Black Tangled Heart by Samantha Young Page 0,48

now is the time to fall off the wagon?”

“Jamie—”

“No, if she’s drunk, I’m driving her straight to rehab. Wait here.”

I shook with adrenaline as I marched out of my room. One second, everything in my world was good. School was great, Lorna and I were cool, and while I’d been a little worried about Skye, it wasn’t to the point it could eclipse the bliss of making love to my girl after several days of going without.

Until now.

“Fuck my life,” I muttered.

I knocked on Skye’s bedroom door. Getting no response, I charged right in.

Shit, her room was a mess. Her clothes were strewn everywhere and there was a musty smell as though she hadn’t aired it out in days. Hearing a noise from the bathroom, I rounded the bed and came to an abrupt halt at the open bathroom door.

Skye was bent over the sink, snorting white powder.

She blinked rapidly as she stood up straight and leaned into the mirror to wipe that shit off her nostrils.

Fury and worry and despair held me in place.

What the hell could I do?

How was I going to keep her clean if she was determined not to be?

Don’t give up. It’s not time to give up.

She is not Mom.

Skye turned toward the door and stopped when she saw me.

Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry.”

Emotion choked me. “Skye …” My voice was hoarse.

Moving toward me, she stumbled. Was she drunk too? Remembering the last time she’d had so much to drink and so much fucking coke she’d given herself a heart attack, I moved to steady her. I needed to stay calm. “Skye, how much have you had to drink?”

“I dunno.” She shrugged, holding on to me as I led her to the bed. “A lot, maybe.”

“And how much coke?”

She waved her finger at me. “I just got it. Treenie gave it to me before she dropped me off.”

I didn’t know who Treenie was, but it was the last time she was getting near my sister. “Okay, up, let’s go.”

“Where are we going? Are you mad?”

“I’m disappointed.”

“Ugh, that’s worse.”

“Come on.” I put my arm under her and helped her out of her room.

Jane was waiting in the hall, dressed, eyes round with worry. “What’s going on?”

“Doe, run out to the car. You’re going to drive.”

I didn’t need to say anything else. My girl knew where we were going.

Skye kept asking as we drove, but I distracted her. By the time I had her in the ER, it was too late for her to do anything about it.

Thankfully, nothing happened. The docs kept a watch on her overnight, while Jane, Lorna, and I spent Christmas at her bedside in the hospital.

When they discharged Skye the next day, I let her convince me she could get clean again on her own. That she didn’t need rehab, she just needed to go back to her AA meetings and get back in touch with Sheridan.

Skye was so convincing. So contrite. So determined.

I gave in.

Not long later, I’d question that decision over and over again.

10

JANE

Eighteen years old

I couldn’t stop shaking.

It felt like my bones were rattling with the force of it.

Nausea covered my skin in a cold sweat, but I’d already thrown up the contents of my stomach as well as bile. There was nothing left to eject.

Staring at the phone in my hands, I wondered how I was supposed to do this.

It didn’t feel real.

I’d felt anguish before.

I’d felt grief, way too young to know how to deal with it.

This was different.

This wasn’t just my pain. It was … his.

I couldn’t breathe.

“Would you like us to make the call, Ms. Doe?”

Swiping at the tears that rolled in continuous tracks down my face was pointless. They kept coming; I kept brushing them away. The police officer who’d spoken was gazing down at me, his expression kind, capable.

Instead of his dark eyes, I saw Jamie’s ocean ones.

Yesterday morning, I’d dropped him off at the university where he was meeting his teammates. They were heading to the airport together to catch their flight to San Francisco. Usually, I went to as many of Jamie’s track meets as possible to support him, but I couldn’t afford a flight to San Francisco. And I had a paper to finish for art history.

Jamie had kissed me goodbye and then before he’d gotten out of the car, he’d turned to me and said, “If you get Skye to talk to you, my love for you will turn to adoration.”

“You already adore me,” I replied.

“True.” He

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