Chapter 8
Two Weeks Later – Violet
I wake, feeling like I have been hit by a truck.
Travis wasn’t wrong, it did get worse. He had moments, of course, where I saw the light in him coming back out, but then it got rough again.
Each day, though, something got a little easier, even if it was something as simple as him being able to walk down the stairs and get some water. Baby steps. But for him, they’re huge.
He booked himself into a rehab center for a month, as well as setting himself back up with a therapist.
Strides, big ones, at that.
For me, though, it has been exhausting.
I’d do it all again, a million times over, but when he went into that rehab center yesterday, I crashed. Like hard.
Now, I’m waking up to the sun burning into my skin a little hotter than it should if it were morning.
How long have I been asleep? Way too long, if my headache is anything to go on.
I drag myself out of bed and into the shower, realizing the only thing worse than being nurse to a rockstar coming off God knows how many substances, is the hangover you get when you finally stop worrying.
I scrub my hair, let the heat scald my skin, and picture all the anxiety draining down the shower.
It helps.
I dry off, pull on some clothes, and walk into the kitchen, where Reagan is at the counter, her fingers tapping on her phone screen, a half-eaten sandwich abandoned in front of her.
Chief stands with his head buried in the freezer, rumbling around like a bear, digging for something and muttering curse words about having to go to the store, and how he is too fucking old for that.
“Girl, you live,” Reagan sings when she notices me.
“Have I been out that long?”
She nods. “Oh, absolutely. Like over fifteen hours.”
Chief closes the freezer, and stares at me. “How you feeling?”
“You look wrecked,” Reagan chimes in.
“I am wrecked,” I tell them, slumping onto a barstool. “Turns out that was way fucking harder than I could have imagined.”
“You did good, kid,” Chief murmurs. “You hungry?”
“Yeah,” I say.
He gets to work making me a sandwich. My stomach grumbles in anticipation. I guess it just woke up, too.
Reagan turns to face me. “So, Travis made it to rehab with no issues?”
“Yeah,” I croak, taking a sip of the coffee Chief slides towards me. “He took it like a champ, I’m proud of him for that.”
Chief looks up at me, eyes narrowing. “He stayin’ this time? Because this isn’t his first rodeo.”
“He promised,” I say. “I know that doesn’t mean much, but—”
Chief holds up a hand. “No need to explain. Lot of men mean it when they promise. Doesn’t matter. What matters is what they do next.” He slides a sandwich towards me. “You know that, right? You can do everything right, and sometimes it still goes wrong.”
I nod, taking a mouthful and groaning because I am starving. “Yeah,” I say between mouthfuls, “But if he gets through this month, they said he can start back on supervised visits with Amber. That has to be enough to make him want to stay.”
Chief nods. “Hope so.”
“Well, I better get going,” Reagan says, standing. “Harley’s getting new gear for the band. He wants me to go with him. You okay?”
I shrug. “I think so. Honestly, I’ve been running on adrenaline for two weeks, and now I just feel...kind of lost.”
She puts a hand on my arm, squeezing. “He’s in good hands now,” she says. "You did more than most people would have. You can breathe.”
I nod, and some part of me starts to believe it.
“So, are you and Harley, like, together together now?”
She smiles, lopsided. “Define ‘together together’.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You know what I mean.”
She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks go rosy. “He’s a mess, I’m a mess, but yeah, I like him. A lot.”
I smile. It feels like maybe something good could come from all this after all.
She leaves, and Chief comes around, sitting beside me and staring long and hard at my face, in the way he does, that makes me nervous because I know it means he wants to say something.
“Just say it, Dad,” I murmur, taking another bite of my sandwich.
“I just want to be sure you truly understand what being with an addict is like. It’s never really over. Not for someone like him. Every day is a battle, and even when he thinks he’s got it under control, one slip and he can be right back there.”
I know that. I think I always knew that.
“I know, and it doesn’t scare me,” I say. “Well, it does. But not enough to run away.”
“You’re a strong kid, Mischief. Always knew that about you. But sometimes being strong can be your biggest weakness. Because, in the end, who takes care of you?”
I stare at him, my eyes softening. “I take care of me. You take care of me. Mom and Reagan take care of me. I’ve got this.”
“Just make sure you keep your eyes open, yeah? One sign of relapse, and you walk. You can’t stay on this merry-go-round if he keeps jumping off. Promise me that?”
“I promise, but I have to try here. I have to do this for him. For Amber. For all of us.”
“Know you do, kid. That’s what I love most about you.”
He pushes to his feet, kissing my head. “You goin’ to see him today?”
“Today and every day.”
He smiles, and I can see the love in his eyes. “God was good the day he gave me you.”
My heart explodes and I smile back up at him.
Knowing he is here, knowing they all are, makes me truly believe we will get through this.
