About forty minutes outside of St. George, B.C. walked into the posh spa-like place he’d been ordered to go to for rehab and cringed.

The smell of sage assaulted him. Crap. It was one of those New Agey places that were all the rage in Hollywood. The kind he could pretend to fit in with. The producer in his last movie had made them all do yoga in the morning and drink some green drink. He liked to be healthy, but to him it was pushing it a bit too far drinking kale.

Bleck. He couldn’t stand kale.

“Right this way, Mr. Knight,” said the orderly who had met him at the door while someone else valet parked him.

Today was the last possible day for him to check in. He’d agreed to thirty days. Well, the court had allowed him to make a deal in exchange for prison time for his DUI, so he supposed he should be grateful. At least that’s what his agent had told him.

His mind flashed to the dance club last night. To Kira.

Darkness had flooded him again as he’d gone back to his hotel. His security guys had chewed him out when he got out of the Uber at the hotel. He had commitments; he couldn’t be gallivanting all over. He had a career, a house to pay for, for his mother who he’d committed to. He had a life everyone dreamed of.

He’d taken another pill at that point.

Even though he was court ordered to this place, the fact was, he did feel guilty about driving under the influence. He did, after all, hit a car and that driver had been hurt. Nothing more than a little whiplash, but it could have been worse. His attorney had settled with the woman for a cool million and kept it out of the press, but how long would he be out of the press?

To him, the point was that he’d hurt someone because of his addiction. He’d told himself he wouldn’t be his mother, yet here he was.

He looked around. The place was nothing short of a resort. Huge, arched ceiling. Log-cabin style but not a log cabin. Reddish and white, like the brick-colored red rock around St. George he’d noted on the way into town. This place was supposed to be a secret rehab for the rich and famous. His agent told him all the stars came here when they went through something. The staff was excellent, the food delicious, and he’d be ‘well taken care of’. Problem was, he surmised, as he looked around and resisted the urge to spit on the floor just to muck it up a bit, he didn’t want to be pampered and taken care of.

He wanted pain.

Misery. To be left alone in his dark thoughts.

His thoughts had surprisingly been hijacked last night by the ethereal, beautiful, blonde women who looked straight out of the Great Gatsby movie.

That kiss. Dang. Even in his small high, which wasn’t much compared to what he could have done with more pills and alcohol, he remembered that kiss. All night he’d been thinking about her. Dreaming about her. When he woke this morning he thought of the fact, if he were a producer, he would type cast her as a spy.

She was tricky.

Yes, if he were to cast that woman, she would make a fantastic spy, running around in her high heels and black dress and vibrant green eyes. That fragrant blonde hair.

His phone buzzed and he pulled it out, seeing it was Jake, his agent.

“Hey.”

“Are you there?” Jake asked.

He rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

Jake sighed. “Actually, after your little stunt last night when you ditched Tom and Harry, I think you proved I do have to babysit you.”

B.C. opted for silence. He told himself yet again, this was his fault. His hand twitched to get the little pill in his pocket.

Jake continued. “B.C., you need to get through the next thirty days and get signed off or whatever and be back for the premiere. If you’re at the premiere, I have it on good authority, the producer of the new war movie, that true story about World War II, wants you.”

His heart raced. “I’d be working with Travis SanBrook?” That would be huge.

“Yeah. Right now it’s between you and Grant Hutley, so keep your nose clean.” He let out a laugh. “Literally, and get your butt back here.”

“Grant’s up for this role?” He scoffed, thinking of one of his co-stars in the Raced and Wrecked movies.

“Yep.”

B.C. felt the pressure turn up a notch. “What about Trevor and Zade?” He thought about the last premiere where he and his other co-stars had sat in expensive foreign cars and drank champagne at the party after. How they had taken off in one and driven it all over Hollywood that night, high and drunk.

The memories were hazy. He thought it’d been fun then. It had, hadn’t it? He couldn’t really remember all the details. He shook his head and felt a dull ache starting in the back of his left eye. Migraine. That’s usually where it started. Good thing he had one more pill to help deaden the pain. “Trevor and Zade would be good, too.”

“Naw, the part is yours.” Jake assured him.

He sighed. “Hopefully.”

“Okay, good luck, B.C., take care of yourself.” Jake said.

