Page 140 of Blue

I glanced at my Heller family. It was still early days, but these were feel-good, sober days.

Blue rested his hand on my thigh.

“I love you,” I mouthed to him. He did the same back to me.

And I loved my meetings, and I loved my new job working for Bullet. I wasn’t a cam girl, although I wouldn’t mind watching a replay of the filthy things Blue did to me. But I cleaned Indulgence, which Bullet’s girls had playfully renamed Good Girl Studios.

Cleaning wasn’t glamourous, but it was perfect for me. I wasn’t alone while I worked. Bullet’s girls were good to me. And next week, I’d start cleaning the dance studio, too.

“Welcome.” Ansel called for everyone’s attention. Normally, I preferred morning meetings, but tonight was special. And not just because it was the friends and family night and mine were here to show their support.

But I was getting my thirty-days sober coin. Technically, I had my thirty days a couple of weeks ago. But I wanted tonight to be special. I wasn’t going to count anymore.

All that mattered was that I’d spent my last day high and miserable. I’d always remember my last day, shooting up in the bathroom and seeing what my addiction did to the man I loved. I’d forever think of that night as the night before I died.

As Ansel spent the first few minutes discussing upcoming events, the plate was passed around. Now I had money to contribute. I put a ten-dollar bill on the stack and passed it to Brad.

Blue took my hand in his. This was what sobriety looked like for me. Fucking beautiful.

And then it was my turn to share, I stood and walked to the front of the room. When Ansel placed the thirty-day coin in my hand, a surge of energy rushed through me. I closed my fingers over the coin, and the cool metal warmed in my palm.

I turned to speak, and the words I wanted to say died on my lips. As if the room faded to black, all I could see were the people at the back of the room. Tears filled my eyes. My uncle John sat next to Sully. A guarded smile found his lips.

I blinked back tears. “My name is Kiss, and I’m an addict.”