Chapter 24
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
BEFORE
There was a sharp slap to my cheek. Then another. And another. Voices echoed around me—loud, urgent, and overlapping—but the words blurred. Everything felt too bright. Too loud. Too close.
Shapes hovered above me, shifting shadows framed by sterile white light. I couldn’t focus long enough to count them. Three, maybe four people. None of them familiar.
“He’s still responsive,” someone said. “Skip lavage—charcoal’s safer.”
Suddenly, I was pulled upright. Hands gripped my arms and shoulders, holding me steady as another pair cradled my jaw, forcing it open.
“Breathe out, Noah. You’re going to be okay,” someone said—his voice firm but oddly gentle—just before a thick plastic tube was shoved down my throat.
I gagged instantly, choking on the intrusion.
I tried to twist away, fight it off, but their hands were steady.
Something thick dragged down my throat and into my stomach.
I couldn’t taste it, just felt the pressure, the weight of it, but the smell hit me.
Acrid and burnt. Like ash and chemicals and the sour bite of something that didn’t belong.
I coughed and retched, but they didn’t let go. One hand braced my chest while the other kept my face still. I wasn’t in control of my own body anymore. All I could do was let it happen.
My limbs grew heavier. The lights flickered at the edge of my vision.
And then—
Nothing.
My eyelids felt so fucking heavy. Every part of my body was weighed down, like I’d been dragged underwater and left there. I drifted in and out, barely conscious, until the whoosh of a curtain and the steady, mechanical beeping pulled me closer to waking.
“We’re taking him up,” a woman said.
I blinked into the brightness, fighting the haze as someone tugged at my hand, turning it sideways.
“Finally,” came another voice—this one familiar, but not at all comforting.
I tried to speak, but the moment I opened my mouth, a coughing fit took over.
A nurse—that much I could tell—helped me roll onto my side and kept me there until it passed. “Welcome back. Do you know where you are?”
I shook my head.
“You’re at Harborview Medical Center.”
I’m at the hospital? Why the fuck am I here?
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to sort through the static in my brain. It came back slowly. Then all at once.
The article.
The pills.
Fuck.
“Mhm,” she said, reading my groan like a confession. “It’s all out of your system. You were very lucky, Noah.”
Says you.
“Is he awake?” my mother’s voice filled the room.
I flinched and clamped my eyes tighter.
“He’s coming out of sedation. I’m requesting a wheelchair to bring him up. It might take a little while,” the nurse said, giving my hand a gentle pat.
Then she came into view, and it was nothing short of unexpected.
She looked worse than she had at the hospital with Dad.
Her makeup was smeared, dark circles etched deep beneath her eyes.
The rims were red, raw. Her hair was pulled back, but a few loose strands framed her face, softening her in a way that didn’t feel real.
She dragged a chair over and sat down directly in front of me. When our eyes met again, hers were glassy with tears, and it hit me like a punch to the gut. Guilt sliced through the fog, and my gaze dropped instantly.
“One of the people at the party called 911,” she said. “They called me as soon as you got here.”
I frowned. “Why?” My voice cracked, dry and hoarse.
“Do you not remember what you did last night?” The edge in her tone had returned.
“I remember,” I said, not planning to elaborate.
She reached forward, gripped my chin, and forced me to meet her eyes. Her expression shifted too quickly to read—grief, panic, fury, all swirling together. “How could you do it?”
My stomach turned. I shook my head.
“You know exactly what you did, Noah. I can see it in your face. How could you do that? After your father? How could you do that to us?”
I pulled away, turned onto my back, and stared up at the ceiling.
How the hell was I supposed to answer that?
I’m so broken the pieces are impossible to glue back together into anything resembling a person, so I fucking quit before I lost an eye over it?
“Just tired,” I mumbled.
“What?”
I shut my eyes. “I was just tired.”
There was a long pause, weighted with everything left unsaid. I could feel it hanging between us.
“Tired of what?” It was the way she said it. Not gently. Not kindly. It was an accusation wrapped in a question.
I shrugged.
“I went by your apartment—if you can even call it that—to get your things,” she said flatly. “A little while ago.”
Shit.
“Do you know what I found?”
I could only imagine.
“Bottles everywhere. A couple of people still passed out on that couch. And enough drugs on your bedside table to knock out half the city.”
I didn’t look at her. My eyes stayed fixed on the fluorescent lights above me.
