Never Stop (The Halo Series Book 3)

by Kimberly Knight

  “I know, man, but you need time to regroup yourself.”

  “I’ll do it when it’s all over.”

  Avery chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You never wanted to be home when you were married to Dana. Now that’s the only place you want to be.”

  I glared at him. “We don’t need to compare them. My life has changed. I’ve changed. You want to give me shit for wanting to take care of the woman I love?”

  He leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees. “I know, which is good. I just know you, and you need time to let loose. I don’t want you to get burned out.”

  I knew he was right. Even if Brooke weren’t going through her ordeal, I’d still need time to myself. Everyone did. Avery and I usually went to the gym most mornings because working out was a way to blow off steam. I hadn’t been to the gym in weeks.

  “But what about Brooke? She’s home alone most of the day. I can’t leave her all night.”

  “Who said anything about all night? We’ll go for a few hours.”

  “Why don’t you have Nicole go over and spend time with Brooke?” I suggested.

  Avery nodded. “Yeah, I bet they’d both like that.”

  Our sneakers squeaked along the waxed floor as sweat rolled down my face. Signaling for Avery to pass me the ball, I raised my arms above my head. He looked at me and threw the ball as I ran down the opposite end of the court. When I was close to the basket, no other guy around, I tossed it underhand with one arm and into the net.

  “Fuck,” our opponents groaned.

  “That’s game, boys,” Avery stated from half court.

  We walked off the court and stood off to the side each running a white gym towel on our sweaty heads. It felt good to sweat again—to hang with my friends and loosen up a bit. Avery was right, I needed to regroup.

  “Now you two can go celebrate with those broads over there.”

  I looked to where Charles pointed. “Nah, we’re good. You two go tell them you want them to lick your wounds.”

  “I’ll give them something to lick.” Steven smiled.

  “Yeah, loser dick.” Avery chuckled. The four of us laughed. It felt good to banter with my friends again, even if I’d only seen these guys at the gym.

  “Go to our bar and tell them we said we’d buy you pussies a drink.”

  “You two should come. They won’t believe you sent us,” Charles pointed out.

  “I’ll call them. East’s wife just had surgery and needs to get home,” Avery supplied.

  “Aw man, that sucks,” Steven stated.

  I nodded. “It’s cool. She’s a fighter.”

  “Good.” Charles clapped me on the back. They didn’t ask why Brooke had surgery and I didn’t elaborate. These were gym friends and guys I only saw for a few hours a week, and we mostly tried to out lift, out run, out anything with each other.

  “What about you Avery?”

  He grinned his shit-eating grin. “I need to go home and fuck my wife.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Brooke

  “So, I was thinking,” I paused the show Easton and I were watching on our DVR, “I’m going to stop taking the oxy.”

  I was starting to notice the side effects of the oxy more. If I went longer than four hours without taking the pills, I would sweat on the left side of my body. Just the left. It was a weird sensation. I emailed Dr. Simon and asked him about it. Apparently, it was due to them cutting the T1 nerve. I had no idea that a nerve in my arm could cause such a thing. Then again, it was supposed to be attached to the spinal column.

  I started thinking that maybe I was addicted to the drug and that maybe I wasn’t really in pain. I’d heard people talk about side effects about drugs and that your body more or less starts to crave the high. Some might think that being on the drug for a few months wouldn’t cause you to become addicted, but that wasn’t true. I knew from the minute ten milligrams worked that I would try to take them for as long as I could. Having the pain relief was like taking a bite of cake after dieting for a year. The moment you stick the pill in your mouth, a sense of relief flows through you. It might not be in your system yet, but the mere thought of it on its way was satisfaction, and everything else seemed to take a backseat. It was like my body knew it was coming.

  Could my body be tricking me into thinking I really was in pain because it wanted that awesome relaxed feeling it got from the oxy? One of the withdrawal side effects was muscle and joint pain. Could my body really need the drugs so bad that going a few minutes over caused withdrawal symptoms?

  There was only one way to find out.

  I felt Easton’s gaze turn to me. “Why?”

  I sat up and looked at him and explained how I was feeling. I wasn’t sure what made me exactly want to stop other than when I searched the withdrawal symptoms, sweating was one of them. If I went longer than four hours without taking the pills, I would sweat on the left side of my body. Just the left. It was a weird sensation. I’d emailed Dr. Simon and asked him about it. Apparently, it was due to them cutting the T1 nerve. I had no idea that a nerve in my arm could cause such a thing. Then again, it was supposed to be attached to the spinal column.

  I also knew that I felt agitated if I didn’t pop a pill and the pain—the pain that seemed to only go away for four hours at a time and not one-hundred percent. Also the loss of appetite, but that was from when I was in the hospital. Needless to say, I had a lot of the symptoms of withdrawal. Sure, I didn’t have the major ones yet like vomiting or anything of that nature, but having half of the list was enough for me to question if I was an addict.

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I can always start taking them again.”

  “You’ve only been recovering for a few months.”

  “Maybe I was only supposed to be on them for a month like my original supply.”

