Page 45 of The Killer Card

“Grab me a water,” I tell him, zipping the hoodie up to my chest. He does, cracking it open but leaving the top on before handing it over. I take a sip, twisting it closed again before putting it in the pocket of my sweater.

“How long have you been sober?”

I nearly drop the wine glasses, not because of the nature of the question, but because he asked at all. “Why would you ask me something like that?”

“Naomi,” Cristian gives me a pointed look, leaning his hip against the counter. “Come on. We’ve been friends since middle school—”

“We are not friends—”

“I know you. I notice things about you. I know that the last time I saw you, you always had a drink in your hand. And I know that you’ve gone through like half the water bottles today alone- we have reusable ones by the way- and you didn’t drink on the plane.” He crosses his arms, nodding my way. “So, how long?”

Sucking at my teeth, I avert my gaze to the counter. “A year last week,” I tell him.

His eyes widen. “Wow! That’s awesome, Naomi—”

“Please don’t make a big deal out of it,” I beg. His brow furrows. “I don’t want to make Nelly’s week about me. So just… Keep it between us, okay?”

Cristian nods. “Yeah, of course, but…” His lips pinch in confusion. “Clara and Nelly don’t know?”

“No,” I snort, shaking my head. “No, I never told them. I didn’t want to worry them or interrupt the wedding planning. It was… Really hard for a while, but my brother was great, and my dad. They helped me a lot. I’m… I’m in a much better place. Still struggling, but it’s manageable.”

“You look more grounded,” he agrees.

“I am.”

“Does Graham….?”

“My sobriety is none of Graham’s business,” I tell him firmly enough that he raises his hands in surrender. “Please, don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” he swears. “Shit, is it difficult for you to be around all of us drinking like this?”

“No,” I shake my head. “Not anymore. Do I wish I could grab a glass and pour myself some wine? Yeah, but I always will. I just have to keep reminding myself that the alternative isn’t worth it.”

Not at all. Not even a little bit. The alternative nearly ruined my life. Nearly took my life. I’ll never allow myself to slip back into that place ever again.

Cristian grins, grabbing the beers while I grab the wine. He nudges my shoulder as we walk back out onto the porch. “Well, I’m proud of you, if that means anything at all.”

“It does not,” I tell him with a grin. He rolls his eyes but continues smiling as he takes a sip of his beer, following me back down to the bonfire.

Clara and Nelly both sing song their gratitude when I hand over their glasses, both already too drunk to notice I don’t have one. Too in love with their significant others to pay attention to me when I take the water bottle from my pocket.

But across the fire, I feel the burning stare of forest green eyes as they watch me lift the clear liquid to my lips. I can only imagine what he’s thinking as he lifts the joint, the blazing tip illuminating his dark gaze. I sink deeper into my chair, accepting the graham crackers and marshmallows and chocolate as they’re passed around again. I laugh with my friends, listen to Clara sing campfire songs horribly while Rowan still gives her moon eyes, and smile when Elias grabs his guitar from the house and takes over for her.

I’ve missed this. Missed just being with my people, talking shit to each other, sharing ridiculous stories and eating too much food. I love Boston, I even love my job as much as I hated all the classes I had to take to get it. But nothing could ever replace this. No amount of money or partnerships or great coffee shops could ever fill the hole being away from my friends has opened.

After I moved to Boston, after I lost this grounding connection to the people I lived so much of my life for, the drinking had gotten worse. My grades were nowhere near what they could have been, and I honestly don’t know how I managed to pass. There are entire months of my time at Harvard that I don’t even remember buried beneath the haze of alcohol. There are pictures on colleagues’ phones that I don’t remember being in where my skin looks sallow, my face bloated, and not a single person noticed.

Well, except Nathan. He got an apartment just up the road from mine around the time I started my first semester, kept an annoyingly close eye on me. Forced me to sneak drinks in ways I’m not proud of.

I had a problem.

Nathan knew it.

Graham knew it.

I didn’t know it until it was almost too late.

I was checked into a rehab facility for two entire months last summer. My last summer before my final year of law school. Excuses were made to Clara and Nelly why I wouldn’t be returning home. I think my dad told them we were taking a family getaway to Europe? Or a cruise? That’s how little I remember. They could ask me about it tomorrow and I would absolutely butcher the lie. Luckily, neither ever asked. They accepted the excuse of no cell service, sometimes texting or emailing to check in or discuss plans for the wedding. When I got phone privileges back I would take their calls outside, in discreet places where my actual location wasn’t obvious.