Obsession (Addiction Duet Book 2)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Author’s Copyright
Obsession
Sean
Harper
If you liked Obsession…
His To Keep
Connor
Sam
His Best Friend’s Little Sister
About Vivian Wood
Obsession
Addiction Duet Book Two
Vivian Wood
Contents
Author’s Copyright
Obsession
1. Sean
2. Harper
3. Sean
4. Harper
5. Sean
6. Harper
7. Sean
8. Harper
9. Sean
10. Harper
11. Sean
12. Harper
13. Sean
14. Harper
15. Sean
16. Harper
17. Sean
18. Harper
19. Sean
20. Harper
21. Sean
22. Harper
23. Sean
24. Harper
25. Sean
26. Harper
27. Sean
28. Harper
29. Sean
30. Harper
If you liked Obsession…
His To Keep
1. Connor
2. Sam
3. Connor
4. Sam
5. Connor
6. Sam
7. Connor
8. Sam
9. Connor
10. Sam
11. Connor
12. Sam
13. Connor
14. Sam
15. Connor
16. Sam
17. Connor
18. Sam
19. Sam
20. Connor
21. Sam
22. Connor
23. Sam
24. Connor
25. Sam
26. Connor
27. Sam
28. Connor
29. Sam
30. Sam
31. Connor
32. Sam
His Best Friend’s Little Sister
About Vivian Wood
Author’s Copyright
Copyright Vivian Wood 2017
May not be replicated or reproduced in any manner without express and written permission from the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to author and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Obsession
1
Sean
Sean shifted on the hard metal bench. He rested his head in his hands and ignored the pinch that still lingered from the handcuffs. With a sigh, he raised his head and tugged at the uncomfortable tie that felt more like a noose.
Wearing a suit in a jail cell seemed like a joke. He’d never wondered how the inmates featured on television switched from street clothes to ill-fitting suits, but now he knew. Lawyers. They could make anything happen.
He’d been blackout drunk during the entire thing. Well, mostly. He remembered little glimpses of the arrest, sparks of light and recognition. But he couldn’t trust himself or his head. How much of it had really happened?
The reports his lawyer had gone over with him hadn’t mentioned her, but he knew she’d been there. Harper had appeared like a saving grace, but it had been too late. That had been two weeks ago, and the scent of shame still clung to him tightly.
He remembered being drunk, or getting there at least. It had been all shiny, fuzzy and warm, a safe cocoon that had felt like home. He vaguely remembered the police showing up, but not the finer details. Sean knew he should have felt some kind of fear when they’d appeared, but the whiskey had numbed it all.
It hadn’t been until Harper showed up, that look of horror on her face, that he’d started to come out of the stupor. It had shot him clean through, straight to his heart. He’d tried to force out the right words, to apologize, but he couldn’t be sure he’d managed to say anything at all. And what does she think of you now?
Two weeks. It had been two weeks, and every waking minute since then all he could think about was how sorry he was. When Connor showed up, it had been all business. Sean sure as hell didn’t want to bring her up, and when Connor lightly broached the subject, Sean shut down. It was obvious Connor didn’t want to be there, was embarrassed of his mess of a family and was simply going through the motions. And who could blame him? Their family was wholly fucked up. If one of them were to get out, of course it would be Connor.
He stood up when he heard the boots of the correction officer down the short hall. Even though the suit was his, it felt wrong. It had been expertly tailored, but something had happened in the past fortnight that made Sean feel like his body wasn’t his. He felt like a phony.
“Harris, you’re up,” the officer said gruffly. Every time the bars of the cell opened with a loud groan, it sounded like a macabre announcement to the world.
His lawyer waited just outside the steel doors. She was one of the best in Los Angeles, but even though she was being paid a princely sum she always shifted restlessly like she was doing Sean a favor. Her name was something exotic, stuffed with sounds that were foreign in Sean’s mouth. He thought of her as T, T for tidy in her little black suit, and just didn’t call her by name aloud.
“Mr. Harris,” she said stiffly, “this way.” As they walked toward her car, another compact little machine just like her, she rehashed the charges. “ … assaulting an officer and being under the influence …”
Well, he knew that was right. He had punched that cop, but it had been right after Ashton had tried to blame him for the drugs. What the hell had they expected him to do?
