I reach for the knob, turn it, and open the door. The sunlight streams brightly through the window. I take a step in. It’s quiet. In jeans and a t-shirt, Slate’s still body lays on the bed. I walk over to him. His pale skin strengthens the redness of his scars. My chest squeezes tight.
“Hey.” I nudge his shoulder. He doesn’t flinch. I do it again, but still, no response. I glance at Emmie, Jax, and Zeke huddled in the doorway, but after getting no response from them either, I look around the room and my gaze halts at the nightstand. I reach down and pick up one of the prescription bottles—Ambien, a sleeping pill. I set it down and pick up another one, hydrocodone, a pain pill. I shake it and it’s empty. I go for the third one, but it’s not labeled. I open it and dump a variety of pills into my hand. I put the pills back into the bottle, close it, and go to leave the room. They all move out of my way. I turn around, close the door, and cross my arms over my chest.
I glare at all of them, pausing at Emmie. “Did you know about this?”
“No…” She shoots another questioning look Jax’s way. “I didn’t.”
“I want to know everything,” I say to both brothers.
“Rayna, this isn’t your problem,” Jax says.
“It’s okay, Jax. You and Emmie can go. I’ll tell her.”
“Fuck that, you should just leave,” he says to me, and then looks over at Zeke. “She doesn’t need this shit. He’s not her problem anymore. He’s ours.”
I touch him on the arm. Jax, always the protector. “I want to know, Jax.”
He stares at me for a long moment. Emmie gives me a faint smile and takes Jax’s hand. “Come on, handsome. I’m starving, make me something to eat.”
He brushes a hand through his hair. “We tried, Rayna. We did, but he doesn’t want our help,” he says before leaving with Emmie.
I watch Jax walk away, and after working at a drug rehab facility for a few months, I recognize that defeated look. I turn back to Zeke. “Everything,” I emphasize.
“You know about the fire, right?”
I nod. “And I saw his scars.”
“Yeah-” He leans back against the wall, shoving a hand into the front pocket of his jeans. “They put him in the hospital for a few months. I was with him most of the time. Jax had to manage the shit with the store and try to sort it all out. It killed him, but ya know Jax. Anyway, I was there the first time they changed Slate’s dressings. Rayna, when they took the bandages off, all the blood, it was bad. I almost got sick. And Slate, man-” He stops to gaze ahead for a second as if caught in the memory. “Well, he made this sound, I swear, I never heard any shit like that before in my life. Coming from my brother, no less. The pain must’ve been unbearable. Hearing him scream and cry like that.” He shakes his head. “All I could do was let him squeeze the hell out of my hand. They had to keep upping his pain meds before they did the dressing changes. And one day, it just stopped. I came in while they were doing it, and his eyes glossed over. He didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, as they removed the bandages. I thought he was dead in that bed. I really did. I think a part of him died that day. Then he started physical therapy and stayed at a rehab place for a few more months. Between that and the surgeries, he still needed the pain meds. He got hooked. It’s been three years since the fire and he should be off them by now. The docs limit his supply, but he just gets whatever he wants off the street.”
“What about drug rehab?”
“Oh, we tried that. He’s been in and out of them, and the hospital too for overdoses, but he can’t kick it. He won’t. He’s addicted.”
I take a shaky breath. “Is it just pills?”
“Shit.” He blows out. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
There are all kinds of things running through my head. The urge to cry came and I bashed it away. I wanted to scream, but I swallowed that back down into my body. And the desire to walk back in that room and shake the shit out of Slate, now that I know, won’t do any good. He’s obviously too far gone for that to affect him. So, I know what I need to do. And it might not be one of my better ideas ‘cause, let’s face it, I don’t seem to have too many, but I can’t just walk away from him. I can’t leave knowing he’s been suffering for the past three years without doing something to help him.
With Zeke following me, I head to the room that Jax and Emmie had gone into, the kitchen. “All right,” I say, and they all look at me. “I have an idea, but I’m going to need your help.”