It’s time for the Lori Foster get together. I’m leaving in a few. Before I go, a quick snippet from DEEPER THAN NEED…
He pulled it down and stood there, staring at the cut glass, watching as the amber liquor caught the light.
His own personal genie in a bottle. His own personal Pandora’s box.
Moving over to the table, he sat down and placed the bottle in front of him. After Dad had died, this was a ritual Noah had carried out almost every night. It was even the same bottle. Unopened.
Staring into it, tormenting himself, taunting himself. Reminding himself.
You pulled yourself out of that bottle. You only go back in if you make that choice.
Those had been some of the last words his father had said to Noah before he slid back into a drug-induced stupor as the cancer ravaged his body. Noah had all but begged him not to die. Please, Dad. I’m not strong enough to do this alone.
You’ve always been strong enough. You just never wanted to see it. It’s time to stand on your own two feet, son.
His own two feet.
Sometimes it got damn hard to balance. Those demons nipped at his heels and he could all but feel himself ready to tumble straight back down into that pit. Over the past few years, though, it seemed like life had gotten easier.
Empty, all but meaningless, except for the kids, but easier. He moved through life in a grey cloud, no color, finding little pleasure in anything, but he managed to exist. It was boring. It was empty. But it was easy.
Days passed when he didn’t crave a drink—the burn of whiskey, the smooth glide of vodka, the casual ease of a few beers, as he just drank the pain away.
He’d even managed to get past the craving for a woman’s soft arms around him, pulling him through the nights so he could sleep without the screams, the memory of bloody swipes on glass, the ghostly echo in his ears: Trust me. . . .
Those physical needs became his own personal cross, one he soldiered with until even those began to fade and he all but forgot the way it had felt to slide between a woman’s thighs, to tangle his hands in silken hair as he buried himself inside a welcoming body.
On nights like this, though, when he talked to a kid like CTaz who reminded him so much of himself, it was harder. Nights when all the scabs on the unhealed wounds inside him were ripped off and all the ugly poison came boiling out.
Staring at the bottle, he could almost hear a siren’s call.
Just one drink . . .
But it had all started with just one drink.
Shutting the voice down, he continued to sit there. Stare. Just one drink. He could all but hear the bottle singing to him.
He could lose himself again. Just for a while. A few days. A few months. The rest of his life.
Would anybody really care?
“No,” he said softly, uncertain if he was answering his question or denying the bottle, once again.
Five minutes ticked away and he let himself get up. Tuck the bottle away.
He’d won. Again.
If you’re in or near Cincy, the signings for the event are open to the public. I’ll be signing tomorrow and I’ll have a couple of the Kit books… ( a very very few.) I can also e-autograph those, and I don’t mean the authorgraph with Kindle. This is cooler. Find me and you can see. 🙂 I can also do these for people who can’t come meet me if you’re interested, although I can only do the Kit books at this time.
Info on the event…
Cincinnati Marriott North
6189 Muhlhauser Rd.
West Chester, OH 45069
Saturday June 7
3:00 pm – 5:00 pm