Bullet Series Box Set Books 1-8

by Jade C. Jamison

  “You wanna bet? Sit your ass down.”

  His anger—and subsequent surprise—were preferable to the malaise he’d been feeling. He took a deep breath and walked into the living room. Then he sat on the couch. “You’ve got five minutes.”

  Her eyes looked to him as dangerous as his felt. She rested the bottom of her boot on the cushion next to him, her hand on her knee. “I’ll take as much fucking time as I need…and you’re gonna listen.”

  Ethan took a slight breath and felt something strange that he hadn’t felt in a month or so…it was amusement. So he sat back and crossed his arms. The anger was still there, though. As much as he loved Jenna, he didn’t like hearing that people understood when they really didn’t. He shrugged but said nothing.

  She took a deep breath. “What you’re experiencing is chronic depression. I’ve seen it enough to know it. Part of it might stem from the fact that you’re not taking all the drugs you have in the past. Giving up addictions can do that. But I get the feeling that’s not it. What I know of you…it’s something you’ve suffered from most of your adult life; am I right?”

  He felt his heart rate slowing. He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “I’ve had bouts of depression too. I’ve been on medication for them before. What does Dr. Thomas have you taking?”

  “I’m not taking anything.”

  “What? Have you not been honest with him?”

  Fuck. The jig was up. He couldn’t make himself lie to her. But he couldn’t look at her when he told her the truth either. “I…kinda stopped taking the medicine.”

  She moved over onto the couch next to him and took his hand in hers. Her voice was gentler now. “Why?”

  He took another deep breath. “Because it wasn’t doing anything. I…felt worse taking the medication.”

  She was rubbing his thumb with hers. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just…didn’t feel like myself on that shit.”

  “But you did on drugs?”

  He looked at her. “I could still write on drugs. This shit, though? I can’t do anything.”

  “So we talk to Dr. Thomas about trying something else.” She waited until he looked her in the eyes. “Okay?”

  His mind retreated and reassessed. He’d been here before with Val and Brad…more than once. Like those times, he knew Jenna wouldn’t be happy until he agreed, and she wouldn’t leave him alone until then either. Over the years, he’d become an expert in telling people what they wanted to hear, and he could be convincing when he needed to be.

  So he looked up at her and said, “Okay.” He took a deep breath but couldn’t find it in himself to say more. It was bad enough that the one word he’d spoken felt like a lie. He didn’t want to lie to the people he loved anymore, and yet he was beginning to feel he had no choice.

  Jenna’s hand held his. “Do you want me to make the appointment for you?” He nodded. He was good at going through the motions. She nodded and kissed him on the cheek. “Do you want some dinner?”

  “No.” He dug deep, ready for the next lie. He had to put on that face that gave nothing away. “I just want to go to bed.”

  Jenna looked sad. “You know that’s not healthy, right?” Ethan said nothing. What was he supposed to say to something like that? “But…I know you’re in a bad spot right now. Once we get you on the right meds, this will fade into the past.” She squeezed his hand again. God, she was a sweet woman, and he was dragging her through a pile of shit, just like he had Valerie. If he were any kind of man, he’d tell her to fuck off, make her hate him forever so she’d leave and save herself the heartache he was bound to give her. But he couldn’t quite do that anymore than he’d done to Val back then. He just clenched his teeth together, unwilling to say another word. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

  No…fuck no. He couldn’t collapse into a haze of oblivion if she were there. He shook his head. “I really need time by myself.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek. “You don’t have to do this alone, Ethan.”

  “I just need some time to myself.” Said with more firmness, she took the hint. She squeezed his hand again.

  “Promise to call me if you need me?”

  He nodded again. He knew the best way to alleviate her fear and get her out of there was to walk her to the door. He had to act like a normal guy. So he went through the motions. She promised to call the next day after she’d arranged an appointment with the psychiatrist, and he kissed her, holding her close. He tried to relish the feel of her, because he suspected this might be the last time she’d willingly let Ethan Richards hold her.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  “SON?” ETHAN NORMALLY enjoyed hearing from his mother, but he could tell from her tone that something was amiss.

