Bullet Series Box Set Books 1-8

by Jade C. Jamison

  Booze and various pharmaceuticals (and other poisons) had helped him cope for a long time, but even he knew the jig was up. He’d truly hit bottom and it was time to get professional help. The first thing he’d done was hire an assistant—a woman older than his mother, one with a family and as straight-laced as they come. He had her help him clean out his apartment for her first job while he went into rehab. Before he got out, he had her find him the best psychiatrist she could find and set him up this appointment. He stayed in rehab lots longer than he’d really needed to, but he was afraid to leave.

  So, even though he knew meeting with the shrink was an important move and probably vital to his tenuous sobriety, it didn’t mean it was going to be easy for him to spill his blood and guts. No, it was probably going to be one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Ethan wasn’t a talker—he’d told more to his ex-wife Valerie and his best friend Brad, the man who was like his brother, and even they had no fucking clue.

  It didn’t help that Ethan had a deeper, darker secret.

  He was pretty fucking sure he was crazy.

  Well, maybe crazy wasn’t the right word, but he was scared shitless to tell anyone. What would people think if they knew his head was as truly fucked up as he imagined it was? He knew. They’d lock his ass away for good.

  The biggest problem was that, aside from the escape chemicals brought him, music was his only release from the pain he felt every day. Only music could make him feel whole. He suspected Valerie and Brad knew that. Oh, hell, the world knew it. How many times over the years had he heard he “got lost in” his guitar? Val used to get so pissed at him, accusing him of loving his guitar more than he loved her.

  And, maybe to a degree, it was true. That guitar could take his mind off everything. Val didn’t have that power. No one did.

  He inhaled deeply. So…how did he tell the shrink what he was thinking? Or should he keep all this shit to himself?

  “Fuck, man. I don’t even know where to start.” Yes, Ethan had chosen his words carefully. He dropped the biggest motherfucker of all cusswords. If the shrink couldn’t stand his mouth, they’d have to part ways. Ethan didn’t plan to change his language to avoid offending someone, especially someone who was asking to hear all his dark and dirty secrets. When the shrink didn’t even flinch, Ethan felt a small victory. Okay, it might not work…but they were at least on the right track.

  “Why don’t you just start at the beginning?”

  That one hit him like an arrow between the eyes. The beginning? Where the fuck was the beginning? “It’s my whole goddamned life. There is no start.”

  Dr. Thomas nodded his head and jotted something on his notepad. “Okay, then just tell me about life right now. Would that be a good place to begin?”

  Ethan nodded and said, “Yeah, I guess.” Still…he couldn’t imagine explaining life today without some sort of prologue to his story. “Do you follow music news at all?”

  “Not intentionally. No offense.”

  Ethan actually chuckled. “None taken. Metal’s not everyone’s thing and we’re definitely not top forty.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard of your band. Don’t get me wrong.”

  Ethan couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face. Somehow it was more satisfying having this guy who was an M.D. tell him he’d heard of his music than having a screaming fan tell him she wanted to suck his cock just because he was in her favorite band. But his ego wasn’t helping him get to the heart of the matter. So he nodded again and continued. “Well, I’ve…uh…struggled with addiction for a long time now, and recently I went into rehab again. You might already know that. I want this to be the last time I go for rehab, but I gotta tell you—the pull some things have on me is strong and it scares the shit out of me that I’ll be shooting up again or snorting or inhaling before I know it. I’m killing myself, doc.” He was going to avoid talking about the crazy shit…for now at least.

  “What do these things do for you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Dr. Thomas adjusted in his chair a little, but his demeanor remained calm, his voice soft. “Why do you drink until you’re in a stupor, for instance, instead of not? What makes you reach for the bottle?”

