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Back To Before: The Simon Family, #1
Back To Before: The Simon Family, #1
Back To Before: The Simon Family, #1
Ebook393 pages7 hoursThe Simon Family

Back To Before: The Simon Family, #1

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A New Hope: A New Nightmare

 

Nothing is as it seems in New Hope, Indiana—the land of curly-haired designer dogs, bunco nights, and impeccably manicured lawns. Where the good kids from good families live. Except... it has a dark side. 

 

Wanting the good life for her sons, Holly Simon stretched to afford a home in picture-perfect suburbia. Her dream is destroyed the night her son is found unresponsive but alive after an overdose on prescription drugs in the neighborhood park. 

 

Forced to navigate the terrifying gauntlet of addiction and treatment, she uncovers a maze of secrets and lies that rocks her to her core. Can she find a way through before her heart shatters again? How far will she have to go to save her son?

 

Back to Before explores one mother's roller coaster ride of hope and heartache and her herculean effort to rebuild and heal herself and those she loves most.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherTeal Butterfly Press
Release dateJan 7, 2021
ISBN9781393936916
Back To Before: The Simon Family, #1

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    Back To Before - Blair Bryan

    ONE

    Mothers of teenage boys never sleep well, and Holly was no different. But that night in May, she thought she had hit the single mother jackpot. The coincidence of both Chance and Dillon having sleepovers at a friend’s house on the same night had never happened before. She was giddy at the thought of having a night completely to herself.

    Finally, the stars have aligned for me. It’s about time!

    The prospect of a nice warm bath and opening a fresh box of red wine without worrying about the ever-watchful eyes of her two sons, who had been deeply affected by her ex-husband’s alcoholism, seemed like a dream. She savored it, not knowing it was the last time in a long time she would feel completely peaceful and free.

    She piled her coffee-colored hair that was getting its first streaks of white cream on her head, slipped off her clothes, and dipped her mom bod into the hot water. A few stretch marks like tiger claw marks streaked down her slightly too wide hips, and there was a subtle softening around her tummy. Evidence of the two pregnancies her body had sustained left their marks, but she worked out and tried to stay in decent shape. Holly was down to the last fifteen pounds, knowing that someday, eventually, she would want to get back out there and date. Just not now. Her life was too full and over-scheduled as it was; to add a man to the mix wasn’t even on her radar. She’d take a solid eight hours of sleep over a roll in the hay any day.

    Brown eyes closed, she sipped the boxed Merlot slowly, letting it roll on her tongue and coat the back of her throat. The Epsom salts worked their magnesium magic to loosen the ever-present tension in her shoulders. She forgot about the calls she would have to make to two of her students’ parents. Since moving to the most affluent neighborhood just outside of Indianapolis a little over a year ago, she thought things would be better, that they would be easier. She had told herself that serving students that weren’t as economically disadvantaged wouldn’t be as stressful. Turns out, it was actually more stressful, but in weird ways. First-grade parents already vying for college acceptance tracks held ‘emergency’ conferences with her to discuss why she wasn’t including Chinese Mandarin in her lesson plan. They were too intense with too much time on their hands, and their helicopter parenting style had been a huge adjustment.

    Later that night, still warmed from the bath and fuzzy from the glasses of wine, she read part of a romance novel until her eyes got heavy. If you asked her, she could never tell you which one, since they were all the same. Happily ever after squeezed into under three hundred pages with a colorful cover that looked pretty on her nightstand. The novels were about as far from real life as it gets, but it was her only frivolous escape and fed her hopeless romantic tendencies. She fluffed the pile of pillows, stretched her strong legs, and relaxed into her down comforter. Sighing contentedly, it was the one splurge she had allowed herself when she moved into her new townhouse, and she smiled as she drifted off. Her dog, Murph, a rescued ball of pure white fluffiness settled into her knee pits and began to snore. Completely carefree and relaxed, she fell into a hard and deep sleep. Her cell phone, a sentinel, stood guard on her bedside table, just in case her boys needed her in the middle of the night.

    The nightmare began with a text message sent at two a.m. from Chance’s best friend. Her ever-mothering hyper-vigilant ears heard the delicate text notification, forcing her to pop up and rub her eyes. A slight headache pinched her head from the wine. She grabbed the phone, held it at arm’s length, and squinted so she could make out the words. She was on the brink of needing reading glasses, but she just wasn’t ready or willing to admit that yet. On her to-do list, things she needed were always buried underneath the needs of the kids.