  “What’s wrong, mom?”

  “Are you sitting down?”

  He drew in a deep breath. “Just spit it out, mom.”

  She was quiet for a few moments. “Your dad, Ethan. He’s passed.”

  It felt as though his mother had shoved a sharp icicle through his heart. It was as painful as he’d imagined a heart attack would feel and he felt winded. He couldn’t believe his ears. “What?”

  “Your dad died, son. The funeral’s on Tuesday.”

  Ethan felt a sting in his nostril. That was fucking stupid. His dad didn’t deserve any emotion from him—not sadness, not anger, not even happiness. In fact, he shouldn’t get a single thought from Ethan. He was a little pissed at his mother for drawing his attention to his father for the few seconds she had. He needed to let her know his father’s death didn’t change a thing. “So?”

  She was quiet for a few moments. “I…thought you might want to know.”

  He clenched his jaw and squeezed his eyes shut. “It doesn’t change a thing in my world, mom.” He drew in a deep breath. “I’m glad the fucker’s dead. He didn’t deserve to use my air anyway.” His mom tried to talk him into coming home to attend the funeral, so he said, “Look, mom, I gotta go. I’m busy.”

  When he hung up the phone, he let out a slow breath. Yeah, Burt Richards meant nothing to him…so why did he feel the need to get completely wasted that night? He tried not to think about it, even as he prepped a needle.

  His plan had worked. Somehow he’d convinced Jenna to leave.

  And now he sat at the kitchen table holding a black BIC lighter under a spoon as the amber liquid bubbled around the edges. This…this was his one true love, the lover who understood him, who took his pain away, who took the edge off everything else that was horrible and true and ugly, the things he just couldn’t deal with. Staring at it, he came to the realization that he had never been equipped to handle life. He wasn’t strong or impervious. He was weak, always had been, and it was never more evident than when he gave into the siren song.

  He could no longer resist. He knew within seconds of injecting it into his arm that he’d feel relief, numbness, and even some euphoria. His mind knew exactly what to expect and the journey he’d take. Sweet, sweet release unlike anything else on the planet.

  He set the lighter and spoon down on the table but paused. He wasn’t taking this decision lightly. He’d been thinking about it for weeks; in fact, he’d thought of little else, had obsessed, struggling with the choice before him.

  Except…he also knew the dark side of his lover. It wasn’t what he’d become to everyone else, although those facts resided in the back of his mind as well. Instead, he knew that once he gave in and after the initial relief had dissipated, he’d be back in that hole. It wasn’t just a hole, though. It was an abyss that got deeper every time he fell down it, and he suspected this time he’d never get back out.

  It was a helpless situation.

  Part of him, deep down, wanted to overdose and die. If he could ensure a peaceful journey out of this world, he’d take it…but he knew it would wind up being like every other time.

  How had he gotten to this point?

  That was when he
saw the first splash on the table near his right hand and then the other. He blinked. In all his life, he’d never asked what had brought him here. It was just something he’d taken for granted—he’d had a shitty father and a mother who cared too much after his dad had left. She’d overcompensated, and in the worst way ever. Even then, he’d pushed, had needed to see how much someone would tolerate from him.

  His mother had never left but she eventually turned her attentions elsewhere.

  Valerie and Brad had turned their backs on him.

  And he just wanted to die, to leave the world behind. His suffering would end then.

  More tears fell and Ethan realized he’d never cried. Never. Not since childhood, not since the last time as a boy he’d seen his father.

  All those years…he’d bottled it all up, stuffed it all down, taken it like a man…and time was catching up with him. He let it go and it was an onslaught, a flood. The tears fell like a waterfall, splashing into the liquid in the spoon. He dropped the needle and held his face in his hands. There was no stopping it now, so he just let it all go.

  His lover could wait. She always had.

  * * *

  Ethan couldn’t bring himself to shave, but he looked in the mirror to make sure he looked neat. He’d managed to get in the shower and he brushed his teeth, but he couldn’t muster the will to do much else. He had dark circles under his eyes in spite of sleeping twice as much as he usually did, and his skin looked pale and sickly.

