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PROLOGUE
Three Years Ago . . .
Bama
I stumble into the trailer, the stale scent of smoke and beer clinging to my clothes.
The night’s been a blur of laughter and loud engines, but now silence hits me like a brick wall.
My boots thud against the worn carpet as I push the door shut behind me.
“Ma?” I call out, though the darkness swallows my voice.
No answer. Just the low hum of the fridge in the corner.
I flick on the light, and there she is—slumped on the couch, needle sticking out of her arm, face pale as moonlight.
My heart stops. “Fuck, Ma!” I rush over, dropping to my knees beside her.
Her skin is cold, almost waxy, and I can smell the sickly sweet tang of heroin.
“Jesus,” I mutter, my hands shaking as I reach for the needle.
How many times do I gotta see this? Every fucking time it guts me, but this . . . this feels different.
Heroin. Always fucking heroin. She said life wasn’t supposed to be this way, but she couldn’t stop chasing that high.
It’s like she gave up on living just to survive.
I grab the needle, yanking it out of her arm.
The sight makes me sick, bile rising in my throat.
I toss it across the room, watching it clatter against the wall and fall to the floor.
My hands are shaking, but I can’t let that stop me.
“Wake up, Ma!” I shake her hard. Her head lolls to one side, eyes half-open but unseeing. “Come on, wake up!”
Nothing. No response. Panic claws at my chest. This isn’t happening. Not now.
“Fuck!” I scramble for my phone, fingers fumbling as I dial 9-1-1. The ring feels like it lasts forever until a voice finally answers.
“9-1-1, where is your emergency?”
“Uh, my mom—” My voice cracks. “She’s not breathing. I think she overdosed. Please, you gotta send someone quick.”
“Okay, sir, what’s your address?”
I swallow hard. “37 Canterbury Drive.”
The operator replies to me calmly, “All right, sir, we have an ambulance on the way. Can you tell me if she has a pulse?”
“I don’t know! I don’t think so!” I press my fingers to her neck, feeling nothing but cold skin.
“Stay with me, sir. Help is on the way.”
“Yeah, okay,” I mutter, staring at my mom’s lifeless body. This can’t be real, not like this.
