This copy is for purchase only. Copying this title is a crime.
Don’t be a thief!
A Mitchell-Healy Book #6
Copyright © 2015 Jennifer Foor
All Rights Reserved
Cover Art: Wicked Cool Designs
This book is a written act of fiction. Any places, characters, or similarities are purely coincidence. If certain places or characters are referenced it is for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This book is not allowed to be offered for sale, discounted, or free on any sites other than Kobo, ITunes, Amazon and Barnes and Noble. This book may only be distributed by Jennifer Foor, the owner and Author of this series.
Acknowledgements:
This book is for my beta readers. You are all so important to me. Thank you for everything you do for me. I’d be lost in translation without the support.
Emma, Kayla, Kristy, Catherine, Amanda, Dani, and David
To Danielle Sanchez, my publicist: You keep me sane. I adore you.
Chapter 1
Addison
These meetings had become my lifeline. I was once lost – headed in a direction I hated to admit out loud, but it was that disappointment which kept me strong minded, focused, and convinced I’d never go back to that same person again.
Being an addict was permanent. I might not be using, but the title would remain. What I’d done to myself and my reputation couldn’t be fixed. Labels were what I’d come to accept. They were important – to me and the success of the program. It was up to me to show others they too could overcome their demons. They could live if they just allowed themselves to do so.
It had taken me a long time to get to this point; to be able to understand how far I’d come, and what I’d risked to need to change. I had to hit rock bottom to see how close to death I’d gotten. No one could save me, not my family, and most definitely not my friends. I had to save myself, just like every single person staring back at me at this meeting.
“My name is Addison, and I’m a drug addict. I’ve lied to the people I love. I’ve stolen from those who trusted me. I’ve lost respect for myself along the way. Everyone in this room is here for a reason. You’re not alone, not anymore. I promise you that it gets easier. It’s a long road to recovery, but you can do it. No matter how far gone you think you are, there is always a road to redemption. You have to want it more than anything you’ve ever wanted in your life. You have to be done denying what you are. You have to accept what you’ll never be able to change. It’s about forgiveness. I look out at each one of you tonight and recognize so many. I feel humbled to know we’ve taken this path together. We’re a team, a force to be reckoned with.”
A few people made agreeing comments. One even said ‘amen’ before I continued. “I want to thank you all for coming out tonight. If you didn’t speak because you felt you weren’t ready, we’ll be here again on Tuesday at the same time. If you feel like you can’t wait that long, I have cards with my contact information. You’re welcome to call me any time, day or night. I’m always available. Let’s bow our heads and pray before we say good night.”
I led my group in our routine prayer, thanking God for more time on this beautiful earth, asking him to give us strength and patience to make it through another day. When I was finished people began standing up. Some stuck around to mingle, while others rushed outside for a nicotine fix. I always tried my best to personally visit the newbies. It was my duty, my promise, to make sure they knew they were welcome, and that this was the first step toward the rest of their lives.
I knew the statistics. Half of these people would relapse at least once before they either got clean or destroyed their lives, sometimes in an overdose that would lead to death. Reality was sad. I’d been where these people were. Not a day went by where I didn’t think about what could have happened to me if I’d continued on the path I’d taken.
At twenty three I’d already been through more than most middle-aged adults. My body was no longer that of a young woman. I looked older than I was, and no matter how hard I tried to take care of myself, I knew it was the price I had to pay for my sins. Don’t get me wrong. People still claimed I looked beautiful. They compliment my green eyes wherever I went, and my thick dark hair was always easy to style. I was petite, built much like my sister. We used to share clothes, but since she’s moved out not so much any more.
While my brother and sister had found love, and looked forward to their futures, I was taking it one day at a time, because it was my only way to survive, especially at first. The happier the people around me seemed to be, the worse I suffered. Inside I was alone. I felt like an outcast.
Love had brought me back.
My parents.
My siblings.
Cousins.
Aunts.
Uncles.
Grandparents.
They were all there for me, cheering me on, showing me I was worth the battle.
My mother – the strongest woman I knew, had refused to give up. She was my rock among them all. She was like an angel, guiding me to repentance. Without her I didn’t know where I’d be. Day after day she gave me what I needed. A shoulder to cry on. A hug in the middle of the night. A late night swing on the front porch. A shared cup of hot tea. No matter what the cause, she was there.
Most of the people in this room weren’t lucky like me. They didn’t have the kind of support team I’d been born into. My family were well-known for many reasons, but what I valued the most was their faith. Together we were strong, and I vowed to never take them for granted. Above all I’d live to make them proud. I’d be respectful. I’d appreciate them.
Later that night, after I’d gotten home from the meeting, I walked inside to find my parents on the couch watching television. I dropped my keys in the basket and sat down next to my dad, much like I did as a small child. Without saying a word, he leaned over and kissed the top of my head while pulling me closer. This was my happy place. It was what kept me focused on staying clean – on being true.