  Jenna would notice, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He’d promised to see Dr. Thomas when she’d arranged the appointment. By now, she would know he’d rescheduled his last appointment twice before almost cancelling it altogether. He’d likely hear about it.

  He didn’t, though. When she picked him up, she hugged him as though she hadn’t seen him in years. All he’d gone through the last four days made it feel like maybe it had been a lifetime.

  He hugged her back, convinced he didn’t deserve her.

  * * *

  Ethan looked worse than Jenna had expected. She’d never seen him looking this bad—not in person, at any rate. She’d seen pictures when he’d been at his worst—drug-addled and ridden hard by heroin.

  At first, she’d thought it was depression sinking in. It was pulling him down hard and, having given up the medication, he hadn’t noticed the depression’s effects until it was too late to cope with them. Now, though, seeing him…she wondered if he was up to his old tricks. He was wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt, seemingly because it was cold outside, but she wondered if it was to cover up injection tracks.

  She took a deep breath and held his hand as they descended the stairs. Jenna wasn’t sure how to begin the conversation or if it should wait until she had professional help from Dr. Thomas. She’d had that hard discussion with many of her own clients, but she was starting to think she was too close to this situation. Her heart was wrapped around Ethan, and she was afraid she might say or do the wrong thing, because she had so much at stake. She couldn’t be objective anymore and so she didn’t trust herself.

  Damn it. She wished she could’ve found a way to give Dr. Thomas a heads up before Ethan’s appointment, but it was too late now. His scheduled time was less than an hour away, and Thomas was likely talking to someone else already. There was no way she could get that information to him. She’d have to trust that he’d sense it or Jenna could just throw it on the table when they arrived.

  Maybe Ethan would just talk about it.

  No, he wouldn’t, not without prompting. She’d known enough addicts in her day, and she’d grown to know Ethan well over the past several months. He wouldn’t talk about it unless she forced his hand.

  She loved him enough to do it.

  That’s why the drive to Dr. Thomas’s office was tense and quiet.

  When they got there, Ethan spoke softly to the receptionist as he checked in for his appointment. Then he sat down in the lobby next to Jenna and took her hand in his, squeezing it gently. She looked up at him and smiled. She tried to assure him with her eyes that everything was going to be all right.

  Not long after, Dr. Thomas opened the door to the lobby and called for Ethan. Jenna stood and walked behind Ethan; Dr. Thomas acknowledged her with a nod.

  After several minutes of Jenna explaining to Thomas why she was there (not as Ethan’s counselor but as his friend), she urged Ethan to tell the doctor what he’d told her…that the medicine wasn’t working the way he’d expected and he had quit taking it.

  Jenna knew Dr. Thomas wouldn’t be happy that Ethan had just quit cold turkey, but he didn’t communicate it. Instead, he asked, “How are you feeling now?”

  Ethan was looking in his lap. After a few moments, he said, “Lost.” He inhaled deeply. “I guess the best word I can think of to describe what I feel inside is despair. I don’t have hope for the future, for myself, for anything. I just…want it to end.”

  “Would you be willing to try different medication?”

  “Maybe.”

  Dr. Thomas shifted in his chair, but his voice remained calm. Jenna had never seen the man in action. He was good. Ethan was actually listening to him and, she could tell, he was taking the doctor’s words to heart. “Tell me what bothered you about the medicine you were taking before.”

  Jenna looked at Ethan, wondering what he would say, if he would tell Dr. Thomas the same things he’d told her. His voice was low when he answered. “I still had a lot of down days. The medicine wasn’t helping, doc.” He closed his eyes. “And I lost my creative edge. I haven’t written anything in a year. Nothing. No music, no words. It’s like they’ve dried up.”

  The doctor leaned forward slightly. “And what about now?”

  Ethan looked up from the hands he’d folded in his lap. He shrugged. “Still nothing.”

  “So…stopping the medicine didn’t make your creative juices start flowing. Did you expect that to happen?”