    Blake: Is Chance ok? I am scared.

    She felt a chill go through her. On high alert, she immediately responded. Fear took up residence in her throat, a thick lump that choked off her air supply and made it hard to breathe.

    Holly: What? He’s supposed to be with you.

    The incoming text bubble blinked and blinked, adding more tension.

    Where could he possibly be at two o’clock in the morning?

    Blake: He’s not here. Heard he was at Triangle Park with Angel.

    Angel? Who the hell was that?

    Holly racked her brain, searching for that name, and came up blank. She ran to her closet and threw on a sweatshirt over the old running t-shirt she had worn to bed. Grabbing the keys from the lavender-colored dish, she raced to the car, not even stopping to put on a bra. Pure panic, sharp and hot coursed through her, and her heart hammered as she drove to the park in complete darkness. She made two wrong turns before she got there. New Hope wasn’t even that big, and she was slightly embarrassed she still depended on GPS to navigate to places. A reliable voice guiding her turn by turn was how she preferred to maneuver through life instead of finding her own route on a map.

    Dammit, she cursed. Mad at herself for the delay, she hit her hands against the steering wheel. Slamming her foot back on the gas, she turned the final corner, and the red flashing lights made her stomach drop to her feet. Parking the minivan, she ran past a merry-go-round toward the red lights, her breathing shallow as beads of sweat formed on her forehead. She slipped on the wet and muddy grass in her purple crocs, twinging a muscle in her back. Her hand circled to the spot, rubbing it as she started to run faster.

    An ambulance. A stretcher. A body lying on it. Pale, lifeless, small.

    She let out a yelp, and her hand flew up to her mouth to cover it. Holly froze in terror. Her hand itched to touch him, to smooth the long wavy brown hair away from his brow. She ached to brush her thumb across the cleft in his chin he hated, but she adored. It was her favorite place to kiss when he was an infant, and the first day after they brought him home from the hospital, she rubbed that soft little dent so much, she thought a blister might form. He was so pale and so still, he looked like he was sleeping.

    I always loved to watch him sleep, especially when he was a baby. His face was always so sweet and tender, wrapped up in his crib. Safe.

    She clutched the metal bar of the stretcher as the EMT worked on her son, monitoring his heartbeat and hooking him up to monitors. An oxygen mask was placed over his mouth and nose. A smear of dirt on his jeans and those stupid Osiris shoes, bright ass green with the fat tongues that had rubbed blisters on his shins for weeks. Shoes that she had used to bribe him to wear the first days at his new high school. Footwear was suddenly so important, so critical that it leaked onto his ten-year-old brother, Dillon, who made the same demands and chose an equally offensive color. They were shoes she really couldn’t afford but were one way she could assuage the guilt she still felt from the divorce.

    Ma’am, please stand back, the ambulance attendant said, pulling her focus back to the stretcher.

    This is my son! Holly cried her voice tense and shrill. What happened?

    Appears to be an overdose. We found two Xanax bars in his pocket.

    Xanax? Holly said, dumbfounded.

    How does a fifteen-year-old get his hands on Xanax?

    His breathing is stabilized. His vitals are good. But with his age and weight and not knowing how much he ingested, we’re going to transfer him to the hospital for observation.

    Okay, Holly said weakly.

    You’re welcome to ride with us, but I’d recommend you follow in your vehicle instead.

    Yes, of course. I’ll follow.

    She climbed back into her old but reliable minivan recognizing that her night of freedom had instantly become dark and nightmarish. The panic finally subsided enough for the first tears to surface. Hot and warm they fell down her freckled cheeks, running down the tracks of her laugh lines and spilling onto her hand. Her chest heaved as she turned on the headlights and followed the ambulance to the hospital.

    What she didn’t know was that nothing would ever be the same. That this was the beginning of her slow descent into hell. That she was going to wish that she could go back to before this moment. Back to before this night, when everything she thought she knew and everything she believed in had unraveled. The ugly truths hidden in lies and misdeeds would be soon exposed. A truth so painful that she would never recover from it. She would never be the same.