  “I actually don’t think you can have refills on narcotics anymore. The doctor needs to call it in each time.”

  My brows furrowed. “How do you know that?”

  “I looked it up,” Easton stated. “After I emailed Dr. Simon for you last time, I was curious why there were no refills after a major surgery. I guess there’s some regulation about it now or maybe oxy is just different from Norco.”

  “It definitely is different. I can tell just by taking it.” When I was taking Norco, it just took my pain away more or less.

  “So you really want to stop?” he asked again.

  I sighed. “I hate being dependent on pills. If we ever want to have a baby, I can’t be doped up.”

  “All right. What’s your plan?”

  I thought for a few months. “I guess I’ll go back down to five milligrams for like a week and then zero.”

  “Sounds good. The weed is in my closet if you need it again.”

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head. “No thanks.”

  “We can make brownies or something.”

  “You just don’t give up do you?” I was starting to get annoyed at his insistence.

  With a warm smile, he said, “I just want to hear you laugh again.”

  For the next week, I couldn’t stop sweating. It was as though my body was trying to release the toxins from within. My anxiety started to increase, and I cried more. I didn’t think I could cry more than I already was, but sure enough, I was crying every hour.

  When Cheyenne was home, I tried my hardest to be strong in front of her, but the moment she would leave the room, the waterworks started. I tried over and over to stop. I was fine—physically okay—but emotionally spent.

  And it was just the beginning.

  Before bed, I took my final pill then slept for five hours. That seemed to be my new normal. Probably due to the fact that I took naps throughout the day and was sleeping twenty hours in total. Everyone kept telling me to rest, and that my body was healing. Luckily that meant I wasn’t feeling pain.

  When I woke up the foll
owing morning, I resisted the urge to take another pill. I started sneezing even though I wasn’t sick or that it wasn’t allergy season. The longer the day progressed, the more I was feeling the effects. I had no idea it would happen so soon. Then again this was my first time experiencing something like it.

  Easton came home, took one look at me on the couch, and said, “I think Cheyenne should stay at my parents for a few days.”

  I nodded. “Can you turn the heater on?”

  He drew his head back as though I slapped him with my words. “You want the heater on when it’s in the nineties outside?”

  I shivered. “It’s not ninety in here, and I’m cold.”

  “This must be a side effect because it’s not cold in here.”

  “Well, I’m cold!” I stood. “I’m so fucking cold on my right side, but my left side is sweating.” I started to pace in front of the couch.

  Back and forth …

  Back and forth …

  “I’ll get you a blanket.”

  Back and forth …

  Back and forth …

  “And socks. My feet are so cold.”

  Easton turned and went down the hall to the closet where we kept blankets. “This is definitely withdrawals.”

  “How would you know?”

  He came back with the blanket. “I’ve seen movies.”

  I sat down on the couch, and Easton placed the blanket on me. “Not sure it’s the same thing. Where are my socks?”

  “I’ll get them now.”

  He turned and left again while I closed my eyes, willing sleep to take me. Instead, I shivered non-stop. When he returned with my socks, I slipped them on, and he tucked me under the blanket again.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I don’t like feeling like this.”

  He crouched down on the side of the sofa. “We’re in this together. We’ll get through it.” Tears started to fall from my lids.

  “Why are you crying?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I just do that now.”

  He reached up and brushed the hair away from my forehead. “It’s okay. So what do you want for dinner?”

  I glared at him. It was the same every night.

  “Okay. Well, you’ll eat what I make you, or I’ll call Nicole to come force you to.”

  “God!” I groaned. “I’m starting to hate this whole taking care of me bullshit.”

  He smiled. “No, you’re not.”

  I wasn’t. In fact, I loved it.

  “Whatever,” I murmured.

  That night, I didn’t sleep for more than two hours at a time.

  I was pacing again. My body felt as though it was antsy and I couldn’t sit still for more than ten minutes. I was also sweating and shivering at the same time.

  “How long will this last?” I asked Easton. He stayed home to take care of me.

  “Until it’s out of your system.”

  “But how long is that?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  Groaning, I grabbed my phone and started to research how long people said it took. Some said a few days. Some said a week or more. One lady said one day and she was on oxy for two years. How the fuck was that possible?

  I was twenty-four hours in, and everything was getting worse. I was cold, so cold. My feet were cold, but sweating, and my mind felt as though it was on speed. I searched story after story about people’s experiences and there seemed to be none that were the same. I wanted answers.

  I wanted to know when it would end.

  I wanted to sleep.

  “How about you take a hot shower?”

  I looked toward Easton, the blanket pulled up to my chin. “Yeah. A shower.”

  After Easton helped me get undressed, I stepped under the warm spray of the water. It was like going from a cold swimming pool and into a hot tub. My body instantly started to warm up.

  It didn’t last long, though. Thirty minutes after my shower, my body started to shiver again. I also didn’t sleep a wink.

  “When will it end?”

  “When it’s out of your system,” Easton repeated his previous answer to me.