  Jenna could tell Thomas was being sincere, but she could see how someone like Ethan might think the doctor was being sarcastic. The look on Ethan’s face, though, looked tortured, not offended. He said, “I don’t know, really. I guess I thought it would help. But…I know what would help.”

  Jenna felt a knot twist her belly, and she thought she might throw up. She didn’t notice that she was holding her breath, waiting for his answer. She was afraid of what he might say. Instead, when Dr. Thomas asked him to elaborate, Ethan told him what had happened the past week.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  THE GUY’S NAME was Richie. Ethan had known him for years. He was the most discreet dealer Ethan knew, and he could get Ethan anything he wanted at a moment’s notice. Ethan had been spiraling into a deep, dark hole again…and he knew the fix.

  He fought against it. He didn’t want to go there again…but he felt helpless to resist. Once again, the world had become a dark, ugly place, and he needed to find his way. He needed to soften the edges, and there was one thing that always did it.

  He’d bought a bottle of Everclear the day before, but alcohol wouldn’t be enough. That was for later. Or maybe he’d start with it. Whatever the case, he’d have it handy for when he needed it. He hid it in the bottom of the drawer where the kitchen towels were stored so Jenna wouldn’t see it when she came over.

  The next day, he’d found his resolve…or perhaps it was his weakness that had finally overtaken his will. He looked up Richie in his phone—probably the fact that he’d never deleted the guy’s number out of his contacts list was a sign that Ethan had known he would ultimately fail—and called. He got the guy’s voicemail the first time and hung up. A few minutes later, he called again. Richie answered it. “Ah, it’s my rock star client. What can I do for you, buddy?”

  Ethan hated himself at that moment. He was so fucking weak. Pathetic. He frowned, wanting to die and be done with it. Instead, he was going to live the one way he knew how. “Well…”

  Richie wasn’t one to pussyfoot around. “Your usual?”
<
br />   Ethan closed his eyes. “Yeah…the usual.”

  Before he knew it, Ethan was climbing the stairs to his apartment with a small bag of black tar in his pocket. And there was Jenna. She called his name and he responded by telling her to go home. When she refused, he repeated himself. “I said go home.” She was touching his arm, and he could see in her eyes that she really cared. And then he felt like he couldn’t let her down. So she came inside and they talked. He knew he mattered to her, and he knew she wanted to help. He even believed that part of her understood him and what he was going through. But he needed to be alone.

  She finally left. Feeling her strength through her presence helped him deny the pleasure of reacquainting himself with his mistress that night. But when he awoke the next morning, she was singing to him again. He’d already called Valerie and told her he couldn’t have Chris over that weekend, giving her a lame excuse about being sick and needing to stay in bed. She’d bought it.

  Then he sat at the kitchen table. It was all there, all laid out. The spoon, the lighter, the cotton ball, the sandwich bag of junk, the syringe, a small glass of water. It was a clean needle, so he wasn’t going to worry about spreading alcohol over his skin. Maybe if he was lucky, he’d manage to kill himself this time.

  He started going through the steps, a ritual he’d performed hundreds of times before, but this time he was keenly aware of what he was doing. He kept seeing Jenna’s face in his mind, followed by Chris’s. He tried to ignore them as he held the flame under the spoon. Soon, bubbles formed around the edges of the brown mixture.

  “Goddammit.” He set the spoon down as a drop of liquid fell, first from one side of his face and then the other. He was angry then, wondering if crying like a baby would dilute the junk when he was ready. But his eyes were like fire hydrants, and they wouldn’t stop. With his forearm, he shoved all the items across the table and lay his head on his fists, just letting the tears fall. More than fifteen years’ worth of pain he’d held in came crashing down that morning. Until then, he’d felt empty, emotionless, but something had broken loose. That morning, he cried a tear for every time his father had laid a finger on his mother; more tears for every time his father had hurt him; an onslaught of tears for the pain he’d caused the people he loved—Valerie, Brad, his mother, Chris, Jenna; and at last he cried a tear for himself, for the man he’d never become.