“Travis,” I whisper, as his fingers plunge inside me beneath the blanket. “Someone could walk in at any second.”
“That’s the best part,” he growls, fucking me with that perfect hand.
“A nurse or...oh god.”
He finds the spot, that spot that makes me come alive.
I curl around him, like two lovestruck teenagers discovering each other for the first time.
My moans are soft against his neck as I writhe on his lap, needing more of him.
I sink my teeth into the soft skin along his collarbone, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to feel the throb of his pulse under my tongue.
His hips buck, letting me feel just how hard he is.
The walls are thin, and the ward is always humming with the rustle of nurses on rounds, the distant sounds of a TV, the raspy cough of the detox guy in the next room.
We could get caught at any moment, and that only makes it hotter.
His mouth drags across my neck, and he growls against my flesh, “I need to feel you.” His hand slips from inside me, sliding over my flesh before pulling my panties aside.
I wore a dress on purpose.
A simple adjustment, and then he’s inside me, hard, stretching, pulsing.
I groan and he smothers it with his mouth, kissing me so deep that nobody else can hear a sound.
Then, he just lets me fuck him. Slow at first, my hips moving back and forth, more a grind than anything.
Then, as the pressure intensifies, I find myself sliding up and down, soaking him in, taking every hard inch until it almost hurts with how desperate I am.
“Fuck,” he growls against my lips. “You’re fucking me like it’s the last time you’ll ever see me.”
“God,” I whimper, moving harder, faster, my nails clawing into his arms as I use him for leverage, use him to drive every thrust until there is nothing more than blissful release.
His fingers, firm on my chin, pull me toward him as he swallows every moan, before he finds his own release.
His growls vibrate through me, and my skin prickles with the delicious scent of his skin, of his body, of every single thing about him.
I will never get enough. I honestly believe there won’t be a single moment in my lifetime, where I walk this earth, that I don’t love Travis Phoenix.
There’s a loud bang down the hall, someone slamming a door.
We freeze, tangled, his hands digging into my hips, my heart lurching in my chest. But no one comes in, and after a beat, he starts to laugh.
A real one, and I can’t help laughing, too, our bodies shaking together under the blanket because fuck all of this, really, if you can’t laugh about it.
After, we sit by the window, staring outside, me on his lap, his arms curled around me. “Tell me everything,” he says, tracing patterns over my thighs. “What has your life been like in the last two years? I want to know all of it. Even the shit you don’t want to tell me.”
“Well, after Gran died, Mom didn’t really want to stay in the house, so she got herself a new place and helped me out, too.
Reagan and I got the shittiest little apartment in the city, but we love it.
I purchased it, so I have to figure out what to do with it now.
Then, I got a job at a law firm, nothing crazy, but it was good, you know?
Not that the city life is truly for me, I mean, I haven’t missed it at all. ”
“Sounds like you,” he murmurs. His hand is tracing lazy circles on my knee.
“It wasn’t always great, though. After...you, I don’t know. Something never just felt quite right.”
He squeezes my hand. “You date anyone?” he says, his voice hesitant.
I snort. “Reagan kept trying to set me up with all the desperados from her office. I tried. Didn’t really take. There was one guy, but he just, well....”
“Wasn’t me,” Travis says, and there’s a smug little curl to his mouth.
I elbow him, but it’s gentle. “Basically, yeah. What about you?”
He looks out the window, and just stares. He stays quiet so long I start to wonder if maybe I don’t want to know after all.
“I tried to go there,” he says finally. “But it never went any further than one-night stands, even if she was nice, I just couldn’t let myself open up to anyone. I was a fucking shell of myself.”
I swallow, and stare out the window now, too.
There would have been a lot of girls.
I know Travis, and it is one way he copes.
It hurts, I can’t deny it. Imagining him with all those beautiful women, just fucking a different one each night.
He notices my expression, and takes my chin, turning my face towards his. “There was only ever you, Mischief. There will only ever be you. No one else could ever compare.”
My heart melts a little.
There’s a knock, the lightest tap on the door. A nurse steps in—maybe twenty, pretty in a “my skin rejects all sunlight” sort of way—grins at us. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but it’s time for group therapy, Travis.”
Travis’s arms tighten around me. “Yuck, time to go talk about feelings.”
I laugh, climbing off his lap. “Don’t talk about me too much.”
He laughs.
The nurse smiles, blushing every single time her eyes swing in his direction. I’m quite certain he’s popular in here.
“Go be an inspiration,” I tell him, and he tips his head back like he’s considering it.
“Are you coming tomorrow?”
“Every day,” I say. “Even if you get sick of me.”
He presses a kiss to my lips. “There isn’t a world where I would ever get sick of you.”
I leave with a smile on my face.
Maybe the next few weeks won’t fix everything. But for the first time in a long time, it feels like we have a place to start.