Free The Galilee Falls Trilogy (Book 3): Fall of Heroes by Jennifer Harlow

get. Growing up in Diablo’s Ward with the abusive alcoholic mother doesn’t leave a little girl much choice but to be strong. To survive. But it’s always been fake it ‘til I made it. More often than not there wasn’t an ounce of fight or strength in me, but I couldn’t allow anyone to know that or I’d be dead. Literally. But the well is dry. Even the fumes have evaporated. The one good thing about losing everything and everyone is that when you implode, there’s no collateral damage. Score one for freedom.
    I don’t leave my shit corporate apartment for a week. Not because I love the place. It doesn’t have a lick of personality. Beige walls, factory produced artwork of flowers and cityscapes, cheap pots and pans, easy to assemble furniture as comfortable as granite. But it does have a television and a grocery/liquor store that delivers nearby. What more could a depressed alcoholic ask for?
    Most of the past week is a blur, which means the booze did its job. I remember watching tons of reality television and true crime shows. I remember throwing up. A lot. And sleeping. All the slumber I’ve missed through the years due to stress and a mountain of other obligations has been made up for with change. With my cell phone off, the land line off the hook, and computer in one of the few unpacked boxes, I’ve been on my own little desolate island. Just me, Jack Daniels, and Captain Morgan. A threesome. A triumvirate. Trio of assholes is more like it. Fuck him. Fuck them all.
    On day six, at least I think it’s day six, my coma’s interrupted by a woman calling my name, followed by a half dozen expletives. Oh God, my head. The bottle of aspirin is half empty, but I dry swallow four just as the interloper steps into my bedroom. “Jesus Fucking Christ, Jo. What the hell?”
    My cousin Veronica stands in the doorway, pretty mouth agape at the sight of me. Okay, not just me. I was three drinks in when the maid arrived yesterday and I wouldn’t let her in. No doubt V’s seen all the take-away cartons, empty bottles, food stains, dirty clothes, and half full boxes with their former contents strewn around. I meant to hire someone to take the boxes to a storage unit but that never happened. Hell, using soap barely happened.
    “How’d you get in here?” I ask.
    “Shannon told me where you were and called the concierge to let me up. She was worried about you. Apparently with good reason. So back to the original question: what the hell, Jo? I’m away for a week and you fucking implode?”
    “Yes, I timed the total collapse of my life for the one week you’re away just to stick it to you. I’m an evil bitch. Fuck off.” I pull the covers over my head. Jesus, they reek of sweat and farts. Really should have used fucking soap.
    V snatches the covers completely off the bed, leaving me exposed. “Get up.”
    “Bitch!” I snap.
    “You’re going to take a shower, shampoo your hair because you could cook French fries in all that grease, get dressed, and while you’re doing that, I’ll call your sponsor to meet us at AA.”
    “I’m not going to a fucking meeting, V. I’m not going to sit around the most miserable people on the planet as they bare their souls like anyone else gives a shit. Because they don’t. Not really. Even the best humanity supposedly has to offer are just cruel, selfish, deluded monsters. And I want nothing to do with them. Any of them. Or you. So fuck off.” I grab the other pillow, press it to the side of my face, and close my eyes. “I mean it. Leave or I’ll call the police.”
    There’s several seconds of silence before she says, “You do know who you just sounded like right then, right? Aunt Maeve redux.”
    “Well, maybe she had the right idea. Say what you want about her, but she looked out for number one. Her only mistake was having me. Luckily I didn’t make the same one. I’m not hurting anyone else.”
    “You’re hurting me. I love you, you stupid cow. My brothers love