His throat constricted. “I’m not going to use again. I’m going back to rehab for thirty days. I’ve already made the call, and I also spoke to my boss at the bookstore. She knows I’ve been in recovery, and she’ll hold my job for me. I’d appreciate it if you could let me say goodbye to the kids tonight and give me a ride to the rehab center. A month should be enough time for me to get my shit under control and for you to help Roni get her stuff back into her place, so she can move on.” He clenched his jaw as more tears came. He swiped angrily at them. “She doesn’t need me and my shit in her life. She’ll never be able to look at me again after I tell her.”

“You don’t know that,” Truman said, looking as pained as Quincy felt.

“Yes, I do, and I appreciate the offer to tell her with me, but I’ve got to do this alone. I’m sorry, Tru. The last thing I ever wanted was to put you through this again.”

Truman shook his head, embracing Quincy again. “I love you, man, and I know going back to rehab feels like a step backward, but I’m so damn proud of you.”

The lump in Quincy’s throat expanded with Truman’s praise, and he held him tighter. “Thank you.” He released his brother and wiped his eyes. “Can you do me a favor? The police and that detective they called are waiting to question Roni about her accident. They agreed to let me talk to her first, so can you send her in? I’ll be with her when they question her, but we’ll need a ride home, if you don’t mind. They’re keeping me for an hour or two for observation, and then I’m out of here.”

“You bet.”

“And, Tru.” His brother lifted his chin. “One more thing. When I’m in rehab, can you look after her and Simone for me? The cops picked up Simone, and they said they’ll have eyes on her and Roni, but you know that isn’t enough.”

“Absolutely. She’s family, man. We’ve got her back.”

RONI PACED THE waiting room, trying to hold her shit together. If one more person told her that everything would be okay, she was going to scream. All of their friends were there; even Biggs and Red had come. The support Quincy had was insurmountable, but how could anything be okay? She’d seen the tubing.

She couldn’t even think about it.

He’d almost died.

Truman had explained on the way to the hospital that the EMTs gave Quincy something to counteract whatever drugs he’d used, which was good, but even though she’d seen the puncture wound in his arm, she still didn’t believe that Quincy would do drugs again. And the worst part was, she knew she was in denial. All of the literature had said not to take a relapse personally, but this wasn’t about her. Quincy using drugs was personal to him—and that’s what hurt so badly. That’s why she didn’t want to believe it. He was too invested in his recovery. Why would he relapse?