Only With Me (Sugarland Creek #4)

Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Waylon

“ H e took ketamine ?” I blurt after the doctor says they discovered the pills in Wilder’s pocket.

“Yes, and it’s a good thing we were able to figure out what he took because we could treat him properly right away. He’s stable now, but it’s possible he could suffer from withdrawal symptoms.”

“That’s illegal without a doctor’s prescription, right?” Noah confirms.

“Correct. These were not legal,” the doctor hesitantly states.

Great . Where the fuck did he get those?

“What’s that used for?” Dad looks around at us suspiciously as if one of us gave him the pills. I wouldn’t even know where to find them.

“Pain management, PTSD, anxiety, depression…but when it’s used recreationally in higher doses, it’s usually to get high,” the doctor explains. “It’s hard to tell exactly how much he took or how long he’s been usin’, but it’d help if he told us. It’d also help if he were open about anything else he might be takin’, so we can make sure we’re treatin’ him properly.”

Oh, he’s gonna fucking tell me.

It’s one thing for him to drink as much as he does, but I never suspected he was taking pills. Even if he was taking it to help with his mental health, he knows there are legal options.

Wilder will do everything besides go to therapy and get the right medication.

“But he’s gonna live? He’s okay?” Mom asks.

“Yes, ma’am. We’re distributing fluids and meds as well as watchin’ his blood pressure carefully. He’ll need to stay a night or two, but if no other issues arise, he’ll be discharged.

Christmas is in three days, so it’d suck if he had to stay longer.

“Oh, thank God,” Landen blurts.

Mom’s shaking with fear and anger, but I don’t blame her.

I know his depression takes over his mindset sometimes, but it’s frustrating to watch him not help himself when I’ve offered time and time again to go with him. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get him help, but he has to want it—I can’t force him.

“The nurses are gettin’ him ready to be transported to a room and then y’all can visit him.”

“Thank you.” Dad holds out his hand and shakes the doctor’s.

“You’re welcome.”

Everyone releases a collective sigh before we go back to our seats. Harlow and her mom are talking, but her back is to me. I hate that I have to do this, but if I don’t do it now, it’ll just be harder on her later.

Waylon: I’m not sure rescheduling is a good idea. I’m sorry.

Keeping my distance, I sit on the other side of the waiting room, but I glance over when she lifts her phone.

Her gorgeous face shifts into a frown, and I feel like absolute shit about it.

Guilty is an understatement.

But the moment Delilah walks into the ER and sits next to her sister, I’m reminded again why I have to stay away.

The sun has long set by the time I’m able to get Wilder alone. I stayed out in the hallway while our parents spent time fussing over him and my siblings went to visit, but once they left, I was ready to go in and strangle him.

“Well, lemme have it…” is all he says when it’s finally the two of us. I have no idea what he’s told everyone else, but I’m not leaving until I hear everything.

I lean back in the chair next to his bed with my arms crossed. “You weigh a fuckton when you’re limp.”

He huffs a laugh, shrugging. “Muscle weighs more than fat.”

“Where’d you get the ketamine?” I blurt, not wanting to waste any more time getting to the bottom of this.

He scrubs a hand over his scruffy jawline. “Jake.”

“Our friend Jake ?”

He nods.

“You’re shittin’ me. I’m gonna beat his ass.”

“It ain’t his fault,” he defends. “I asked him for some.”

“Not his fault? Why the hell is he sellin’ illegal drugs?”

“He ain’t sellin’ ’em, but he said they’re helpin’ for some of his issues, and I thought they could help for mine.”

“What issues does he have?”

“I’m not gonna air out his personal shit. You’re gonna haveta ask him and see if he tells ya.”

He won’t get the chance to after I knock him out. Jake knows I’m constantly worrying about Wilder and for him to do this feels like a betrayal.

“So you thought you’d try some street ketamine instead of gettin’ medication legally from a doctor?”

“They’ll only prescribe it if you talk to a therapist.”

“Uh, yeah…that’s kinda the point.”

“I ain’t doin’ that.”

“Christ. You’re so goddamn stubborn. You coulda died!”

“I didn’t even take that much! It musta been mixed with something else or I had a bad reaction to it because it bottomed out my blood pressure, which is why I lost consciousness. When I finally woke up, I was dizzy as shit, too.”

“And if I hadn’t found ya when I did, you coulda gone into organ failure, shock, sepsis, or died …” When I overheard the doctor explaining it to our parents, I saw red at just the possibilities of what could’ve happened to him.

“But ya did find me, so we don’t need to worry about it.”

“Yeah, this time. What about the next? And the next after that? God forbid I make a life outside of babysittin’ your ass and find a wife and have some kids. But I can’t do that, can I?”

His brows pinch and he jerks back as if I’ve slapped him. “Why not?”

“You seriously don’t know?”

His hands rise and fall, smacking against his thighs. “I guess not. Spell it out for me like I’m five.”

Fitting considering his maturity level.

My shoulders lift, deciding to no longer sugarcoat it. “You refuse to get help, and I’ve tried to be understanding and sympathetic to you not wantin’ to go that route, but in the meantime, you use alcohol and sex as a copin’ mechanism. I pick you up from the bar at least three times a week, sometimes more, so you don’t get behind the wheel and wrap your truck around a tree. Or worse, kill someone else.”

“You know I never drive when I’ve been drinkin’.”