“How did it go tonight? Did you have many new people?” My mother asked.
“Three. One got up and spoke. She couldn’t have been older than eighteen. I saw a parent picking her up afterwards. Hopefully she’ll come back.”
“I’ll pray for her tonight, honey.”
“Yeah, I will too.”
“Are you hungry? I can make you a snack,” she offered.
“No. I’m fine.” My mother knew I could help myself, but loved taking care of us kids. She was born to do it. She and my dad were like the couple you read about in epic romance novels. I’d never seen two people so in love. They did everything together, including raising us kids. The values they taught us were obvious to others. I was proud to be a Mitchell, and I hoped that someday I’d be able to have a family of my own and teach the same morals they’d taught us to live by. “I’m content being here with you two.”
Dad squeezed my shoulder. “That’s my girl.”
At first he’d struggled to understand where he’d gone wrong with me. I think he blamed my addiction on himself, like he’d somehow had a hand at why I’d made bad choices.
My addiction had nothing to do with my family, or their money. I’d made the choice to hang with the wrong crowd. I’d gotten involved with things I knew were wrong. They were my decisions alone.
My dad and I had a strained relationship for a while. It broke my heart, but not nearly as much as his. I once heard him crying to my mother in their bedroom. He kept repeating how he failed me. I’d
replayed hearing him so many times I’d lost count. Upsetting him, breaking him down, it was the lowest of lows for me.
I knew I’d never do another drug again. It wasn’t just a promise to myself. It was a silent vow to him. The moment I shared that with my dad, things changed for us. He no longer carried the burden on his shoulders. Ever since that night our relationship had seem to be repaired. He kept an eye on me because he loved me, not because he expected me to disappoint him. There was a huge difference, one I’d never been good at separating.
As I sat there with my parents appreciating the quality time between us, I knew there was one thing missing in my life; one thing I’d probably have to wait a long time to have.
A boyfriend – someone to share my life with.
Chapter 2
Addison
There was a rule in Narcotics Anonymous about dating someone else in the program. It was put into effect as a preventative. Statistics have proven that when one partner relapsed, the other was more likely to follow. I was fully aware of this rule, and appreciated the aspects of it.
I never thought I’d meet someone in the program, because frankly, I took it seriously. I was there to help myself and others. There wasn’t time to get involved. As much as I longed to have a relationship, I didn’t have the time or energy.
I’ve been working to get my certification as an addiction counselor for about a year now. I love my job, even though the pay is minimal. I do it because it matters to me; because at the end of the day I know these people can recover. I do it because it gives me comfort to help others.
With that being said, I never expected him to walk into the room during the next scheduled meeting. It was summer, and the heat was treacherous. Despite the fact that most places were air-conditioned, the church our meetings were held in wasn’t. We had fans running, but it wasn’t cool enough to dress fully covered. I was wearing a sundress. It was flowy and kept me comfortable. This guy, the one I’m talking about, he came in wearing one of those male tanks- the ones that show off the biceps and arms. On either side he had tattoos, a large vein running down the middle. His dark hair was disheveled on top, but shaved close on the sides. He wore small hoops in each ear, and had a smaller one on his bottom lip. His eyes, not gray or green, definitely hazel, were on mine immediately. A sly grin formed on his face as he took his seat toward the front of the crowd. There was something familiar about him; something drawing me to want to know why he was there and who he was.
I managed to get through my greeting without giving him too much eye contact, but it was obvious he was giving off vibes like he was checking me out.
Once I was able to be seated, it made things easier. I sat facing the speaker in the front row, leaving the mystery man behind me. As each person got up to talk, I could feel his eyes on me. It was both exciting and frightening at the same time. Too many months had gone by for me to not feel nervous to some degree.
When our time was up, I was thrilled he hadn’t gotten up to share his story. The reddening of my face would have been embarrassing, especially in front of the people who looked up to me.
After the meeting people always stuck around and socialized. I don’t know why I assumed he’d leave and never come back. Most of our visitors returned at least once. I think more than anything I was curious to know why he was there. My curiosity wasn’t because I was wanted to ask him out. Addicts come in all ages, shapes and sizes, and ethnicities. Being human was our common denominator.
As the room began to clear out, I started cleaning up, carrying the large coffee thermoses back to the church kitchen. A voice close behind startled me, causing me to almost drop the metal machine.
“My name is Cole.”
I turned to get a closer look, obviously still in shock he’d followed me to a more private location. Being that my sister had been a victim of an attack, I often tried to keep myself out of situations that could be dangerous. “You’re not supposed to be back here. Perhaps we could chat out in the common area once I’m done.” At that point I would have said anything to feel safe. He may have been handsome, but I wasn’t about to endanger myself because of it.
“Yeah, okay.” When I turned around again he was gone.
Feeling as if I could get back to the task at hand, I washed the container, dried it and put it away before returning to the common area. I looked around twice, and even peeked outside before coming to the conclusion he’d left.
