can and she does a damned good job at it.

Max, on the other hand, needs to serve some time. I have no clue what's going on with his case, but I'll be digging for information. I need to keep them away from Emma and myself.

Emma.

Her face pops into my head, her warm brown eyes, her soft creamy skin, and her long golden-brown hair.

My heart hammers in my chest at the thought of her. What could she be doing right now at this exact moment? Is she thinking of me? Missing me as much as I miss her?

We were never anything... hell, we barely dated. So, why do I feel as if half of my heart is missing?

* * *

The next day, I make the forty-five-minute drive to the prison. I'm hoping Ethan listens to me. A rehab center sounds nicer than serving time in prison.

I clench the wheel tightly as I pull in. My nerves get the best of me; my heart picks up speed. Using my therapist’s tricks, I do deep belly breathing in an attempt to relax myself.

I circle the lot a couple of times, sliding into a spot near the back. I grab my wallet and phone and head inside.

After being buzzed in and searched, I'm led to the family waiting room. There’re a few other people sitting in the dark, dank room. No decorations or bulletin boards line the walls, nor is there a TV. A few chairs, a couple of tables, and a few scattered magazines is all there is to see. Fits the theme of a prison, cold and uninviting.

I take a seat and wait as I scroll through my phone.

My name is called and I stand to see Ethan walking behind an officer. He scowls at me and I brace myself, my hands gripping the sides of the table.

His face is slightly puffy and swollen, one eye black, while the other is a purplish color. His lip is split and he has long scratch marks on his neck.

I grip the table so hard, my knuckles turn white. This isn't my brother. This isn't the fun-loving carefree Ethan I know and love. The disease has destroyed him, whittled him down to a small shell of himself.

He sits in a chair diagonally from me, his arms crossed. "Come to rub it in?"

I shake my head, ensuring to keep my gaze serious. "No, I came to try to help you."

Ethan sneers. "You've never wanted to help me before. How in the hell can you help?"

"How about trying for the judge to lessen the prison time by going to a sober house or rehab center?"

"No, no way. I'm not going to one of those places so they can nit-pick my brain."

"Ethan, they aren't trying to nit-pick your brain. They want to help you so you can fight this horrible disease."

"I don't have a fucking disease, Knox. I enjoy getting high." Ethan leans back as he rests his handcuffed hands on the table between us. His eyes hold mine, as if he's daring me to do something. Anything.

"It's time to grow up. Get your life together and figure out your shit."

"You're not our dad, Knox."

"I'm only trying to help." I hold my hands up in surrender.

"I don't need your help. I don't need anyone's help. I'll do what I want. And, if I enjoy being high, then so be it."

He stands and the chair scrapes the floor with a loud screech. "Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself."

Ethan turns and shuffles towards the door, a guard scurrying behind him.

That went well. He's going to a sober house whether he likes it or not.

He'll thank me in the end.

~E~

Another Saturday night alone. Sarah went out with Zeke and Abbie's going on a date with her latest boy toy, which left me to fend for myself. I'm still staying with Sarah. I can't stand to be alone in my house.

I lift my spoon to my mouth, the chocolate peanut butter ice cream is delicious as it slides down my throat. The TV game show host chatters on and on and my eyes begin to slip.

I'm jolted awake by a sharp pain in my stomach and a wave of nausea so strong, it rolls right through me. I push it down before taking a deep breath through my nose.

The room spins and my throat opens. I jump up from the couch and run to the bathroom, my hand covering my mouth.

I make it just in time and end up hugging the toilet as the cold ice cream comes back up. When my stomach is empty and done heaving, I pick myself up off the bathroom floor and make my way back to the couch.

Stretching out, I pull the covers over my head and close my eyes.

My stomach cramps, and I know I'm in for a long night.