    Before she was a newly divorced single mother. A beloved first-grade teacher starting over in a new town. Before, she was filled with hope; the name was half the silly reason she decided to move to New Hope in the first place. An affluent town with beautiful neighborhoods and expensive houses with planned parks and open green spaces. Filled with designer dogs with curly hair that got to exercise with other doodle dogs in poshly appointed dog parks. New Hope was swimming with privilege and opportunities. At the time, she had told herself she would be giving her kids a much better life, that they would have extraordinary opportunities in music and art, things both her kids excelled at. Creative classes that were first on the chopping block at their old school when the budgets needed to be balanced. She was doing this for them. She was sacrificing for them.

    They didn’t get it yet, but when they graduated, when they went on to live productive lives and be successful, then she would get her thank you. Then she would get their appreciation for her sacrifice. She knew what was best for them. That was another ugly lie that would soon be exposed because it turns out, she really didn’t know at all.

    TWO

    Holly sat in the hospital room, listening to the beep from the monitors and the blood pressure cuff that would tighten mechanically every five minutes, punctuated by the ticking of the clock. It was a medicinal symphony that gave her déjà vu. The sterile nothingness of the stale hospital air was suffocating. She clawed at her throat wishing she could leave, glancing at Chance and the clock and willing time to go faster.

    Hospitals always made her anxious after her father had died in one when she was fifteen. He had taken a high-stress job as a traveling salesman when she was thirteen. Two years and four bleeding ulcers later, he had a heart attack and died instantly, leaving her fatherless.

    The day he died, she went to the hospital with her mom like she always had, knowing in a few days that he would be on the mend and get to recuperate at home like he had before. Holly would make him doctor-approved poached eggs and turkey bacon, and they would work on crossword puzzles together until he was strong enough to go back to work.

    After a successful surgery, she sat and waited for him to wake up. He had smiled, his eyes crinkly and warm, but his skin was gray and smelled sickeningly sweet when she bent down to hug him.

    That’s my girl, he said. I’ll be home in a jiffy, and you’ll get so sick of me being around all the time, you’ll beg me to go back to work. She remembered reaching down and snapping the robe together on his shoulder.

    You missed one, she said, smiling at him.

    What would I do without you, sweetie? he joked weakly, squeezed her hand, and closed his eyes. Two days later, he was gone. A fatal heart attack inside a hospital and nothing could be done to save him.

    That night, she wished she could wake up from this nightmare and find Chance asleep in his bed at home. She wished she could be anywhere but here. Hospitals were where people died.

    She had been distracted and busy filling out paperwork and finding insurance cards when they first arrived. But now she was sitting alone in the room with Chance. Waiting. Waiting for toxicology results and desperate for him to wake up. The waiting was the hardest part.

    The toxicology report would be back soon. Then she would know the full scope of what she was dealing with. She reached out to stroke his hand that was losing its childlike softness, stretching out with longer fingers and rougher fingertips. His hand was almost as big as hers now, not the tiny hand she’d once grasped to lead him across the street when he was little.

    When did that happen?

    She reluctantly made the mandatory phone call to Chance’s dad, not surprised at all that Mick didn’t pick up.

    Asshole is probably passed out cold.

    She felt a small twinge of hypocrisy at the four glasses of wine she drank but then recovered. The difference between the two of them was Holly would have a drink maybe once a week. Mick, on the other hand, would have a drink maybe once an hour.

    A soft knock at the door and a middle-aged nurse entered pushing a rolling desk with a computer. She smiled thinly, taking in the old sweatshirt and crocs in one judgmental glance. I need to ask you some questions. She turned toward her computer. How long has your son been using drugs?

    The question was a shock to the system. Her son didn’t do that. Her son had dutifully watched three seasons of Intervention with her and then submitted to her lengthy question and lecture period after the shows.

    I-I… She stammered. I don’t… She traced her thumb on the back of Chance’s hand. Soft circles. Pinching between her eyes to quell the tension forming there and tried to think.

    Does he have a history of mental health problems? Or substance abuse issues?

    No. Tears filled her eyes, making the nurse’s face blurred and distorted. This is a shock to me. I had no…

    What about family history? she pressed. Any mental health or substance abuse diagnoses in his parents’ or grandparents’ histories?

