Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 62430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
It’s a rule I’ve lived by… until Porter Hayes.
Porter isn’t just another addict at the rehab where I work.
He's a rugged mountain man with a past as dangerous as the secrets he keeps.
We connect instantly, but he’s off-limits.
He needs to get clean, and I've got my own demons to defeat.
After he finishes his program and checks out, our chemistry ignites.
I’m falling for him, hard, even though I know the risks.
And he’s making it impossible to resist.
When my junkie brother kidnaps me, I pray Porter can save me.
But will I survive long enough to tell him the secret I’m carrying?
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
PORTER
Iwoke up with a headache and thought, never again. It seemed like the thousandth time I had said “Never again” since I had fallen off the wagon years ago. Too many nights partying by myself had driven me closer to rock bottom than I had ever been before. I was sure my story wasn’t unique, but that didn’t make it any easier to tell.
I started experimenting with intoxication when I was in high school. Back then, I had a crowd of other addicts that I ran with, so my behavior didn’t seem that bad. We would joke about waking up in the bushes or peeing ourselves in class. It wasn’t weird or disturbing when all your friends were right there with you, so I just kept on going. Peer pressure made you do crazy things, hiding behind a sneaky disguise that the life-damaging activities were all perfectly normal.
My friend Mike, who had been my best friend since elementary school, was the only one who cared. He tried to get me out of it, encouraging me to step out on my own. I didn’t listen to him. Getting high was just too much fun, and the kids I was getting high with, I thought they knew the “real me.”
The deeper I got, the more I realized I couldn’t control my addiction. After high school, when everyone left for the big city to go to college or get real jobs, I hung around. I had an on-again, off-again thing with a local girl. I thought I meant something to her, but she was just interested in getting high.
I ran out of money and did what every druggie does to support their habit: I started selling. Soon it was cocaine and methamphetamines, and I was in way over my head. I got into extremely deep shit with extremely bad people who weren’t afraid to punish if necessary. Mike showed up and bailed me out, taking the fall for me and serving six months in prison. That only made me feel worse, knowing he was doing my time and keeping his mouth shut out of some twisted loyalty to our friendship.
The hole I dug grew deeper. I kicked the uppers when Mike went away, but I couldn’t let go of the drink and the pills. I drank so much I could have put myself in an early grave. Somehow, sanity broke through, and I was able to get sober. It must have been running into Mike at the bar that one night, after he finished his sentence. All he asked of me was a simple “Thank you.”
“Thank you” for taking the fall and serving time for me. It was more than I could say at the time, and that disgusted me. Everything my buddy had done for me, and I couldn’t even summon two simple words. Right then, I found my motivation and went cold turkey. I signed myself up for a twelve-step program and went to meetings. I was ready to turn my life around, no matter what steps I needed to take.
It gave me the boost I needed to get a real job, even if it was just stocking groceries. I scored a sweet garage apartment with a fellow former alcoholic, and I was living the life of an ordinary citizen. When Mike came to me in trouble and I was able to help him out, I felt relieved. I had redeemed myself in his eyes, and he started inviting me around again.
He had a new wife, and they were happy together. All of his other friends were hitched up, each with a beautiful lady on their arm. They had kids and cookouts after work, all the things that normal couples did here in Singer’s Ridge. I hung out with them sometimes but always felt like a fifth wheel. I was the only single guy, the only one who didn’t have my life together.
One night I ran into one of my old using buddies. He was back from prison, but unlike Mike, he was actually guilty. He talked me into getting high again, for old times’ sake. I thought, what could one time hurt? A lot, it turned out. I never managed to regain my sobriety after that.
My friend from the sober network kicked me out of his garage when he found me unconscious on the ground. I flaked on the grocery store job and got fired. I moved in with my druggie friend again, but we had a lot of fights. I finally scored a place of my own in what had once been an old plantation house. It had been carved into so many rooms, it was like a high-rise, cheap as hell and full of people. Everybody had one bedroom; each floor shared a bathroom and a kitchen. I mostly didn’t eat, and when I did, it was takeout or ramen.