Sinful Longing

And gangs. Lord knew some of these kids had been tempted. Street gangs, like the Royal Si

“I’m not dangerous. I swear. I’m just…” He stopped speaking, letting his voice trail off.

“You’re scared,” she supplied, speaking softly.

“Yes,” he said in the barest voice.

“Remember what we talked about?”

“Rise above,” he said, echoing Elle’s mantra, which she tried to instill in the kids.

“Yes. Rise above. You can be so much. If your goal is to meet the family you’ve never known, I’m behind you. But you have to stop stalking them. Do not let fear guide you. Rise above it.”

“Okay. I’m going to do it. I’m going to head over to this guy’s home,” he said, his voice stronger and more confident now.

She beamed as she wandered to the kitchen and grabbed a carton of eggs from the fridge. “Let me know how it goes. I want a full report,” she said, then ended the call and began cracking eggs and cooking breakfast for her son, who padded out from his bedroom a few minutes later.

“Hi, Mom.”

Her heart went warm all over. Her brain was flooded with pure happiness.

Hi, Mom.

The simplest thing in the world but it was music to her ears.

* * *

Colin scratched his head as he surveyed the six-packs in the beer section at the local Safeway near his brother Ryan’s home. He hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol in eight years, and he honestly wasn’t sure what anybody drank when it came to beer in the first place. But Sha

Hell, he and tequila had been deeply in love. You never forget your first love, even if you sample others along the way. Colin had started hitting the liquor bottle right after his father was killed when he was thirteen. He’d only flirted with it then—he had friends with older brothers, absent parents, and keys to the liquor cabinet. That was what being buddies with the Royal Si

But painkillers? They were the golden path to gliding through high school without your brothers, sister, or grandma knowing what you were up to. Colin had needed to numb the pain of missing his dad, hating his mom, and wishing his life hadn’t taken that turn into pure hell. Oxy was far easier to hide than booze. Stash it in a sock. Stuff it into the bottom of your gym bag. Hide some in a Ziploc in the toe of your shoe. Nobody looked there. No one suspected. Pop a few of those bad boys in the morning and cruise through trigonometry, European history, English lit.

Getting straight As did wonders to hide the problem and kept his family from discovering all the help he got from his little friends.

College was a dream—he didn’t have to worry anymore about his family finding out, so he could party all night, mix pills with tequila, and slam some Adderall the next day to speed up his brain in class. Worked like a charm. He grand-slammed his way through college, acing all his economics and business management classes while high, buzzed, or on speed.

Nothing could stop him.

Nothing except collapsing during the triathlon he’d competed in at twenty-three, dehydrated from spending too much time with Señor Patrón the night before. He’d trained hard for it, too. The Badass Triathlon was not just the standard swim, bike, and run—it also included a rock climb. After you scaled the rock wall, you turned around and did the first three legs in reverse.

It had been hard as fuck. Exhausting as hell. Only for the hardcore athletes, and Colin, a cocky bastard then, was sure he could finish well even hung over.

Nope.

He’d fallen as he climbed, and had he not partied too hard the night before, he’d have fallen correctly, sustaining only a few lacerations.

Instead he landed all wrong, injured his tibia, and passed out in Red Rock Canyon.

Emergency room.

Grandmother called in.

Brothers and sister told.

Job nearly lost.

Rock bottom.

There had been moments in those early days when he’d have given his left arm for another glass and his right for a handful of pills. Now, with eight years clean—no slips, no relapses, no just one drinks—he felt steady and calm. He’d made it through the hell of withdrawal, he’d had the support of friends and family in getting sober, and he relied on a solid network of like-minded men in his recovery support group. Every day, he aimed to live according to a new way of thinking—a sober way—and he honestly wasn’t tempted anymore when he walked past tequila on the shelf, or saw a glass being served at a bar.

But beer? That shit was nasty. He didn’t have a clue what anyone liked, so he grabbed some Corona and headed to the self-checkout. As he slipped his debit card through the register, a flurry of nerves skated up his spine. What if his sponsor Kevin saw him? Sure, he had an ironclad reason to be buying, but shit, he would sound like such a liar.

“Oh, it’s for my brother.”

That was the kind of stuff addicts said when they were falling off the wagon. Nobody lied better than an alcoholic ready to sidle up to the bottle again. Colin took solace in the truth, though. He wasn’t going to touch this stuff. That was why Sha

And to himself, too. He intended to do that by competing in this year’s Badass Triathlon at the end of the summer. He hadn’t attempted it since his epic fail. But it was his personal quest to finish it this time. Whether he came in first or last didn’t matter. Finishing sober was all he wanted.

Colin paid for the beer and headed out of the store, ready to see Ryan. His brother had had a hell of a day. He’d spent it at Hawthorne, visiting their murderess mother in prison. Apparently she’d finally confessed to him that she’d had their father killed. Colin had never doubted she was guilty, but Ryan had held out hope she’d been framed, and that with the case reopened someone else would be nabbed. True, the detectives were still looking for the gunman’s potential accomplices, but for once and for all, Ryan was as sure of their mother’s guilt as the rest of them were. Now it was Colin’s job, along with Sha

As he got behind the wheel of his Audi, something nagged at him. Something he’d meant to do last night after he said good-bye to Elle. He snapped his fingers.

“The picture,” he said. The hot sex must have fried his brain. He’d forgotten to text her the image of the kid in the Buick who’d been stalking Sha

He’d simply get the image from Brent another time. Now, he needed to be with his family.