  Oh…the shrink wasn’t fucking around. He wanted to get down to brass tacks right away. Ethan let out a breath. He didn’t know that he was ready for that yet…not that he had much of a choice. He was paying this guy—and paying him well—to help him solve his problems. He’d be a shyster if he was just trying to prolong the process needlessly. But what would unadulterated honesty hurt? He’d hidden so much from Val, not wanting her to see him as weak or helpless. Same with Brad. For some reason, he couldn’t let them see him as vulnerable. But this guy…well, Ethan was paying the shrink to not give a shit. He was paying him to help him in spite of any perceived weaknesses.

  Still…he’d protected his inner self for so long that it wasn’t a simple matter to just let go. It was going to be difficult. And yet he knew he needed to do it, needed it desperately, because holding on was killing him.

  So he decided right then and there that he was going to be as honest as he could possibly manage. It wasn’t going to be easy, but he knew it had to be done. He delved as deep as he could (knowing that he could go much deeper, that there were depths he hadn’t seen since childhood), looking for an answer to Thomas’s question. “God…lots of things. Insecurity, fear, anger.”

  Thomas nodded. “It’s emotional, yes, but can you tell me any specific instances? Is there some specific time you can think of recently that sent you spiraling out of control?”

  No thinking, Ethan. Just fucking do it. Talk, man. Talk. He gritted his teeth. He felt like he was going to vomit just thinking about it, but he was going to do it. As honest as he could get. “Well, it started a while back, actually, before my kid was born. It was right before my band broke big. My dad died. I hated my dad, and part of me was glad he died. But, for some stupid reason, it hurt too. Makes no sense. I felt like there were things I should have said, should have done, but really the bastard deserves to rot in hell.” The shrink looked at Ethan, not judging him, not saying a word, his brown eyes simply urging Ethan to continue. Somehow, Ethan found it comforting. “But I got my shit together, right? I had a band and we’d finally made it big. We had to record a CD and then hit the road. My dream had finally come true. So I managed to pull it together for a while.”

  “Did you stop drinking and using?”

  “Not entirely, no. I never did, even when I told everyone else I had. I never stopped entirely. I just got good at hiding it and keeping my shit together. I got better about controlling when and where and how I used, but no. I never stopped all the way. Anyway, I was in a controlled period for a while until we went on tour and then it was balls out. Holy fucking shit. Anything and everything I could ever want: women—lots of them, drugs of every flavor, booze flowing like water. And when I say drugs, I’m talking premium, the best quality, not common cheap street shit. High quality, strong stuff too. Premium highs. God, it was like the world was being handed to me on a silver platter, and I just lapped it up.

  “But I’m sure you already know…no matter how much I took, I couldn’t completely bury it all. It was still there, but the booze, the drugs, the girls…they made it all quieter, you know? Easier to manage. It helped make me a little numb.

  “And then the wife…well, she got pregnant. Holy shit. Talk about a lot of fucking responsibility. And I tried to clean up my act. I really tried. She needed me…and I let her down. Big time. And you’d think having something—someone—to live for would make it easier. Fuck no. It made it harder. All of a sudden, I was an adult and I had to be a husband and a father. Again, though…for a while, I was pretty good at hiding it all. But then I was on tour again. Overdosed on H. Not the first time. I somehow made it through the tour, and I kept thinking of Chris—my son—how he needed me, needed for me to get my shit together.

  “Then something just snapped, something t
hat had been, like, waiting in the wings, you know, just looking for the perfect moment. Something in my head. It had always been there, but it had been pretty quiet, pretty dull, and it would rear its ugly head every once in a while, but a hit of coke would usually send it running. Not this time. It was heavy. Jesus, it was…” He let out a long breath, suddenly tired of talking, but he pressed on. “I guess you could call it depression, but that sounds so fucking weak, you know? So fucking lame. That’s what Val said it was. But…what I’ve read about it, I think maybe she was right. I just wanted to sleep all the time. I wanted to die, but I didn’t have the guts to kill myself. With H maybe. Maybe I could do it that way…just float away on a cloud and never come back. But I knew if I just blew my fucking brains out, Val and Chris and, hell, even Brad and the other guys would hate me for the rest of their lives. I couldn’t give up on them, but I couldn’t make myself go on anymore. I wasn’t doing anything anymore—wasn’t writing, that’s for damn sure, and I wasn’t doing anything else. I wasn’t hanging with my friends, wasn’t making love to my wife. I was just eating, getting high, and sleeping. I just wanted to go to bed and never wake up.”

