Sinful Longing

*

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 Shannon had told him to grab some brew for their brother Ryan, since he was in some kind of a bad funk, and Ryan was a beer man. If Shannon had asked him to grab tequila, Colin would have been in and out of the liquor store in ten seconds with a beautiful bottle of Patrón—that was like liquid diamonds. Colin could have written a dissertation on the stuff. For many years, tequila was his best friend, his most reliable companion, his steady mate.

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 Sinners did for you. Gave you access to all sorts of shit. Better stuff than alcohol, too. His best friend at the time was Paul Nelson, and Paul’s older brother T.J. introduced the both of them to magic pills, because liquor was too risky for a teenager to pull off—the smell on your breath, the bottles in the trash…

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 Se?or 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.”