Sinful Longing (Sinful Nights, #3)(12)

But painkillers? They were the golden path to gliding through high school without your brothers, sister, or grandma knowing what you were up to. Colin had needed to numb the pain of missing his dad, hating his mom, and wishing his life hadn’t taken that turn into pure hell. Oxy was far easier to hide than booze. Stash it in a sock. Stuff it into the bottom of your gym bag. Hide some in a Ziploc in the toe of your shoe. Nobody looked there. No one suspected. Pop a few of those bad boys in the morning and cruise through trigonometry, European history, English lit.

Getting straight As did wonders to hide the problem and kept his family from discovering all the help he got from his little friends.

College was a dream—he didn’t have to worry anymore about his family finding out, so he could party all night, mix pills with tequila, and slam some Adderall the next day to speed up his brain in class. Worked like a charm. He grand-slammed his way through college, acing all his economics and business management classes while high, buzzed, or on speed.

Nothing could stop him.

Nothing except collapsing during the triathlon he’d competed in at twenty-three, dehydrated from spending too much time with Se?or Patrón the night before. He’d trained hard for it, too. The Badass Triathlon was not just the standard swim, bike, and run—it also included a rock climb. After you scaled the rock wall, you turned around and did the first three legs in reverse.

It had been hard as f*ck. Exhausting as hell. Only for the hardcore athletes, and Colin, a cocky bastard then, was sure he could finish well even hung over.

Nope.

He’d fallen as he climbed, and had he not partied too hard the night before, he’d have fallen correctly, sustaining only a few lacerations.

Instead he landed all wrong, injured his tibia, and passed out in Red Rock Canyon.

Emergency room.

Grandmother called in.

Brothers and sister told.

Job nearly lost.

Rock bottom.

There had been moments in those early days when he’d have given his left arm for another glass and his right for a handful of pills. Now, with eight years clean—no slips, no relapses, no just one drinks—he felt steady and calm. He’d made it through the hell of withdrawal, he’d had the support of friends and family in getting sober, and he relied on a solid network of like-minded men in his recovery support group. Every day, he aimed to live according to a new way of thinking—a sober way—and he honestly wasn’t tempted anymore when he walked past tequila on the shelf, or saw a glass being served at a bar.

But beer? That shit was nasty. He didn’t have a clue what anyone liked, so he grabbed some Corona and headed to the self-checkout. As he slipped his debit card through the register, a flurry of nerves skated up his spine. What if his sponsor Kevin saw him? Sure, he had an ironclad reason to be buying, but shit, he would sound like such a liar.

“Oh, it’s for my brother.”

That was the kind of stuff addicts said when they were falling off the wagon. Nobody lied better than an alcoholic ready to sidle up to the bottle again. Colin took solace in the truth, though. He wasn’t going to touch this stuff. That was why Shannon had asked him to stop by the store. She knew he could handle it. Hell, he was damn proud of himself for proving to his family that every day he was recovering.

And to himself, too. He intended to do that by competing in this year’s Badass Triathlon at the end of the summer. He hadn’t attempted it since his epic fail. But it was his personal quest to finish it this time. Whether he came in first or last didn’t matter. Finishing sober was all he wanted.

Colin paid for the beer and headed out of the store, ready to see Ryan. His brother had had a hell of a day. He’d spent it at Hawthorne, visiting their murderess mother in prison. Apparently she’d finally confessed to him that she’d had their father killed. Colin had never doubted she was guilty, but Ryan had held out hope she’d been framed, and that with the case reopened someone else would be nabbed. True, the detectives were still looking for the gunman’s potential accomplices, but for once and for all, Ryan was as sure of their mother’s guilt as the rest of them were. Now it was Colin’s job, along with Shannon and Michael, to lend some support to their brother.

As he got behind the wheel of his Audi, something nagged at him. Something he’d meant to do last night after he said good-bye to Elle. He snapped his fingers.

“The picture,” he said. The hot sex must have fried his brain. He’d forgotten to text her the image of the kid in the Buick who’d been stalking Shannon—Colin was sure he’d seen the guy around the community center playing basketball. He hunted for it now. But as he scrolled through his photo gallery to fire the picture off to Elle, all his recent images were gone. Right, he’d reset everything on his phone the other day after testing a new fitness app that downloaded a virus. Needless to say, his venture firm wasn’t going to fund that app.

He’d simply get the image from Brent another time. Now, he needed to be with his family.

And later this week, he had a date with Elle.

Well, it was hardly a date.

More like a plan to f*ck.

But that was okay. He loved f*cking her, and if f*cking her was the way to win the heart that he wanted badly, he’d be up to the challenge.

*

“No one was there.” Marcus blew out a long stream of air.

“So you try again another time,” Elle said, trying to cheer him up as she untied her roller skates while chatting with Marcus on the phone.