  His voice got quieter. Thomas had stopped writing in his notepad, was instead just patiently looking at Ethan, urging him with his eyes to continue. Ethan nodded his head and then looked down at his hands. “Anyway…one day, Val was harping on me, telling me to get out of bed. I don’t even remember half the shit I said to her, but I was pissed that she wouldn’t just leave me alone, wouldn’t just leave me to die. She was pleading with me to get out of bed, to spend time with her and my son. And then something just snapped. I don’t know what made me do it, but I just shoved her up against the wall and my hand started closing around her neck. Slowly, slowly, and I just wanted to shut her up. I didn’t want to hurt her, but it was like I was out of my mind, like I wasn’t there.” Ethan closed his eyes, forcing himself to relive the moment. “I was so fucking angry…but I don’t know if I was mad at her or myself. She knew I was depressed. She even said so. And she was calling me out, said she wanted to help me. I kept telling her to leave me alone and she wouldn’t. She wanted me to spend more time with Chris. That made me feel like shit. I knew I’d been a shitty father, but I didn’t need the reminder. And then she just threatened to leave and started walking to the door, and that’s when I just snapped. I lost it. And it was like my dad took over my body.”

  When Ethan stopped talking, Thomas ran his hand over his bald head and then said, “What do you mean by that?”

  Ethan gulped and opened his eyes. Oh, God…his father was a whole other can of worms, something he didn’t really want to talk about, even though he’d already hinted at it. But he knew he had to press forward. He didn’t have to tell all, not today, but he did have to try to help Thomas understand. “My dad was a bastard. A real son of a bitch. He abused my mom, me even, and I was glad when he left. But…” Ethan swallowed again. What the fuck? His eyes started stinging. He swallowed again, forcing himself through the pain. “But…after he left, I felt empty somehow. And I always resented him for that…for not being a better dad, for not loving us enough to treat us right, and for leaving…even though I knew it was the best thing, the right thing to do.

  “Anyway, choking Valerie, almost killing her? That’s something I’d seen my dad do to my mom when I was a kid. But it was like I couldn’t stop…like I just needed her to shut the fuck up, and that was the only way to do it. She was begging me to stop and I couldn’t. But then she couldn’t say anything else and she started slapping me on the chest, and somehow I snapped back.

  “And that’s when I realized I lost her. Even if I didn’t, I knew then I didn’t deserve her. And, really, we just weren’t good for each other. I love that woman. I do. But I will never treat her right. We have a…what are they called? Dysfunctional relationship. I will never know how to treat her the way she deserves to be treated. I seriously doubt I’ll ever be good for any woman. Truth is, though, there was someone else I knew she loved more than she loved me, and that was someone I knew would treat her right.” He rested his forehead on his hand again, his elbow resting on the arm of the overstuffed leather sofa.

  “Are you really okay with that?”

  “Do I have a choice?” He sighed. “No, I’m really not, and I’m still being a bastard about it.” He swallowed.

  “Tell me about that.”

  “Well…Brad and Val are living together now, and even though I knew they’d secretly loved each other for forever, it pisses me off. Really pisses me off…made me feel like they were just waiting for me to go off the deep end so they could hook up.”

  “Do you really think that’s the case?”

  “No. But it still hurts. Even though I know I’m the worst possible person for Val, it still hurts. And even though I know Brad is the best man for her, will love her and take care of her better than anyone else on the planet ever could, it hurts. And it makes me fucking pissed.”

  “So what are you doing about it?”

  Ethan had to relax his jaw to talk. “I’m refusing to grant her the divorce. And I’ve threatened to take full custody of our son.”

  “Is that something you want…full custody?”