“ … and the original crime of being under the influence, and possession with intent to distribute …”
He opened his mouth to argue, but clamped it shut again. That charge was bullshit. It had been almost an ounce of cocaine, that was it. Ashton could have shoved that up his nose in a week, easy. And the prescription Adderall with some random girl’s name on the bottle? He’d never figured out where the hell that had come from. The handful of Valium was a mystery, too. It had to have been some of Ashton’s stash, because Sean never touched that shit. I’m just a drunk, he wanted to yell. Not a fucking pill and blow junkie.
“ … the charge with the theft of Adderall, and using a prescription that isn’t yours, along with possession of a controlled substance …”
Would you just shut the fuck up? But Sean listened, dutifully, as T continued to tick off the charges. She was fed up with him, he could tell. And Sean had started to consider whether maybe the scripts really had been his. Or, more accurately, that he’d stolen them. He’d been so fucked up on fifths of whiskey every day back then, who knew what he’d done? Maybe he had stolen those pills, or even a prescription pad, but he didn’t have a clue.
“So?” T asked impatiently as she maneuvered toward the courthouse. “Have you decided yet? Guilty, not guilty, no contest? This is unprecedented, you know, refusing to give me an answer—”
“I told you,” he said as rage bubbled inside. “I’m innocent of anything having to do with drugs. But everything from the day of the arrest is my fault. The assault, being drunk, all that.” He looked out the window as green parks whipped by. It might be the last time he’d see them.
He saw her purse her lips fro
m the corner of his eye. T glanced at him and something in her face softened. “You’re a first-time offender,” she said softly. “You probably won’t get much time. Unless you want to make trouble.”
“I don’t,” Sean said quickly.
“Okay. Well, stay quiet unless the judge asks you a direct question.” T parked the car in a reserved spot and slapped a small sign onto the dashboard. “The judge is friendly, so hopefully we’ll get good news today. My goal is for less than half of the charges to stick.”
Sean nodded as T led him toward the special entrance for arrested defendants.
He’d imagined a scene like in a movie, a courtroom with rich mahogany wood everywhere and a big, thick desk he’d sit behind with T. It wasn’t like that. Instead, he was ushered into a room that was absolutely filled with people, T by his side. She directed him onto a bench where he was squeezed next to a large blonde woman who smelled of cheap perfume.
The judge, a burly man who looked like he doubled as Santa Claus in December, was already naming a punishment for a girl who looked like she couldn’t be older than eighteen. She hung her head and let the greasy locks hide her face.
“Uh …” he muttered and leaned toward T. She shushed him quickly.
As the bailiff called up the next defendant, this one a slim black man dressed in a suit that looked bespoke, Sean scanned the crowd. Some of them looked like criminals, and hadn’t even bothered to dress up. Others looked like accountants, mothers, yoga instructors and teachers. You never could tell.
He spotted Connor and Sam, though Sam seemed enraptured by the judge. Connor gave him an awkward smile and nod. But there was no sign of Harper. He felt his shoulders sag at the realization. Of course she didn’t come. Why would she? He hadn’t done anything even close to what they’d accused him of, but he couldn’t blame her.
“Sean Harris.” The bailiff’s deep voice boomed through the courtroom.
T grabbed his arm firmly. It felt like she had the strength to lift him up, even with her thin brown forearms and sky-high heels.
Sean listened to the click of those heels as he followed her to the front of the courtroom. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Connor and Sam again, but he felt all eyes of the courtroom on him. Some were bored as they waited their turn, but others drank him in like they could really use some juicy gossip.
He’d only partially heard the charges of those who came before him. Compared to him, they were lightweights. There were traffic crimes, animal abuse charges, and simple DUIs that just involved alcohol. Sean wondered how many of these people were actually here for a crime, and how many wandered in for the drama. He hadn’t realized that in most cases, these courtrooms were largely open. Just about anyone could sit in as long as they passed security at the door.
As the judge began reading the charges, he heard T’s all-business voice. It was surprisingly soothing, but he couldn’t concentrate on the words. Just keep quiet, that’s what she said to do. That was easy enough.
Still, as he stood before the room with the chipped furniture and the probing eyes, all he could think of was Harper. He couldn’t blame her. And wasn’t that what he’d been afraid of all along? He’d get attached, she’d get attached, and then he’d fuck the whole thing up?
He should have listened to his gut. The whole mess was one self-fulfilling prophecy. He’d tried, he really had, for so long to push her away. He’d warned her, he’d showed her glimpses of who he really was—he couldn’t have shown her the whole thing, that would have scarred her for life.
Behind him, somebody coughed and he heard the phlegm in their throat. Sean turned to see a downtrodden young woman, no older than twenty, with a glint of glee in her eyes. What the hell are you so happy about?
