My ass actually deserved to be in jail, and who knew, I might just end up there.
“Andrea…” She sighed as she tilted her head. A long length of dark hair fell over her shoulder. “You’re not a loser. You—”
“I need help. I know.” The wall I’d erected since my father left crumbled a smidgen. “I know.”
Her lower lip trembled as she patted my hand. “When Tanner called and told us what’d happened, I thought my heart had stopped.”
Tanner.
Now my heart stopped. This morning when my brother stopped by, he’d told me he’d seen Tanner the night I was brought in. At first, I’d thought that Tanner had responded to the accident, but Brody had ended up talking to him. Tanner had heard the call go out, but didn’t realize until later that it had been me. When he had, he’d come straight to the hospital.
“I thought I’d lost you,” she whispered, her voice wavering.
I squeezed my eyes shut again.
Several moments passed. “Kyler would’ve come with me, but I figured you probably didn’t want a whole party in here.” She paused. “Tanner wants to see you.”
“I don’t want to see him,” I said immediately.
“He is so—”
“I can’t.” I looked at her then. “Please. I can’t see him right now. I don’t want to see him right now. I can’t…I can’t deal with that.”
It was bad enough that Tanner had already been there. According to Brody, he’d actually been in this room while I’d been asleep. Embarrassment and hopelessness were an ugly, dark mixture inside me. Seeing him would break me, and I was barely holding it together. I knew I had disappointed my family. Severely. And even though Syd said she was proud of me, I knew she was also dismayed.
Syd smiled weakly. “Okay. I can respect that. I know he will.”
And he would. Tanner was a good guy. He wouldn’t push it. If Syd told him I didn’t want to see him, he wouldn’t show. Now more than ever I knew I wasn’t…I wasn’t worthy of someone like him. I was pretty sure my actions put me in the lowest of the low, like pond scum. Except pond scum probably had a purpose, and what was my purpose? To screw stuff up?
If so, I was exceeding expectations.
The morning I was discharged from the hospital, it was so hot that I swore I saw steam wafting off the asphalt. It was a typical August morning, except nothing was normal about that day.
I wasn’t sure if anything would be normal again.
Only my dad and mom were present as I was wheeled out. No balloons or smiling faces. There really wasn’t anything to celebrate, and I wasn’t going home. I guessed it was a good thing I hadn’t gotten a pet.
Getting into the backseat was harder than I thought since my tummy was still sore. On the seat beside me was my suitcase. Mom had packed for me. We wouldn’t even be stopping at my apartment.
The ride to the treatment center was quiet, and I was okay with that. I didn’t want to make small talk, to pretend that everything was okay. And I don’t think my parents wanted to pretend either.
The center was outside the city, near Frederick, and in the middle of a long stretch of nothing. We took an exit I’d never even paid attention to before in any of my travels, and it took a good twenty minutes before the car hung a right. We passed a large sign with the words THE BROOK inscribed in the stone.
My first impression of the treatment center when we crested a hill was that my dad got the place wrong. This didn’t look like a rehab. Oh hell no. With the rolling, manicured hills surrounding a massive, rancher-style complex, the visible tennis court, and what appeared to be a pool the size of a house, it screamed country club and not rock bottom.
Dad followed the road up and under a large awning. The entry reminded me of a hotel. Taking a deep breath, I glanced at my dad. His gaze met mine in the rearview mirror. He nodded, and I suddenly wanted to cry—wanted to throw myself on the seat and not move. But Mom climbed out of the car and opened the back door. There would be no throwing myself on the seat.
I eased out of the car, my wide eyes focused on the glass doors. My heart was pounding. Mom reached between us, threading her fingers through mine. I shuffled forward, my steps slow as my father joined us, my suitcase in his hand.
Cool air greeted us as we stepped inside a large atrium. Up ahead was a reception desk, again reminding me of a hotel. My father walked forward, stopping to speak with the woman.
“It’s going to be okay,” my mom whispered.
Doubtful.
I dragged in a deep breath and dull pain flared across my bruised ribs. A tremor rolled through me, and my knees shook as Dad wheeled around. His eyes met mine. To the left of the reception area, a door opened and a man stepped out.
He looked like he was in his mid-thirties, and he was rocking a mad pair of hipster, black-rimmed glasses that were as dark as his hair. He wasn’t dressed like someone who worked here, not with his khaki shorts and sandaled feet.
“Andrea Walters?” He smiled at me in a pleasant way.
I jerked and glanced at my dad, then my mom. “Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Yes.”
“My name is Dave Proby. Please follow me.” He glanced at my parents. “You may also come.”
My fingers were numb and tingly as we followed him into a small room beyond the door. There was another exit on the other side, the window glazed over. We weren’t alone.
A nurse was waiting. In her hands was a blood pressure cuff.
Holy crap, this was like an episode of Intervention.
“Sit.” Dave gestured at the green upholstered chair next to the desk.
Nervous, I did as he requested. My parents remained just inside the room. The nurse approached me, smiling gently. “I just need to take your blood pressure, hon.”
I had no idea if that was normal or not, but I stuck out my arm as she asked, “Do you take any medication?”
Mouth dry, I nodded as Mom spoke up. “I brought her purse. She has sleeping pills and anxiety medication.” She opened the purse and rummaged around until she found the three bottles. The nurse took them while I sat there, feeling like…well, a thousand different things. “And there are the meds the hospital has her on.”
I felt incredibly small as the nurse looked over the bottles. My skin was uncomfortable and itchy as she placed them on the desk, stacking them up like a three-person red-bottled army. I wanted to shoot out of my chair and grab the bottles, throwing them through the little window, even the antibiotics.