  Ethan shook his head. “No, not really. Don’t get me wrong. I want to see Chris. I love that kid. But, no. I don’t want full custody. Val’s been a good mom to him. I’m only being…I’m being an asshole. I haven’t even asked my lawyer yet…but I’m considering it. It’s like I can’t…like I don’t want to stop hurting Val. Like the stupid bitch shouldn’t have ever fallen for me in the first place, and I’m gonna make her regret it.”

  “Do you really want to punish her for that?”

  “Part of me does, yeah. It’s like she…reminds me of my mom.”

  Where the fuck did that come from? Ethan tried not to let the shock register on his face, and he felt more anger swell in his chest, make his blood feel hot as his eyes began to fill with hot liquid.

  He stood. “Uh…I think I’m done for the day.”

  Dr. Thomas stood as well. “Hold on, Ethan. We still have twenty minutes.”

  “We’re done.”

  “Okay…let’s schedule your next appointment.” Dr. Thomas walked over to the door so they could speak with the receptionist in the lobby. “But before you go, I’d like to mention something.”

  Ethan shoved his fists in his jeans, again willing his jaw to relax. God, he wanted a drink more than he had in a long time. He nodded but said nothing.

  “I think you have a lot more to tell me and that’s fine if we go at your own pace, but I’d really like you to attend a drug and alcohol support group.”

  Ethan eyed him. “Like Alcoholics Anonymous, you mean?”

  “It’s like that, but it’s run by a colleague of mine. Her name is Jenna McCormick, and she’s a Certified Addiction Counselor. Lots of my patients who have a hard time opening up and others who have struggled for years have found Jenna to be more helpful than others. I think she’s easier to relate to than other counselors. I’m not saying others aren’t good, but I get the feeling you might prefer her to others.” Thomas walked over to his desk and opened a drawer. He pulled out a card and pen and wrote on the back of the card. “They meet every Thursday night at seven in the basement of a church on Broadway.” He led Ethan out into the hall and stopped by the receptionist’s desk. “Laurie, Ethan needs another appointment with me. Next Monday okay?” Ethan nodded his assent. “And would you also write the address of that church where Jenna’s addiction group meets every Thursday night on the back of her card?” He handed the card to the receptionist. The doctor held out his hand and shook Ethan’s. “See you next week, Ethan?”

  Ethan nodded again, slowly. “Yeah. Thanks.” The doctor smiled and then walked into the lobby to see if his next patient had already arrived. Before the receptionist started asking him questions about his next appointment, Ethan settled on one fact…he was feeling more hopeful on this day than he’d felt
in ages. He didn’t know if hope was good or bad, but it was better than the other emotions that had been rolling around inside his head. He just hoped this weird new feeling would last a while.

  Chapter Three

  JENNA WAS NERVOUS as hell. That never happened to her. She hadn’t been an addiction counselor forever, but she’d been one long enough that not much fazed her anymore. Seeing people at their worst, watching people struggle, knowing people could do evil things for stupid reasons had helped her stay calm most of the time (not to mention it helped her reserve judgment). She hardly ever got rattled.

  But Dr. Thomas’s office had called earlier that day to let her know they were sending over one of the doctor’s newest patients. He was a guy who’d struggled with alcohol and a variety of drugs for years, and Thomas was treating him for some problems. Thomas said he hadn’t had the new patient sign a release yet so he couldn’t go into detail about his treatment, but he did want her to expect him. And she was fine with that…

  Until she found out her newest client was going to be none other than Ethan Richards, guitarist of the heavy metal band Fully Automatic. If she hadn’t been a fan, it wouldn’t have been a big deal, but she knew the band, loved their music. She had heard through the press that he’d had a lot of struggles, had even OD’d on heroin more than once. He had some serious problems, if she’d read between the lines correctly, and she felt like her counseling would be inadequate.

  He’s just another client, Jenna, she told herself. Yeah…just another guy who needed counseling, needed a helping hand to stay clean.