Chapter Thirty-Four
JENSEN
THEN—ONE YEAR AGO
I wait for Seth to leave the bathroom, then rush into the stall, locking it behind me. The Altoids tin is right where he said it would be, tucked behind the toilet on the ground.
My hands are shaking as I reach for it, snapping it open like I haven’t taken a breath in hours. I needed a pill six hours ago. I’m barely hanging on here—barely keeping it together.
Seth was supposed to meet me two days ago when I was running low, but he didn’t show.
I panicked and went ape shit on him. I only had four left at the time, and I was forced to space them out yesterday.
This morning, I took one, then split the final pill in half—took one half at noon, the other two hours later.
It didn’t do shit.
I needed a full pill. I had to duck out of work early today—couldn’t focus, couldn’t sit still. I was anxious as fuck and sweating through my shirt.
I wipe the back of my hand across my forehead, clearing another bead of sweat as I pull a pill from the tin. I set it on the toilet paper holder, then press my phone over it until it starts to soften. This is anything but sanitary, but I don’t give a shit.
I need this.
Right fucking now.
I don’t have twenty minutes for this to kick in. Snorting it hits faster.
I keep crushing the chunks until the pill’s nothing but powder. Pulling my credit card from my wallet, I sweep it into a tight line, each side neat and controlled.
I press my finger against one nostril and lower down. Just as I’m about to sniff, the restroom door creaks open.
I freeze, listening. Waiting. Nothing.
Lifting my foot to the flusher, I press down. Water swirls, loud enough to mask the sound as I bend over and inhale the powder into my nose.
I drag my finger across both nostrils, sniffing again, sucking up and wiping away any excess. My fingers swipe at the toilet paper display, dusting away the remaining traces.
I sniff hard a few more times, then exhale, slow and steady. Leaning against the door, a wave of calm spreads over me, every part of me submerged in relief. The anxiety, the restlessness—gone. Washed away like sin at a baptism. A clean slate. It’s fake as hell, but it feels real enough.
I take another breath, savoring the illusion of normal. Wiping off my phone, I tuck my credit card back in my wallet, grab the Altoids tin, and shove everything into my pocket.
I unlock the stall and step out. Fucking Matt’s standing there. Arms folded. Eyes narrowed. Suspicious as hell.
And not at a urinal.
I try to play it cool. “Hey, bud. You gotta pee?”
His stare doesn’t flinch. “What were you doing with Seth?”
Right. So he’s going there. “Jesus, Matt. I had to take a shit. Not everything’s a goddamn conspiracy.”
“Bullshit.” His voice is low, steady. “I saw Seth come in. Did he give you something?”
My blood boils. Heat rushes to my face, and my brows furrow. I’m pissed. “I don’t know what the hell you think you know. But it’s weird as fuck that you followed me in here. If you don’t have to piss, then leave. And stop asking me stupid questions.”
He scoffs, shaking his head. “Just talk to me, man. I’m not judging you. I’m trying to help.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t need help. I’ve got everything under control.”
“You’ve got it under control? Dude, you were a fucking mess at the bar just now.”
I don’t say anything. I move to pass him, needing to get the hell out of here.
He grabs my arm. My first instinct? Swing. But then I see his face, and it’s not pissed. It’s scared. Worried.
“Jensen, come on. It’s me. You can tell me anything.”
Silence.
“Does Alley know?” he asks, his voice soft, full of concern.
Just hearing her name, here like this, it stings in the worst way. My eyes well up with fucking tears, and I blink rapidly. “Please don’t tell her.” My voice cracks, and I look past him, unable to meet his gaze.
He doesn’t answer right away. The silence stretches. The tension between us is thick. Ugly. Foreign for us.
I might as well just admit it. But I can’t. I still can’t say it—I’m an addict. Not yet. I’m still working. Still social. Still functioning. I’ve still got it under control.
Alley knows. How could she not? The way she looks at me—or doesn’t.
The way she goes quiet when I come in late.
The way she pulls away at night. She practically ignores me.
She’s distant, like she doesn’t even give a shit anymore.
Our marriage is barely hanging on. And it’s all because of me—because of my selfishness.
My weakness. My failures. I’ve become everything I swore I wouldn’t.
I’m a fucking fraud.
Matt looks at me like he’s trying to figure out where his loyalties lie.
