Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
The man who built an empire. The man who raised two firecrackers. Married one, too.
Crying. Like a child.
You have too much to lose, Bailey.
This is worth fighting for.
This is worth living for.
We all gather into a group hug. When we disconnect, I clear my throat.
“Juilliard…” I start.
Mom jumps in. “I’m so sorry I opened your letter. I didn’t mean to overstep. I was just so worri—”
“Mom, let me finish.” I touch her wrist.
She makes a sign of zipping her mouth shut. She’s shaking. So am I.
I can’t do this anymore. I can’t ruin everyone’s lives just because mine didn’t work out the way I wanted it to.
“Juilliard wasn’t a good fit for me. I wanted to succeed but didn’t draw one ounce of satisfaction from it. I hated New York. Hated the cold. Hated the competitiveness. I was so good at excelling at things—school was always fun for me, dancing used to be a piece of cake—”
“All right, Miss Humblebrag, we get it,” Daria mumbles. We all laugh.
I continue, “So when I started doing badly at something, I didn’t admit defeat. I kept pushing and pushing through. And I ended up making friends with the wrong type of people.” I think about Payden. “I’m ready to go to rehab. I need to do this right. I have to. I’ll always be an addict. You can’t turn the wheel back. But I want to be a sober one who is safe to be around. I don’t just owe it to myself but to the people I love.”
Hands enfold me from all angles. A flurry of tears and kisses ensues.
And I know, in this moment, surrounded by the loved ones I’m probably not going to see for a long time, that somehow, I will be okay.
Because that’s the thing about damaged goods.
They’re still good. They just need a little fixing.
CHAPTER 38
Bailey
I stay in the hospital for ten days before they let me go.
Lev doesn’t visit me once.
Actually, that’s not true. He does arrive here daily, but he doesn’t come in. I keep hearing him outside of my room, talking to Dad and Penn and Mom and Daria. Asking how I’m doing.
I want to yell at him. Tell him I’m happy to email him my hospital chart first thing every morning and save him the time and traffic, since he isn’t here to see me anyway.
But I know I have no right to be a brat.
Why doesn’t he come in? I think I know why, and the reason is frightening to me.
Good news is, I’m officially accepting visitors.
Knight and Luna arrive with Cayden and a stack of books Luna purchased especially for me.
Vaughn and Lenora arrive sans the twins and stay over for a DoorDash dinner and a two-hour conversation about art.
Daria and I watch movies every night and talk about the past—always the past, never the future. The future is too big, too vast, too threatening. We don’t touch it.
I arrive back home in a wheelchair. My leg is in a cast and I can technically use crutches, but my parents are told I have to take it easy.
It is an extremely humbling experience to sit in my backyard and crochet beanies for NICU babies without being able to jump to my feet and dance every time a song I like comes on the radio.
I’m not sure why I don’t contact Lev. It’s not pride—I’ve never been a prideful person.
I guess a part of me understands why he put distance between us. Why he let go. I treated him horribly and put him through hell. Then to top all of it off, used again, despite his valid and healthy pleas. Mom always says love is an exercise in endurance, but I think she means general curveballs life throws at you.
Not when one of you decides to become abusive and not themselves.
Still, I know we’ll talk before he goes off to college, wherever that might be.
Before I enter rehab. Whenever that might be.
How’s the sky looking, Dove? his voice asks inside my head.
The sky fell on me and crushed me whole. And still, I survived.
I end up choosing a rehab center in the same way I used to choose ice cream flavors when I was a kid. Squeeze my eyes shut real tight, run my finger along a curated list, and halt at a random place.
Mom, Dad, Daria, and Penn are sitting next to me. My built-in support group.
“No peeking!” Mom coos, trying to make the whole ordeal fun, rather than horrifying.
I stifle a smile. I let my finger slide along the handwritten list and stop.
Silence. My heartbeats are drumming between my ears.
“Is it good? Is it bad?” I ask, eyes still closed. “Can you even tell? Daria’s penmanship is awful.”
“Hey!” Daria laughs.
“Aww! This one looks so good. We loved the pictures,” Mom says finally. “Open your eyes now, Bailey. It’s the beginning of the rest of your life.”