“ … not guilty to the charges of possession with intent to distribute …” T’s voice cut through his thoughts. Not guilty. Who would believe that? It was true, but it was what everyone said.
Still, when he stole a look at the judge, he saw nothing. Just the broad face of a man who looked like he had heard it all.
How did it all get to this point?
2
Harper
Harper watched the last of the cigarette crumble to dust between her fingers. P would never miss the ones she kept filching. Besides, he’d seemed to intuit for the first time in their long friendship her need for quiet.
P had been a sweetheart about the whole thing, she had to give him that. Unlike her catty roommates—all except Molly—he hadn’t pushed and prodded when he’d heard about her life falling apart. His eyes hadn’t lit up with the promise of some irresistible gossip. Instead, he’d quietly but firmly demanded that she move right in.
It was selfless, graceful, but that didn’t make sleeping on the living room couch any more comfortable. Still, when your boyfriend just got arrested in front of you, any couch made a perfectly good place to plop down and cry.
That had lasted three full days, while Harper took breaks to lick at her wounds in the empty loft. P spent most of his days either at work in the leather shop or tucked away into one of the shared spaces he leased for designing.
Alone and all cried out, day four had turned into the day of perpetual cleaning. Harper looked around. It was like the past few days of nonstop cleaning had been pointless. For my bestie, you really have some nasty guy habits, she thought. P hadn’t even said anything in the past week when he dragged himself home. The sudden lack of empty sugar-free energy drinks and used coffee mugs hadn’t made an impression on him.
On the other hand, he was certainly doing his part on keeping pace with her. More nights than not, he came home drunk. Harper would stick her head under the thin blanket until she could figure out if he was alone or not. Whether P had company or not, it didn’t stop him from rampaging through his loft while he dropped takeout gyros on the floor and fumbled for what he called a “gentleman’s nightcap.” On his worst nights, she spent most of the next day picking up his mess.
It was ten in the morning on a Tuesday when Harper flopped onto the couch after her morning cleaning session. The vibration of the Dyson vacuum still growled in her palms. She was exhausted, but if she scoured the want ads, at least she’d feel somewhat productive.
“Jesus, what the hell was that?” P emerged from his bedroom, gauzy violet bathrobe with lace-trimmed sleeves clinging tightly to his forearms.
“Oh my god!” Harper jumped into a seated position on the couch and instinctively tried to neaten up her sweats to look semipresentable. “I thought you were at work!”
“Bitch, since when do I work on Tuesday mornings? It sounded like there was a construction crew in here. But I don’t see any hard hats. Besides, well, the morning wood—”
Harper threw a pillow at him while he made a display of his crotch beneath the silk folds. “It was your vacuum,” she said.
“Huh. I didn’t know I had one of those. God, can you get me some water? I’m hungover as hell.”
She rolled her eyes and pushed herself toward the kitchen. The coolness of the concrete countertops brushed against the sliver of bare skin between her rolled-up sweats and tank top.
P had already draped himself over the couch when she returned with two bottled waters. “Want ads, huh?” he asked before he tossed the paper onto the coffee table. “How did the interview with Sophia go?”
Harper scrunched up her face. How did it go? Sophia took one look at me and instantly started in about her expertise in anorexia. Sure, she’d been nice about it. But within two minutes she’d said Harper wouldn’t be “suitable for the job” until the situation was “resolved.” She sighed. “It’s not a good fit right now,” she told P.
“Bitch. Her loss,” he said as he downed the bottle in one chug. “So, uh … don’t take this as a hint or anything, okay? But I’m assuming this means you also can’t move. Especially with everything up in the air with Sean.”
She groaned. The last thing she wanted to think about was Sean. “As far as I know, he’s in jail,” she
said.
“You haven’t talked to him?”
“No. Haven’t heard from him at all.” That was true. But she’d spent many sleepless nights thinking about the arrest.
“Good for you. Curiosity killed the cat. Luckily for me, I don’t have a pussy. Don’t want anything to do with them. That’s why I looked him up—”
“P!”
“What?” he reached for his notebook. “Don’t act like you don’t want to see.” P went to a bookmarked page of recently released mugshots from LA County. And there he was—along with a long list of charges.
Harper was taken aback, even as P pushed the notebook into her hands. “This … this isn’t right,” she said. The list of charges was substantial, and most had nothing to do with that night. She focused her eyes away from his face, so striking even with the veil of alcohol over it. The raven in the flowers that creeped up his neck shot a pang of regret through her. “These charges …”