    Um, yes, Holly mumbled. His father is an alcoholic.

    Any history of suicidal thoughts or ideation?

    Not that I know of, Holly answered, feeling like the little boy who used to bring her fistfuls of dandelions had somehow turned into a stranger. Living a secret life in plain sight, right under her nose.

    I’m not sure I even know who he is at all anymore.

    Where do you think he got the Xanax? Do you have a prescription for it?

    I have no idea. His best friend, Blake, said he had been hanging out with someone named Angel.

    Do you know who that is? she asked.

    I have no idea.

    There was an audible tsk that the nurse barely concealed.

    Chance stirred, and Holly’s breath caught in her chest. His dark eyes fluttered open. Seeing his mom’s face, he smiled and closed his eyes. Then his eyes popped open wide, taking in his surroundings, and he started to cry. He visibly crumpled and tightened his body, making his form contract so he took up even less space on the gurney.

    I’m sorry, Mommy, he slurred. I’m just a piece of shit, he sobbed, getting more and more upset. I promised you I would never do drugs. I am nothing, I am garbage.

    Holly’s heart broke open. Garbage? No, honey, you are not garbage. You made a mistake.

    Chance was inconsolable, his thin frame shaking uncontrollably.

    I am garbage, he cried, his entire body shaking, his mouth agape in a silent scream. A string of spit crossed it, making him look even more vulnerable.

    Can we have a blanket, please? Holly asked, wanting to take away his pain. Needing to do something to make him feel better, to stop this agony from spreading and swallowing them both up whole.

    I promised you, and I broke my promise, Mommy. I am so sorry.

    Shh, Holly soothed him, smoothing back the wavy hairs on his head. His asymmetrical skater cut was one of his most recognizable features. He never called her Mommy anymore; his high had reverted him back to his three-year-old self. The word ripped through her heart. His pained mental state cast an anguished pall on the word now.

    The nurse brought back a blanket and was joined by a police officer holding a clipboard.

    Normally in this situation, I would write him a ticket for possession and public intoxication. You should know we also found a vape in his backpack, so he should be issued a citation for that.

    A vape?

    The officer turned toward her son. Chance, since this is your first offense, I am willing to give you a warning and just the fine for the tobacco use if you can tell us who was your hook-up.

    Stunned, Holly mumbled, Thank you. She jiggled Chance’s arm and widened her eyes, nodding at the officer, urging him to comply.

    Tell him, she said sternly.

    I don’t know who’s it was, Chance squeaked out. I found it.

    Angel was a name I heard, Holly offered.

    Angel, the officer repeated. Yes, we have heard that name before. He wrote it down in his notebook.

    Chance shot Holly a defiant look, then burst into tears again. He was so unstable, it was unsettling. Shooting from pain to anger to sadness in seconds, she was on edge and didn’t know what to expect next.

    Obviously, this is the beginning of a problem that could really escalate if you don’t take things seriously.

    I understand, Holly resigned. I promise you I am taking this very seriously.

    The officer looked straight at Chance. We don’t want you to have a record, so we are going to issue you a warning. Just this once.

    Holly was relieved.

    Don’t make this a habit, he stated. The next time I see you in this state, there will be major consequences.

    Chance’s thin lips pressed together.

    Thank you, officer, she said. Chance, what do you have to say? she prodded.

    Thank you, he repeated in a tone that made Holly wince from the insincerity.

    Three long hours later, they were back in the car with a thick pad of paperwork that included referrals for a substance abuse evaluation and a psych evaluation. The sun was coming up, and Holly grabbed her sunglasses to diffuse it, grateful to have them to hide behind.

    Chance, settled into the seat next to her, was quiet and his eyes were closed. She had a lot of things she wanted to say, but now was not the time. Holly was exhausted and needed to get them home and settled before Dillon was dropped off at ten. She was desperate to hide the truth from him to protect her younger son.

    Dillon idolized his brother. He copied nearly everything Chance wore or did, even growing his hair out and begging for the same hairstyle, much to Chance’s somewhat flattered annoyance. Chance usually put up with it in his joking good-natured way. But now she was afraid. She was afraid that Dillon would follow down this path, too, and for the first time, she longed to keep them separated and safe, and she didn’t like the way that felt at all.