“So what exactly are you tired of, Noah? Doing whatever you want?” She kept going. “Partying too hard? Being spoiled? What the fuck do you have to be tired of?”
The lights were flickering. Not constantly—just enough to catch my attention. Just enough to keep me counting.
Flicker. One, two, three. Flicker. One, two. Flicker.
“You’re lucky you didn’t have enough pills. You have everything in life going for you, and you just throw it all away.”
Flicker. One, two, three, four. Flicker. One, two, three.
“You’re lucky I can’t have you declared legally incompetent. Maybe then you’d be forced to face how ridiculous this overindulgence is.”
Flicker—
I snapped my gaze to her. “What?”
She smiled humorlessly. “That’s the only thing you care about, right? The money?”
I sat up slowly, eyes falling to my lap.
No. I’m not you.
A dry cough scraped my throat. “Why can’t you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Have me declared incompetent? You clearly want to. Why haven’t you?” I cleared my throat again, but the roughness stayed.
Her face went blank. “I’m your mother.”
Nope. Not falling for that one. Not this time.
“That’s not an answer. What happens to the money if I’m not in charge?”
She straightened in her seat. Took a beat before answering. “It goes to your brother. He becomes the alternate beneficiary.”
And there it was.
She didn’t give a fuck. Not really. Why cry?
“Do you even love me?” The words slipped free before I could stop them.
She brushed her hands over her skirt, smoothing away invisible wrinkles. For a moment, the soft rustle of fabric was the only sound in the room.
Her expression didn’t budge. “Not when you’re acting like this, I don’t.”
There.
That settled it.
You wanted to know, and you got your answer. Hope you’re finally happy now. You’re so fucked up, not even your own mother can love you.
I lay back, turning to face the wall. “You can go now. No point putting on a show for my benefit.”
“Noah, stop being dramatic. You’re my son—of course I love you. But the way you’ve been acting—this thing you did—you can’t expect to be rewarded for bad behavior.”
Sometimes, when my temper got the best of me, I said things I didn’t mean. The regret was instant, and I’d apologize. Then I’d sit with it for days. Years, even. Replaying it in my head. Wishing I could take it back.
I wondered if she had that voice. That tug in her chest that whispered, This might hurt someone. Maybe don’t say it.
Or maybe for her, everything just blended into a big, self-righteous mess of excuses and entitlement.
“Just leave,” I mumbled, curling onto my side.
The beeping of the machines bled into the silence. That fucking smell was everywhere. Just like with Dad. It was like being transported back into a nightmare.
“I’m having you sent to rehab,” she said coldly.
“I spoke to Richard. Told him what happened—that it was an overdose. He approved the transfer. The payment’s been set up in your name.
As soon as the seventy-two-hour psychiatric hold is up, you’ll be transferred.
You’ll stay there for six weeks. Longer, if you can’t sort yourself out. ”
Sure. Why not? What else did I have going on?
I didn’t have the energy to argue. All I wanted was to sleep. I’d probably get to sleep there too. Maybe it wouldn’t smell this bad.
“When you get out, we’ll talk. See if you’re finally ready to face the consequences of your actions and grow up.
” Her heels clicked against the floor as she walked toward the door.
“One of these days, you’re going to realize you and I aren’t so different, Noah.
You’ll stop fighting me. Stop this crusade to destroy your life—and mine.
I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for us. ”
The door closed behind her.
Alone again.
Good.
This part I was used to.
I reached for my neck, searching for the medallion—then froze. I sat up, heart in my throat, eyes darting around the room.
It was gone.
I didn’t have it on.
Did she take it?
I hit the call button and tugged at the IV in my arm just as the nurse walked in.
“What is it?”
“My necklace—it’s gone. I had it last night. Did someone take it off? I need it back. Right now,” I said, too fast, breath catching.
A placating look softened her features. “Please calm down. I have it.”
My chest deflated. I sank back against the pillows, heart still pounding.
“We had to take it off, and you asked me to keep it safe. I’ll bring it back in just a minute,” she added, hands up, like I might shatter.
I nodded. She stepped out.
When it was back around my neck and I was alone again, I clutched it between my thumb and forefinger and tugged gently.
You knew what you were doing. You married her. And you still left me with her.
I let myself miss him for one second before sinking back against the pillows.
It hadn’t worked this time. But I’d make sure the next one stuck.
Maybe then I’d get to tell him to his face just how fucked up his parenting really was.
Rehab had been hell.