“Okay,” he finally says, quiet. “I won’t tell her.”
My shoulders sag with relief.
“But you have to promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“You stop. You get help. Or I tell her my fucking self.”
I get home before Alley, my night cut short for obvious reasons. I head straight to our closet and pull a pair of socks from the drawer. Emptying my pockets, I set my wallet on the dresser along with the Altoids tin.
I open the lid and count.
Thirty.
It’s not enough. It will barely get me through the week. If I space them out, maybe I can make them last ten days. Maybe.
I push the pills to the side, revealing a small, clear plastic baggie of white powder.
Seth said it was clean—top shelf. Just something to pick me up. To balance the scales when I’m dragging.
I won’t need it this weekend. But we’ve got a few things coming up—Megan’s birthday party, our anniversary, Zach and Joey’s wedding next month. I’m determined to show up for all of it. Not just be there—be there. I need to be present and fun. I need to be me. For Alley.
She needs a normal night out. She deserves to laugh, to dance. To have the version of me she married. I can’t show up as a zombie.
The Oxy doesn’t make me tired anymore, but it makes me bland. And unless I snort it, I barely feel anything. It just takes the edge off. Without it, I’m short. Irritable. Impatient. That’s not me. At least, it didn’t used to be.
My libido’s shot to shit too, and honestly? I don’t even care. I can’t remember the last time Alley and I had sex.
I’m almost too chill. But the pills help me breathe. They help me make it through each day without pain.
Yeah. I’ll definitely need this soon. Maybe I’ll try it next weekend, test it out. Make sure it works.
I scoop the pills into my palm, then dump them into a sock and roll it tight.
I shove the sock into a small, hidden pocket inside my backpack.
Next, I pick up the bag of coke, flicking off the loose powder.
I carefully tape it to the inside of my iPad, flat and secure.
The cover conceals it completely. No one touches my iPad. Not even Alley.
I slide it into the sleeve of my pack and let out a slow breath. Two grand. Two fucking grand.
And I’ll need more next week.
It’s not usually this much, but Seth had to pull some strings. I don’t know how long I can keep this up without Alley noticing. Thank God she doesn’t pay attention to the finances. That’s all me.
We’re fine—really, we are. More than fine, even. But soon, I’ll have to start pulling from other places, savings, investments. It’s only a matter of time. I just need to get through the next two months. I need to be there for Alley. Then I’ll get off them. I’ll get off everything.
I just have to make it to the wedding. That’s it. Then I’m done.
The week’s been brutal. End-of-month pressure has everyone on edge, scrambling to hit goals. I’m exhausted, and the last thing I want to do tonight is go on this double date.
Scarlett has a new boyfriend that she’s eager to introduce to Alley and me. I’ve got to be on my A-game. Charming. Engaged. Present. And I’m just… not feeling it. It’s important to Alley, important to Scarlett, and fuck, it’s a lot of pressure.
Especially because I’m dragging. I could crawl into bed right now and call it. What I need is a serious pick-me-up.
I button the last button on my shirt and reach for my belt, my mind drifting to the iPad. To the powder tucked safely inside. I could just do a little. Just enough to feel normal.
I shake the thought off. No. I can’t try that for the first time on a night out with people. I haven’t touched coke since college. I hardly remember what it’s like.
But I do remember it was fun—gave me confidence. Made me feel like I could take on the world. It also used to make me horny. And Christ, what I’d give to want to fuck my wife tonight. She’d probably appreciate that too.
It’s not that I don’t want to, I do. When we have sex, I enjoy it. I just… I don’t think about it like I used to. I don’t care if we don’t. And sometimes, when we do, it’s harder to get there. Harder to get hard—or stay that way.
Alley walks into the closet wearing jeans and a fitted bodysuit—thin straps, tits out. She looks hot. I wait for something to happen down below, but…
Nothing.
Yeah, we can’t be having that. I’m not some fucking old man. I miss that part of us. I miss her. I know I’ve failed her in more ways than I can count, but I haven’t even been man enough to make her feel like a woman—desired.
And if there’s one thing Alley is, it’s desirable.
I can’t keep showing up like this—dull, tired, and limp. Fuck no. I want her to have fun. Feel sexy. Laugh. But mostly, I want her to come home with me tonight because she wants to, not because she’s my wife. Not because she has to. I want her to want to. And I want to want her again.