    THREE

    Holly looked down at the phone in her hand in frustration, knowing what a waste it was as a communication device when it came to Mick. Phone calls, emails, and texts all went unanswered, every damn time. She had finally driven over there, knowing the only way she was going to get in actual contact with him was to pop in unannounced.

    She banged on his front door hard, bleached from the sun and dirty from neglect, knowing the chances of Mick still being in bed at eleven am were astronomically high. Her hand was turning red as she hit it over and over. She pumped the doorbell impatiently with her index finger and then went back to pounding on the door until she finally heard heavy footsteps stomping through the house.

    What in the fu…. Mick yanked the door open, his eyes squinted into the sunlight, and then seeing it was her, rubbed a hand across his face in frustration. Bare-chested and ruddy complected, his long rocker hairstyle was wavy at the ends, just like Chance’s. In his mid-fifties, he still had a thick head of brown hair that was turning white with long streaks which seemed to multiply every time she saw him. Once in perfect shape, time and the booze had caught up with him. He was becoming pudgy around the middle and his wrinkled khaki shorts sat under his beer belly slung low over his hips. His watery, red-rimmed eyes used to be a piercing icy blue, and his obvious irritability was a tell Holly knew by heart. He was hungover. As usual.

    I wouldn’t have to do this if you would just pick up the phone like an adult, she snapped.

    Mick stepped out onto the porch and immediately lit a cigarette. What do you want?

    I want you to pick up the phone when I call! she exploded.

    Take it easy, honey.

    You don’t get to call me that anymore!

    He ignored her bait and pulled up an old deck chair, then offered her a dirty seat on the other one. Holly wiped at the dirt and leaves and then just gave up and sat down on the edge.

    Something has obviously got you all worked up, so you might as well lay it on me.

    Chance overdosed last night, she blurted. Hearing the words outside the confines of her mind made them seem infinitely more real.

    Mick leaned toward her. Jesus. No shit? Stunned, he ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that seventeen years ago would have brought her to her knees. But now, she felt nothing, just numb. He sucked on the cigarette hard, like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

    Xanax. Marijuana. She started to cry, forcing herself to speak the words she wished didn’t exist in her vocabulary. Words that didn’t belong associated with her son’s name.

    So, he’s okay? Mick asked.

    Definitely not okay. We were at the hospital all night. He’s home now, sleeping it off.

    That’s such a relief.

    A relief? Are you kidding me? She shook her head flabbergasted at his cavalier response. It’s far from a relief. Our son is doing drugs.

    Calm down. He exhaled another cloud of bitter smoke. It’s pot, Hol. You’re overreacting.

    Are you serious right now? Her voice was taking on a screechy quality she couldn’t control. "Pot and prescription drugs. I am not overreacting."

    How did he even get it? Mick asked and drew another long drag on the cigarette. The smoke was making Holly nauseous.

    He started hanging out with a kid named Angel. Do you know who that is?

    Well, you have to admit that is really ironic.

    Jokes? At a time like this? She shot back. I knew I could never count on you to respond like an adult and take me seriously.

    You need to chill out or this conversation is over.

    Completely incensed, Holly wanted to shake the man, to scream in his face. See, you piece of shit? Like father like son! But she didn’t. It took everything in her to keep those words from crossing her lips.

    So, what do you want to do? Mick asked after a long pause.

    Get him evaluated. Get him the help he needs.

    Okay, good. He stood and crushed the cigarette with his dirty sandal. Anything else? Thinking the meeting was over, he turned toward the door, his hand eagerly resting on the knob.

    Holly was enraged at his obvious lack of interest. The heat spread across her face, flushing her cheeks. Sorry to have bothered you with the details of your son’s overdose, Holly shot at him sarcastically.

    What is your problem? Why do you have to make everything so bloody dramatic all the time? So, he experimented a little? Every teenage boy does. It sounds like you’ve got it all handled, so what am I missing here?

    You’re a piece of work, Holly snapped. I guess this will fall on my shoulders like everything else when it comes to the boys. You’re worthless.

    He recoiled from the insult. I think you should go. Tell Chancy I love him and I’ll see him Sunday.

    Do it yourself, Holly spat at him. And there is no way in hell they are coming here anytime soon.

    You can’t keep my sons from me.

    They shared custody. She did the heavy lifting, and Mick had them every other

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