“Because I’m always there to pick you up! And you know that. So while you’re out actin’ a fool, I’m draggin’ my ass out of bed to get yours. I can’t even fully blame you because I’ve enabled it for so long.”

It’s hard not to when the alternative is risking him making drunk decisions that could hurt him or others.

“Okay, fine…I’ll call an Uber from now on. Will that help your sex life?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying my hardest not to lose my cool. “You don’t get it, and I don’t think you want to.”

Standing, I step around the chair to leave, but his panicked voice stops me. “Okay, wait. Don’t go.”

Arching a brow, I keep my feet planted. “What?”

“Stay and talk to me. I don’t want you to leave being upset like this.”

Frustration streams through me, but I reluctantly return to the chair.

“Are you sayin’ I’m the reason you ain’t in a relationship?” he asks.

“Not entirely, but it’s why I don’t pursue ’em. How can I when I’m always worryin’ about you? I live in that duplex so I’m close in case I need to check on you. We work together all day so I can keep an eye on you. I track your location so I always know where you are.”

“Geez, stalker much? I feel like I need to get a restrainin’ order.”

“Fuck off,” I spit out, and he has the audacity to laugh.

“You don’t need to babysit me, Waylon. I’m a grown-ass man, and I know there have been times where I’ve not been reliable in terms of takin’ care of myself, but I don’t wanna be the reason you die old and alone.”

“Thanks,” I deadpan, rolling my eyes. “However, witnessin’ my twin brother almost bleed to death—more than once—has given me enough PTSD for a lifetime. Our siblings are married and busy with their own lives now. I can’t help but think if I do the same, you’ll get left behind, sink deeper into your depression, or harm yourself again, and I won’t be close enough to find you in time.”

“I’m sorry it weighs on you this much. I ain’t purposely tryin’ to scare y’all.”

“Well, you do—more than you probably realize. You can’t continue livin’ like this forever. It’s gonna catch up to you, and eventually, the drinkin’ won’t be enough to numb the pain you’re tryin’ so hard to ignore instead of managing it. It’ll lead to you tryin’ other ways to cope, and most likely, they won’t be good ones.”

He stares at me, sadness covering his features, and I know he understands where I’m coming from. He just isn’t ready to admit it.

“You’re not alone in this because I feel it, too. The sadness and anxiety,” I remind him.

“I know,” he says. “And I’m glad you’re stronger at not lettin’ it get to you than I am.”

I don’t know that I’d say stronger versus focusing my attention on other things, such as him and keeping his stubborn ass alive.

“If the roles were reversed, what would you do? If you had to witness me spiralin’ out of control, how would you help me?”

“Probably beat your ass.” He smirks.

“Trust me, I want to, but I have a feelin’ the staff would frown upon that here.”

“Pfft. Don’t let that stop ya. You even have the upper hand. I’m connected to an IV, so I have limited range of motion, but no rib shots.” He points at me. “That shit hurts.”

“Do you know how to take anything seriously?”

He grins, lifting his other shoulder. “Life’s too short to be.”

“Wilder,” I say his name firmly. “What’s it gonna take for you to see that you can’t continue livin’ like this? Tryin’ street drugs is one step away from rock bottom. Next you’ll be addicted.”

“Probably knockin’ up some chick or wakin’ up hitched. Because at that point, just give me a shovel so I can dig my own grave.”

“Jesus Christ,” I groan, scrubbing a hand down my face. “I can’t tell if you’re just being an asshole for fun or if it’s the meds they gave ya makin’ you extra annoyin’.”

“A little of both.”

“Medication prescribed legally can help you if ya just gave it a chance.”

“Do I look like the lie down on a couch and talk about my feelings type of person? I can’t do that.”

“How do you know if you don’t put in the effort? There’s no harm in tryin’.”

He shrugs. “I’m already exhausted from tryin’ to block it out of my head all damn day. There’s no energy left at the end of the day to talk about it.”

“Waylon, you and I talk all day long about random shit. Sometimes you talk too much, so why not use those skills and talk to a professional once a month?”

“About what? I doubt they’d wanna hear about my recent hookups,” he mocks.

“Do you wanna continue putting Mom and Dad through this?” I ask seriously. “It’s not just me it’s affecting, but our parents, too. Dad might not say it in so many words, but losin’ you is his biggest fear.”

His gaze lowers to his lap, and even though I hate guilt-tripping him, sometimes it’s all that works on him to take shit seriously.

“He cried the night you nearly bled out in the bathroom. And you know him. He never cries.”

He blows out a breath, staring at the beige wall in front of him before he meets my eyes. “If I tell you I’ll think about it, will you leave me alone for a bit?”

“Depends how long you take to think about it.”

He contemplates for a moment, chewing his bottom lip. “Three months.”

“One,” I counter.

He scowls. “Two.”

“Fine,” I agree firmly. “You have two months to decide on your own or I drag your ass to a therapist’s office myself come the sixty-first day. Got it?”

Reluctantly, he holds out his hand. “Deal.”

I shake it. “We’ll go together.”

“Oh goody, couple’s counseling.”

I’d never force him, even though I act like I would, but I want him to think about it. At least take time to get used to the idea instead of shutting it down each time I bring it up.

“If I do this, you haveta get a woman so you stop focusin’ so much on me.”

“Prove to me that I can.”

“I will. Promise.”