“K.”

The line went dead and he put his phone back into his pocket.

The guy at the front counter, who had waited while he’d been on the phone, rolled his eyes. He was tall. Very tall, like freakish should be playing basketball for the NBA kind of tall. He tapped the counter. “Might as well just leave your phone with me. First week you don’t get it.”

Maybe it was the realization that he was finally here. In this place where he wouldn’t be able to do what he wanted to do. Immediately, B.C. wanted to punch this stupid, guy with his stupid haircut and stupid smile on his face. “What?” He hadn’t been told about this. Freedom was important to B.C. not just because he’d defended that freedom but because he didn’t like to be messed with.

The tall, stupid haircut guy nodded and put out a basket. “Put your phone in here, please.”

B.C. pulled his sunglasses off, immediately feeling the pain surge behind his eye. He squinted at the too happy tall guy. “I’m keeping my phone.”

The guy shook his head. “Nope. In order for you to get signed off by the court, you have to get signed off by us, which means abiding by our rules.”

This didn’t stand with B.C. He wasn’t going to be treated like a kid. “I thought this place was the best rehab place for movie stars,” he stated, sounding a bit like a prima donna. If he had to tap into part-gansta he could go to his Bobby Born role he played in the movie for character orientation.

The guy shook his head. “You can call your fancy agent back, but he’s gonna tell you, you have to comply with our rules or you have to go to a real jail."

It ticked B.C. off that this guy, who apparently, even though he had the stupid haircut and the stupid smile, which wasn’t a smile now, felt pretty confident to boss him around. His agent had told him this was where all the greats had come to do their time, so he figured he had to do this. Probably why his agent had called just a second ago, to make sure he knew, even though he wouldn’t like following the stupid rules, he didn’t have a choice. B.C. had messed up. He thought about hitting that car, thought about the still haziness of the memory of that night and relented. Reluctantly, he shoved the phone down on the counter and glared at up at him.

The guy’s face instantly went from stubborn back to happy. “Hello, Mr. Knight, welcome to Red Rock Acres. Although you will be here to serve your time, it is one of our highest priorities that you are comfortable here. Along with meeting with counselors one-on-one and group therapy, we offer a variety of relaxing classes and yoga, Pilates, Tai Chi, horseback riding. There are meditation classes, too. There are paths around the property on which you are welcome to take long walks and clear your head. Utah boasts fresh air and outdoor living like none other.”

“I don’t need the commercial.” He glared at the guy and wanted to rip his happy face off again. Actually, what he really wanted to do was take the pill in his pocket.

The guy actually broke into a smile and laughed. “Look, it’s the job okay?” He shrugged. “I enjoyed your last movie. I love cars and Raced and Wrecked was amazing with that scene in the sky.”

The words dulled to dribble as B.C. tried to grasp them. Blah blah blah. Yes, everyone liked cars and racing them and loved that scene when they’d been in Italy and the car had come out of an airplane. “Thanks,” he grunted, staring down at the paperwork in front of him.

“Right.” The stupid haircut guy said and pointed to the forms. “You need to sign here and it will be given to the court so they know you are checked in. Your thirty days starts today.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I’m Clark by the way.”

B.C. grunted. “Perfect, another guy who thinks he’s superman.”

Clark scowled at him. “Funny.”

B.C., obviously, wasn’t in a great mood. He signed the forms and Clark walked him through the resort. The arched ceilings and floor to ceiling windows that overlooked a breathtaking view of mountains and red rocks really were beautiful, as well as the garden, fountain, and clear water pools. He saw sporadic people around. He could also see a couple of people in various groups together doing what appeared to be meditation yoga. He snorted. Yeah, that wasn’t for him.

They got to a hallway and walked down it.

“This will be your room." Clark signaled a room that looked like a fancy hospital room and pointed to the numbers. “Two-o-two. For the next month. I think you’ll be happy with the accommodations. There’s a new crop of you coming in today, I think five. So it works out for group therapy. You can all be on the same schedule. You’ll be left alone right now, but before we do that, I need to go through your luggage and check for medications.”

He said the word so doctor like, but B.C. knew he meant drugs.

It wasn’t hard, as a professional actor, to shrug and smile, slip his hand into his pocket and put his fingers around his last pill. "That’s cool.”