I didn’t get it. He’d made a point to track me down and introduce himself, only to disappear in a few minutes. Whatever the case may have been, I didn’t have the time or interest to waste it wondering. People like Cole come and go in Narcotics Anonymous. There was a possibility I’d never see him again. For the sake of keeping my legs closed I hoped it was true. I didn’t consider myself easy, but that guy had it going on. He was my type, which made him dangerous.
By the time the next meeting rolled around, and Cole hadn’t shown up, I thought I was better off that way. I could stay focused and not be fantasizing about the sexy man I knew nothing about.
Over the weekend I spent time with my brother and his wife, Shalan, who happened to be a country music singer. Their baby, little Jordan Noah, was getting big, and I liked to help out. Sometimes being around them reminded me of what I might never have. You see, my focus had to stay on my addiction. Sure, I was allowed to have a life, but for me, relapsing was still a possibility. Did I want to use drugs again, absolutely not, but if something emotional happened in my life; a loss, a breakup, anything remotely difficult, I was afraid if I’d be strong enough to handle it on my own. Still, it was impossible to not envision being in love like my brother and Shalan were. It was hard to imagine never being able to have my own child that would love me unconditionally, and never know me as the addict in the family. I wanted that for myself, but I wasn’t to the point where I felt it was a good decision. I needed time; to reflect on my past, and to adhere to the realization that my future would always be a struggle.
By Monday, after a relaxing weekend, I started out on my weekly trip to the local hospital. After stopping by to fetch a few lattes, I pulled into the large parking garage where my car would sit for most of the day.
I’d like to think of it as a job recruitment, but I was really there to offer patients the meeting schedules. Each week there were new addicts, either recovering from an overdose, or having been checked in to get clean. When I first started doing this it was difficult. I remember being in their position – lost and feeling like I’d rather die then go through the torture. More times than I liked to talk about, most of these patients would either relapse, or some even kill themselves. It was sad, and unfortunately it was happening more and more every day. Drugs were everywhere, and people were always looking to escape reality.
After signing in with my visitor badge, I headed to the fifth floor and made it to the nurses station. Sammy, a familiar face I got to see every week, greeted me. “Addy, how are you today?”
I handed her one of the lattes. “I’m doing great, how are you?”
“Good. My son made the all-star team. We were at the ball field all weekend, but I wouldn’t trade it.”
“Awe, make sure you tell Trevor I said congratulations. It’s nice he’s so active.”
“I know. It’s better than him sitting home playing those horrendous video games.”
I put the drink holder on the counter. “Where are Trish and Max?”
“They are admitting a new patient. I’m sure they’ll only be a few more minutes.” She handed me a clipboard full of this weeks patients. “Some of those names you’ll recognize,” she said sarcastically. “It’s like a revolving door.”
I did recognize a few reoccurring patients. “I’ll start with the veterans and then hit the newbies. Anyone I need to know about in particular today?”
“There’s a patient by the name of Chase. He came in last night in bad shape. Police brought him in. I’d say he’s gone without substance for at least twenty-four ho
urs now, maybe even more. He’s been sick since he got here.”
“Family?” I had to inquire.
“None that we know of. He isn’t being very divulging, if you know what I mean. I don’t think he’d be here if the police hadn’t been the ones to admit him. To be honest, he’s lucky he’s not in jail. At least here we can make him comfortable. Had it not been for the officer who brought him, that’s exactly where he’d be. Lucky for him Joe was working. That man is a saint, I tell ya. If I wasn’t married to a good one I’d be all up on that. Why you won’t go out with him is beyond me.”
I kept staring down at the paperwork to avoid eye contact. “We work together.”
“You do not. Addison, he’s a cop. You see him in passing.”
“It’s a conflict of interest,” I added.
“It’s you being scared to date someone who knows you were an addict, that’s what it is.” She didn’t say it in a mean way. Sammy knew me. We’d gone out a few times to dinner, and she’s been a friend when I needed a neutral listener. “It’s just dinner. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“He told me a while back that a family member had drug problems. He’ll always assume I’ll relapse because he sees it everyday with his job. We’ve talked about this. I can’t be with someone and always wonder if they look down on me. I’ve got to remain positive.”
“Okay, it’s your choice, but that one is a great catch. I mean, have you seen his hands? My god I’d love to know what he can do with them.”
I shooed her. “You’re terrible. Don’t you have a crossword puzzle to do?”
“I’m bad. I know it. I get it naturally. My daddy was a Marine. I was around a ton of men growing up. If you think Joe hasn’t checked parts of you out, then you’re way due for an eye-opener.”
“Hush. I’m getting to work.”
“You don’t get paid yet, missy.”
Getting my certification to be a drug counselor was in the works. I had to still put in the time and complete one more online course, but I was near the finish line as far as making it my permanent career. Soon my volunteer work would pay off and I’d start getting paid for making these visits. “I will soon. Another six months and I’ll be raking in the dough,” I teased.
Addison Page 1
