Page 55 of Come Take Me Now

I tuck the pill organizer back into my small toiletry bag and zip it closed, pushing it against the wall on the counter. I walk past the bed where Enzo’s face is buried in his pillow. He had bad night sweats. Whenever he gets up, we’ll need to change the bedding. But I don’t want to disturb him. He tossed and turned a lot, too, and I don’t think sleep is doing much for him.

Last night, he called his dad and let him know he was under the weather and needed a few days off. Vin had just gotten back from Europe and had no issue with it, sounding a little too eager to take over for a few days. He said he’d recruit Enzo’s uncles, Alex and Rob, to help, too.

It’s nearly noon when Enzo makes his way downstairs in only a pair of loose pajama bottoms that hang off his hips, but I don’t fixate. Sex is the last thing either of us needs right now. He yawns loudly when he reaches the bottom of the steps and gives me a faint smile when he spots me in the living room on my laptop. I set it next to me on the couch as he plops into the chair in front of me and places his elbows on his knees.

“I can’t believe you’re still here,” he whispers, looking at the floor.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yet.” He brings his eyes up to gauge my reaction, but I say nothing. “Hmm…”

“During my undergrad studies, this sort of thing came up. You know, recovery…” I trail off to see how he reacts to naming what this is, but his face stays shockingly unchanged. I choose not to say the words addiction or withdrawal. If my limited knowledge of the human psyche is correct, he’s on extremely thin ice as it is, and I don’t want to set him back now. “Is there anything I should know about? Aside from the weed.”

Enzo sighs. “Like what?”

“Any other drugs? Weapons?”

He sits back in the chair. “You’re assessing my risk profile, aren’t you?” he asks.

“I have to,” I say, calm but firm.

“You know where the weed is.” He looks to the side. “Um, I have a ten-mill Glock in my nightstand.”

“A what?” I ask.

“A handgun.” My stomach churns.

Of course he does.

But I’m not that surprised. My stepdad likes guns, too, but I never understood the appeal and preferred living in a gun-free environment.

“Is it loaded?” I whisper, and Enzo nods. I take a deep breath and slowly exhale. “Okay, I’m not comfortable removing something like that.”

Enzo knots his hands together over his lap. “It’s in a small safe. I can reset the combination, and you can set a code.”

“Is that enough?” I ask.

Enzo scoffs. “I’m not suicidal, Tilly.” He shifts his gaze away and blinks twice. “I don’t think.”

“Enzo…” I groan.

He shakes his head. “I’m not going to hurt you with it.”

“I didn’t think you were, but I’m more worried about you hurting yourself.”

He just nods because I’m right. Detoxing, especially cold turkey instead of tapering, can get ugly, but I pray he doesn’t drop that low.

A couple of days later, Enzo passes me his rebooting work phone. It’s identical to his personal phone, and I have no idea how he keeps them straight. “I don’t think I can look.”

I take it from him just as the home screen pops up. “Unlock it?” I ask. I spin the phone on the coffee table to face him, and he presses his thumb to the screen. “Thanks.” I pick it up from the coffee table, and notifications flood in. The phone vibrates over and over in my palm. “Where should we start?”

“Texts?” Enzo answers.

“Okay.” I open the text app, and I glance up at him. “Are you sure you want me to look?”

“I have nothing to hide.”

A few of his conversations are bold with new messages, but only one catches my eye: Ally. She’s pinned to the top of his texts with the most recent text from last night.