Clark narrowed his eyes and put his hand out. “Let me have your last pill.”

It took B.C. by surprise that the stupid grin, haircut face guy had noticed this. He played it cool, slipping it between his fingers like a quarter in a magic trick. He pulled his hand out and held it open. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Clark rolled his eyes. “Hmmph.” He looked at the suitcase and bent to open it.

“So you’re going to pillage my things.” B.C. acted mad, but he knew this was the drill. That’s why he’d thrown the rest of them out this morning, but kept this one. He waited until the guy was pillaging and he put the pill to his mouth, taking it in and swallowing it quick. One last hit for a month.

The guy looked up at him. “I saw that.”

B.C. glowered at him and wondered if someone else, someone at the facility would be willing to get him drugs. Prison always had drugs for the right price, right? He looked through the halls, but there were only people standing around talking, and no one looked …shifty.

“What’s your name, again?” B.C. asked, pretending he had forgotten already.

The guy stood. “Clark, aka, your worst nightmare if you’re thinking you can score drugs from me.”

This wasn’t a prison movie, he reminded himself.

But why hadn’t he thought of this before? He couldn’t imagine it would be that hard to play like he was recovering. After all, he was an actor.

Clark got up and resealed his suitcase. “Alright, just so you know we have the right to check your room and things at any time. That’s part of being here. You don’t have the right to privacy."

B.C. held his gaze. He felt that gut punch he always felt when someone reigned down on him about freedom. “I served this country for four years so you don’t get to tell me what freedoms I get or not.” His mind flitted and he imagined the pill was taking affect and getting in his bloodstream. He felt himself relax a bit and he looked down and saw his hand wasn’t trembling. That was a good start, but how long would it last?

He needed more. He needed to find someone who would score for him.

Clark seemed to be sizing him up.

B.C. could and would take him in a fight. He’d grab that mullet and throw him to the ground in one fell swoop.

Clark glared at him, then turned and walked away. “Dr. Schneider will be here in an hour.”

B.C. watched him go and felt himself relax a bit. He picked up his bag and went to his room. He hated it, he decided quickly. Even though, he reminded himself, he was lucky not to be serving in a real jail. His thoughts flitted to Afghanistan. Heck, living in the shadows of a war zone had been enough jail time for any man, he figured.

Unpacking quickly, he decided he might as well get his running clothes on. They couldn’t stop him from doing that, right? Plus, he’d taken that last pill and he was feeling better, might as well use the time to get in a workout. He needed his workout.

Bolting from the room, he took off down the hall, still liking the fact the place was so open. He put his ear buds in. Good thing he had an MP3 player with his music. He’d kind of wondered if his phone would be gone, so he’d prepped. He rushed down the hall, but then Clark was storming toward him.

“Hey!” Clark called out.

B.C. was faster, seeing deliverance in the door marked exit that led to the outside.

“Hey!” Clark tried again.

B.C. hit the door and was off.

For a second he wondered if sirens would sound or something would happen, but nothing happened. He sped up. He noticed there was a marked hiking path and he took off down it. There were little classes under canopies to block the sun. He could see they were talking or doing Pilates, or yoga, maybe meditation. Hm. Nice concept, he decided, to actually have breakouts for P.E. Maybe this place wouldn’t be so bad.

He fell into a rhythm. Haircut guy had said the doctor wouldn’t be in for an hour, so what did it matter if he cleared his head with a run? He needed to run. Had needed it since forever. He’d always been athletic and his mother had said he needed to push himself.

It was less than an hour and he was back, entering the front of the resort, passing the security desk and giving the stupid haircut a don’t mess with me kind of look.

Clark picked up a phone and glared back at him.

When B.C. got to his room, there was a guy in a white coat there.

A doctor looking guy.

For a second, he thought of that stupid hospital he’d been at in D.C when he’d gotten back from his tour and his knee was busted up. He thought of laying there for hours and having the doctor put some crap in his head about how this wasn’t his fault, he would get through it, and that there was so much more to life. Oh, wait, yes, this was the main thing: That it had all been worth it.

That entire time, the only thing he could think about was his friend Troy who hadn’t been in that hospital with him. Who hadn’t made it. Who hadn’t been able to get talked to by a shrink for hours while he couldn’t freaking go anywhere.