  I didn’t want that answer. I wanted a timeframe. It had been five long days. Each night I went to bed and prayed I’d wake up normal again. My mind was still racing. I was pacing every half hour for an hour at a time.

  Back and forth …

  Back and forth …

  “It’s never going to end,” I cried.

  “It will,” Easton assured.

  “It’s not.”

  “It will, baby.”

  “I want to die. It’s never going to end, and I just want to just die.”

  Back and forth …

  Back and forth …

  “You don’t want to die.”

  “I do.” Tears started to roll down my cheeks. “I can’t take it anymore. My feet are freezing but sweating. I’m not sleeping, and I feel like I could pull my hair out.” I felt like what I assumed being on crack felt like.

  “What’s your biggest issue right now?”

  My brows arched. “All of it.”

  “No, I mean if you could have one relief, what would you want it to be?”

  “My feet. It’s annoying as fuck.”

  “Okay. Come sit down, and I’ll figure something out.” Easton gestured for me to sit in my usual spot on the couch.

  “How?” I asked.

  “I just will. Sit down, okay?”

  I nodded and sat. My pacing hour was almost up anyway. Easton returned a few minutes later with a Styrofoam ice chest.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Your feet,” he said and put the box down on the floor by me.

  “My feet?”

  “There’s warm water in it. Let’s see if it works.”

  I sat up and placed my feet into the water. It instantly soothed my freezing feet. “Thank you.”

  He stood and kissed the top of my head. “Let me know when it gets cold, and I’ll refill it.”

  I tossed.

  I turned.

  I stood and walked.

  Back and forth…

  Back and forth…

  “It’s never going to end.”

  Easton looked over from his phone. “It will.”

  “It’s been nine days. It’s never going to end.

  “It will end. I promise. Come lie back down.”

  “Will you rub my head?”

  He smiled. “Of course.”

  I lay in bed, my head on his chest as his fingers ran along my scalp. I was still in pain, but it wasn’t like when I first came home from the hospital. I wasn’t certain if I should be off pain medication. I knew I wasn’t going to start them again because the hell I was living in wasn’t worth it.

  Before I knew it, I was asleep in my husband’s arms.

  “Are you feeling better today?” Easton asked.

  I looked up at him from the couch. “Yeah.”

  “See? Told you. You just had to give it time to get out of your system.”

  “I guess,” I agreed. I was still weak, tired, anxious, but it was subsiding.

  “Want to go for a walk?”

  “A walk?” I questioned.

  “I read that it might help.”

  I didn’t feel like taking a walk. I wanted to lie in my divot on the couch.

  “Come on. Fresh air will be good for you.”

  In the last two months, I hadn’t been out of the house except for a handful of times. When I stepped foot out the door, it was like stepping into heaven. The sun was shining, the air was warm, and I knew I had survived.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Easton

  Exhausted couldn’t describe how I felt the last two weeks.

  My heart was breaking as I watched Brooke suffer, but there was nothing I could do except comfort her, and I tried. When she told me she wanted to die, I knew she didn’t mean it. It was the drugs talking. But what do you tell someone who tells you they want to die and not keep living in pain? The
only thing I could tell her was that it would pass. I didn’t know when, but that was one thing I was certain of.

  Luckily by day fifteen she was back to normal. And thankfully all this shit happened during the summer so Cheyenne could stay at Courtney’s or my parents. There was a night she even stayed at Avery and Nicole’s. I couldn’t tell her what Brooke was going through because I knew she wouldn’t fully understand. Hell, I didn’t completely understand. Brooke didn’t have the same reaction when she was getting off Norco. One day Cheyenne might know, but it wouldn’t be when she was eleven.

  “Want to go to lunch with me?” I asked Cheyenne. I’d really missed her the last two weeks. I saw her, but it was more like she was at summer camp and not home.

  “Can Courtney come?”

  I shook my head. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with her. Let’s just the two of us go.”

  “What about Brooke?”

  “She’s resting.”

  “Okay. Can we get pizza?”

  I smiled. “You read my mind, Peanut.”

  We pulled up to the pizzeria and entered the building. Instantly, the unmistakable smell hit my nose. I could eat pizza every day.

  “Anchovies and broccoli?”

  “Eww,” Cheyenne gagged. “That’s disgusting.”

  I laughed and stepped forward in line. “A large pepperoni with extra cheese and a side of ranch. Two fountain drinks, too.”

  I paid, and then Cheyenne and I filled our cups and went to sit in a booth to wait for our pizza. “Enjoying your summer?” I asked.

  Chey took a sip of her soda. “Yeah, we’re learning how to play pool at the park.”

  I choked a little on my own drink. “Pool?”

  “Yeah. You know with the balls you hit with a stick.”

  Oh, I knew the game all right. “Uncle A and I used to play.”

  “Were you any good?”

  I shrugged as if it were nothing. “A little.”

  “When I get better, I’m going to beat Uncle A.”

  I smiled. Those two had such a rivalry.

  They brought our pizza, and we dug in, both of us enjoying the cheesy goodness when Cheyenne asked, “Is Brooke dying?”