Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 129881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 649(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 649(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
I was twenty when I sold their TV so I could get high one last time. (I was done with drugs. All of them. I promise.)
I was twenty when my brother cried after putting me in the back of his car. My wrists bleeding from the cuffs. (I couldn’t feel a thing.)
I was twenty when I found CJ’s air rifle in his closet, and he found me, holding it against my chest while I cried on the floor because I remembered that day and how he had looked at me like he was proud, and he hadn’t looked at me the same since. I remembered wanting something more than I ever wanted to get high. I’m going to be a soldier, just like Dad. I remembered Halloween costumes and target practice and my father’s medals. And every single memory made me miserable. I hated myself.
I was twenty-one (hours into it) when my brother dropped me off at rehab.
Twenty-one when I said enough, and he said he believed in me, and we both made promises to each other.
Twenty-one when my parents looked me in the eye at their first visit, and I cried because they both looked so tired, but they loved me. They never stopped.
So I wouldn’t stop.
Ninety days clean and I was home home—my parents moved me back in. And I would’ve missed my brother, but I saw him all the time, he made sure of it.
He went with me to meetings (I was absolutely an addict and I belonged there, with the rest of them).
He went with me to the gym (I was going to be a soldier, no matter what. Unless I couldn’t get my weak ass into shape).
He came running when I ran into “friends” I couldn’t ever see again, and I’d called him because for the first time in six months, I missed the high, and I was either going to go drink or go with them. But I didn’t do either, because of CJ. He was there.
He was there, with me, going through it, and so damn proud, I never slipped up once.
I was twenty-three and two years clean, and I enlisted. I was a Marine.
Finally.
Finally.
I was happy, and I felt good, and my family was proud of me.
CJ moved to Alabama, and I was stationed in South Carolina, and I liked it there. I loved what I was doing. I didn’t want to use, so I didn’t need meetings anymore.
I was focused.
I was geared up and fucking ready to go to Afghanistan the first time they sent me.
The second time, a little less.
The third time, honestly, that pissed me off. They couldn’t send anyone else? I was just there!
But I had Katie to get back to, so I quit bitching and thought about her. Only her.
And after seven years and three tours and all the bullshit that came with that, I still didn’t want to use. I had beaten it.
I was twenty-eight when I found out that I’ll never beat it.
My name is Jake Tully, and I’m an addict.
DON’T FUCK AROUND WITH THE SNACK SITUATION
JAKE
THREE WEEKS LATER
I BLINK AT the ceiling as excitement pounds against the walls of my bedroom. Deep laughter and excited little squeals. Their happiness is everywhere. I feel surrounded by it.
My brother is going to be a dad.
Riley, my sister-in-law, shared the news twenty minutes ago while hanging upside down over CJ’s shoulder. She smiled at me behind a curtain of blonde hair and asked if I was ready to be Uncle Jake, and I couldn’t speak. I just kept thinking holy shit wow and this is going to change everything because they would need their spare bedroom for a baby, right? Where else would they put it?
Him. Her.
A baby.
Holy shit wow.
I tried to act fucking normal and answer Riley, I really did.
I wanted to tell her yes and yeah, I was ready and congratulate them both, but instead, I wondered where I would go and if I should start packing up now or wait.
I wondered if CJ would bring it up, or if he would avoid it until I got the hint.
I wondered if I could do this—my sobriety—without his supervision. I worried I couldn’t.
My thoughts were spiraling, and I wished my brother still kept beer in the house. It would probably help a lot right now.
Or champagne, because we should be toasting this, together. Like normal brothers.
That’ll never happen though, will it?
CJ stopped acting manic and watched me carefully like he always did until I gave him a nod and smiled, letting him know I was okay. And I saw him breathe out because he’d actually been holding it in.
He worries too much. Of course I’m happy for them. Why wouldn’t I be?
Riley was carried to their bedroom, and that’s where they’ll stay, most likely, and I should probably get out of here. For several reasons.