He’d been jealous of Troy.

For dying.

The doctor in B.C.’s prison cell looked inquisitive and put his hand out. “Mr. Knight, I heard you’d checked in.”

Stopping, B.C. ripped his ear buds out and put on his play nice face. The one he could summon from several characters, but he currently didn’t want to summon. “Hey Doc."

“Doctor Schneider.”

That was how it would be, B.C. noted.

He pumped the doctor’s hand and then blew past him into his room.

The doctor followed. “So Clark informed me you went off running. That’s not allowed without getting permission first."

B.C. found a glass and filled it with sink water, wondering if they would have premium water or if he would have to get some lemons while he was here. He sucked back a long drink. “Sorry,” he said, and his tone conveying to both of them he didn’t mean it.

The doctor waited and B.C. sized him up. He was probably in his early fifties, B.C. judged. Probably from St. George. This would be a pretty posh job. Was he good? B.C. inwardly winced. Where any shrinks good? If they were, he’d already be fixed, with enough time he’d spent with therapists.

“So you can’t be doing that. Next time you get a checkmark and if you get three checkmarks, we call the judge.”

Anger rolled through B.C. “Oh, teacher, sorry, next time I’ll wait for the bell.”

Dr. Schneider took in a long, slow breath. “We are tight on structure the first two weeks.” He held out the clipboard to him. “I have your schedule on this sheet.”

B.C. hedged. More freedom taken away. Perfect. He took the clipboard and knew he wasn’t being accommodating, but didn’t care. He looked over an hour by hour map of his days. Which included therapy, exercise, yoga, Pilates, the meditation stuff he saw happening out there. Individual therapy. He saw group meals. Movie nights. What was he at…an adult daycare?

Oh yeah…he was.

Bored, he tossed the clipboard onto the bed and turned away from the doctor. “Fine.” He had to deal with this. He longed for another pain pill and wondered what he would do to make it through thirty days of this.

There had been so many times since he’d started the pills again, that he’d wanted to stop. But how? His willpower hadn’t been enough. Dang it, he wanted to hit something. He sucked in a breath, feeling edgy.

The doctor asked, “B.C., are you okay?”

B.C. didn’t answer. It was one of those moments the Army tells you about that when you’re captured, you never give away pertinent information on troop movements? Well, maybe he didn’t have troop movements, but he had his own mission. Do his time and get out. Get back to life. He closed his eyes and told himself to be okay. He needed to find a character. Something to tap into and become while he was here, to help get through it. He went through the character list in his brain. He thought of what Kira had said about ‘the jacket’.

“B.C.” The doctor said his name in a low voice.

B.C.’s eyes shot open. He turned to face him.

The doctor had taken off his glasses and was letting out a long breath. “I know you don’t want to be here. I know you don’t like having your freedom taken away. I know you are probably starting to get edgy for a pill.”

B.C., once again, wouldn’t confirm or deny the accusations. He was still reading this doctor and wasn’t sure if the doctor was a friend or a foe.

The doctor held up a pill.

B.C. was surprised to see that it was nearly like the pill he’d just taken only an hour ago. “Give it to me.” Every part of him surged and he wanted another.

“Ah, no.” The doctor slipped it into his pocket.

B.C. would slam him.

The doctor let out a breath. “Clark said when he searched your bag, he found this one pill. I don’t know if you dropped it. I would say you will probably be having some serious withdrawals this first week.”

All B.C. could think about was the pill.

The doctor moved for the door. “Take the time to get unpacked and settled in.”

B.C. started to feel like a tied up prisoner. “I can’t stay here.”

The doctor turned back. “It’s going to get worse, son, before it gets better. The next week is going to be hell." He gestured to the large floor to ceiling window and the resort mountains. “We’re forty miles from anyplace on purpose. You can’t run far enough to get a pill. And the whole point is, it’s time to stop running and figure this stuff out.”

Even though B.C. knew it was true, anger raged inside of him. Anger that he was addicted to these stupid pills, anger that he’d allowed himself to get to this point, anger that now he would pay. All he could see was the look in Troy’s eyes as the blood gushed out of him and he took his last breath.

B.C. turned to the wall and punched it as hard as he could.