The Life That Mattered (Life Duet 1)

She grunted a laugh as her eyebrows slid up her forehead. “One day? My husband has an opioid addiction that he’s been hiding from me, and I’m supposed to let it go for one day? What’s one more day? I don’t know … maybe when I see Lila, I’ll ask her if one more day is reasonable to give someone with a drug addiction.”

“Jesus …” I rubbed my face, closing my eyes. “I’m not a fucking drug addict, Evie.”

“That’s what all addicts say until they hit rock bottom—if they live to hit rock bottom—and check themselves in for treatment.”

“Treatment?” I dropped my hands and my jaw, agitated we were having such a ridiculous conversation. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

Tears reddened her eyes as she clenched her jaw. “I am a scientist with a background in chemistry. Do you know how fucking insulting it is for you to look at me like I’m crazy? Like I don’t know what I’m talking about? The very day I found that first bottle of pills in your pocket, I poured through every bit of research I could find on opioids. I guarantee I know more about them than you do by this point. I knew there was a chance you were already addicted that day, even after only a week. But I know that there is a one hundred percent chance that you have an opioid addiction after taking them for months.”

“That is not true.” I shook my head.

“Lila’s pain is gone!” She slammed her fists on the armrests and the tears won over. “What are you doing?” Her words broke apart as her tears painted black mascara lines down her cheeks. “My …” She swallowed hard. “My mom is dying. You’re going to leave me too, and I will hate you for letting this end our life together. I will hate you for leaving me to explain to our kids why they no longer have a father.”

I kneeled on the floor in front of her, grabbing a tissue and wiping her face. “I’m not leaving you,” I whispered.

“You check into treatment, tomorrow.”

“Evie …” I continued to shake my head. She was overreacting.

“You check into treatment, tomorrow.”

“I’ll taper off. I can do it on my own.”

“You check into treatment, tomorrow.” Every time she repeated that line, her words lost emotion, like she was losing any sort of feeling, shutting down, and putting up this indestructible wall around her heart.

I fucking hated it. Where had my wife gone? The woman who looked at me like I was her king? “Please … just listen to me.” I squeezed her hands. “This isn’t a prob—”

“Over 70,000 people die every year from opioid overdose, including really well-educated—well informed—healthcare professionals like doctors, nurses, and paramedics. You check into treatment … tomorrow.”

“Give me a week … just a week.” I rested my forehead on her shoulder. “Please … one week.”

“You check in for treatment, tomorrow … or you move out of my house.”

I sat up, shaking my head over and over. I didn’t hear her right. There was no way a few pills could end our marriage. Before I could try harder to make my case, the pilot announced we would be landing in Denver soon. I knew Lila and Graham would be waiting for us the second we stepped off the plane.

Flowers.

Balloons.

Presents.

They planned a luxury ride to her surprise party with all her favorite foods and lots of champagne—champagne I was clearly not going to drink.

I hated lying to my wife. And I hated that she mistook truths for lies. I didn’t have a problem. I wasn’t addicted to drugs. There was no reason to check into treatment. But … it was her birthday. I needed to salvage what I could of it before a misunderstanding ruined the whole thing. So … I lied.

“Tomorrow, I check in for treatment.” I forced a smile and wiped the rest of the mascara from her cheeks.

Her body melted on a long sigh as she pressed her palms to my face and rested her forehead against mine. “Thank you,” she whispered.

After she fixed her makeup, we slipped on our coats and I took her hand, leading her off the plane.

“Surprise!” Lila held up her arms, both hands holding balloons as part of her body poked out of the moonroof of the limousine.

I laughed, knowing it was the best she could do with a broken leg.

A red rug stretched from the plane’s stairs all the way to the limo where Graham stood in a tux holding a huge bouquet of roses. I released her hand, assuming she would run toward them, eager to leave behind her drug addicted husband. Instead, she turned her back to them to face me. Throwing her arms around my neck, she hugged me like she did the morning she first found the oxy in my jacket.