Free Recovery by Abigail Stone Page A

backpack. Finally, he found what he was looking for. He pulled out a tiny dime bag of cocaine, tossing it to Layla. She caught it with shaking hands, thanking him quietly.
    But she couldn’t bring herself to open it.
    “You’ve already made it through the hardest part,” Layla heard Emily’s voice say in her head.
    “Don’t.”
    But Layla had never been one to listen to her mother. She looked up at Chase, who stared at her quizzically, his brows furrowed. He appeared visibly distraught by what he had just done. Giving cocaine to an addict, after all, was really no different than giving candy to a baby. They might not always choke on it, but the idea that they might was bad enough.
    “I should go,” Chase finally said, but Layla shook her head.
    “No,” she whispered, opening the tiny bag and sticking her finger inside. She brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply as her eyelids fluttered closed.
    Instant euphoria.
    “Stay,” Layla whispered, her eyes still closed as she rode the wave that crashed through her emaciated body. Her tremors stopped, her heartbeat slowing to a more tolerable thump. Her shakes disintegrated, and the tightness she had felt in her chest was no longer there either.
    “Just for a while?” she asked, opening her eyes and staring deeply into Chase’s. He hesitated by the door, unsure of himself.
    “I don’t know,” he began, “Leo is going to be back soon. I don’t want to be around when he finds you with that stuff.”
    “Daddy’s little girl and what not…”
    Layla cringed as the words left Chase’s lips.
    “He’s not my dad,” she said sharply.
    “Not really, anyway. And you can stay if you want to. I’ve been using this stuff since I was thirteen. I’m more normal on it than not.”
    Chase didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he stepped away from the door anyway, taking a seat in the loveseat across from Layla
    “So what’s your story?” Layla finally asked, making small talk despite her exposed appearance. Chase ran a hand through his hair before shrugging. Layla caught him staring at the bulge of her cleavage over the towel and blushed as he looked away.
    “Do you…uh…normally just hang out in a towel?” he joked, dodging the question.
    Layla laughed, rolling her eyes. She pulled the towel up higher, crossing her arms over her chest. “Not always,” she said, “but you didn’t answer my question.”
    “Alright,” Chase finally said. “Well for starters, I’m not a California native,”
    Layla watched as Chase kicked off his muddy boots, cracking open the beer in his hand. He took a drink, the wheels in his head turning as he thought of how to describe himself. Layla smiled. He seemed like an entirely different person than the man she had met just a few months prior. He was quiet and collected, even more so than Leo, and maybe it was just the high, but Layla found herself feeling safe in his presence.
    “Go on,” she urged, stuffing the tiny bag of coke in her purse. For now, one hit was enough. She basked in the silence that filled the cabin, the sound of nature her only distraction. Crickets chirped periodically, and water leaked from the storm drains onto the windows, creating a soft patter against the glass.
    “I’m from Memphis,” Chase continued, and Layla swore she could hear the workings of a southern drawl surfacing in his voice. “As in Tennessee.”
    “I know where Memphis is!” Layla scoffed.
    Chase laughed lightly, “Just kidding,” he said. He reached in the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a pack of Camel cigarettes and lighting one.
    “Anyway, Richie and I grew up there. When I was twenty and Richie was eighteen we got on our bikes, real shitty Choppers but hey we were young, and we headed towards San Francisco. It was supposed to be a vacation, I guess, but we never did make it back.”
    Layla nodded, taking a hit of Chase’s cigarette when he offered and exhaling a fine ring of smoke from between her full lips.
    “That