“Allgood, man,” I said on a deep sigh of relief.
Ifelt uplifted and triumphant, convinced that I'd dodged a bullet. And then, hehad to ask, “So, how come you've lost so much weight?” Accusatory eyes foundmine and, in an instant, I saw red.
“Thefuck you gettin' at, Goose?”
Heran his tongue along his upper teeth as he shrugged one shoulder in aninfuriating display of false nonchalance. “Oh, nothin', man. I'm just wonderingwhy it is you came in here tonight, looking like you've spent the last monthstrung out on some heavy shit.”
Andthis is what happens when you make friends in rehab.
Theyknow too much.
“Fuckoff.”
“Oh,you're really helping your case now,” he retorted coolly.
“Thereis no fuckin'case,” I argued, flattening my hands against the bar.
“Then,why the hell are you yelling at me, huh?”
“BecauseI don't appreciateyou,” I jabbed a finger into his wide, barreledchest, “makin' bullshit comments and accusing me of shit that isn't true!”
“So,what is it? Coke?”
“Oh,Jesus Christ,” I grumbled, shaking my head as I got down from the stool. “I'mnot dealing with this shit.”
“Don'tlet it get the best of you, Vinnie,” Goose went on. “I'm here for you, man.Okay? Whatever you need—a place to stay, a ride somewhere, whatever. I'm there.Just—”
“Shutthe fuck up!” I shouted, grabbing my empty glass off the bar and throwing itonto the floor where it shattered into a hundred glittering shards of crystal.Through gritted teeth, I repeated, “Shut the fuck up. You have no fuckin' ideawhat you're talking about. So, stay the fuck out of my business. Got it?”
Goosenever flinched in reaction to my outburst. He stood behind the bar, lookingcompletely unmoved and unamused, while his eyes gave away the true magnitude ofhis hurt and concern.
“Sure,man,” he answered quietly. “Whatever you say.”
Ididn't stick around after that. I hurried out of there before he could saysomething else, before he could coax a confession out of me. Because deep down,beneath the need to chase the next high and disappear, was the part of me thatdidn't want this. The part that wanted to go back and be better. But there wasno way in hell that he could rely on the rest of me.
Andas I hurried away from the bar and the neon signs glowing in its windows, itwas that small, nearly undetectable part of me that teared up and wanteddesperately to cry and beg my friend for help.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-TWO
ANDREA
“How'dit go with Elle?” Vinnie asked as I entered the living room.
“Itwas okay.”
Iknelt in front of the coffee table and opened one of the dime bags, while alsoreading my husband's body language. He wasn't rushing to join me in our nightlyroutine. Instead, he remained seated on the couch, his arms folded over hischest and a stony look on his face.
Tappingsome of the powder onto the mirror, I casually asked, “So, what's up?”
Hehugged an incoherent sound, then said, “Went and saw Goose tonight.”
“How'she doing?”
Hislips pinched and he slid his eyes, full of contempt, toward me. “He knows whatwe're doing.”
Istopped mid-pour. “What? You told him?”
“No,I didn'ttellhim,” he snapped, dropping his head back againstthe couch. “He fuckin' guessed, and I didn't really do much to prove himwrong.”