She gives me a half-smile—her attempt at pretending she’s excited to go out with me.
But she’s not. Not anymore.
“You look good,” she says as she slips on her shoes.
“You look good too, babe.” My eyes rake down her body. Jesus. Where the hell have I been? I’ve got this beautiful woman right in front of me, and we haven’t had sex in what, a month?
She mumbles a thank you but doesn’t look at me. She moves to her jewelry, and my heart aches at what we’ve become. What I’ve become.
Because this thing? It has nothing to do with her. She’s still here. She didn’t change. She’s still perfect.
Except she has changed. She’s quiet. Distant. And fuck, she looks sad all the time. And it’s all because of me. I did this.
And that truth? It fucking stings.
“Hey,” I say, reaching for her hand, gripping it tight. “Come here.” I pull her to me, my hands sliding around her waist. “You look really beautiful.”
Her eyes meet mine, searching, glistening with unshed tears.
I kiss her. Soft. Tender. She kisses me back—hesitant at first, then urgent—desperate. Like she’s trying to find me in my mouth. Her hands slide up my chest, one wrapping around the back of my neck.
She pulls back suddenly, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I miss you,” she says, and it’s like a knife to the chest—rips my fucking heart out.
“I’m right here,” I whisper, sucking her lip back into my mouth. Her tongue strokes mine, her mouth crushing harder against mine. It’s hot as hell, and my dick jerks in response. I wait for it to get fully hard. But it doesn’t.
I kiss her anyway. I can feel how much she needs this, maybe even more than I do. My hand glides upward, sweeping across her tit, my thumb circling her nipple.
I grin against her mouth. “No bra?”
“I hoped you’d notice,” she says, reaching for me.
I flinch, pulling back, but it’s too late. Her hand finds my cock—half-limp. A pathetic excuse for even a chub.
She presses her lips together. The sound she makes is part scoff, part laugh—biting, humiliated, disappointed.
“You’re not here. You’re never here. You’re always on something with some lame excuse.
” Tears fill her eyes again, and she swipes them away as they fall.
“You’re not even half the man I married. ”
She slings her purse over her shoulder. “Let’s go. And please be normal tonight.” And with that, she storms out of the closet.
Fuck.
I’m such a fucking failure. I can’t even get it up for my wife.
I head straight to my office and lock the door behind me. I rip the iPad from my backpack and peel off the baggie.
My heart pounds as I stare at the powder. Just a bump. Half, even. Just enough to wake me up, to pull me out of this hole, get my fucking dick hard for Christ’s sake.
I haven’t touched this shit in over ten years. I don’t even remember what a normal bump looks like. But I know better than to overdo it. Just a sliver.
I tap out a tiny line. Barely anything. Just a push.
I grab my wallet, slide out my credit card, and a twenty-dollar bill. My hands shake as I press the powder back and forth, forming a clean line. I roll the bill, muscle memory taking over like I’ve done this a hundred times. I lean in, hovering—doubt creeping in.
What if it makes it worse? What if I can’t keep my shit together?
Too late for that.
I snort it fast. A sharp, chemical burn fires up my nose and down the back of my throat. The rush is instant. My face tingles, eyes water, and my heart hammers like a goddamn drumline.
There I am.
I feel awake. Present. Capable.
My head buzzes. Everything sharpens. Colors are brighter. Thoughts are clearer.
A rattling at the door whips me back to reality.
“Jensen? What are you doing?” Alley’s pounding on the door, trying to come in.
Jesus. Give me a fucking minute.
“Why is the door locked?”
My pulse spikes again, this time with panic. I scramble, folding the bill and sliding it back into my wallet, along with the card.
“Jensen. Open the damn door!”
“I’m coming!” I call back. I grab a Q-tip from the drawer and swipe each nostril, clearing the residue. I toss it in the trash, my hands steadying, thoughts aligning.
For the first time all day, I don’t feel like shit. I actually feel good. Like I could sit across from my wife without disappointing her. Maybe even get it up.
I shove the baggie into my pocket, just in case.
In case the feeling fades.
In case I lose this edge—this version of me that might actually make her smile, that might actually fuck her like I used to.
Because I can’t disappoint Alley any more than I already have.