He moves on to shake Trip’s hand. “As discussed on the phone, we have private accommodations for him at the main house and will provide the utmost professional care.”
Trip sighs, like he’s relieved. “Thank you. That’s reassuring.”
“We’ll give you a moment to say your good-byes,” Dr. Shepherd tells us as he and Timothy step back toward the large, white double wooden doors at the entrance, but they don’t leave us alone completely.
It would be easy for me to hate my brother for forcing me to come to this place. This isn’t going to be a gentle ride—more like being the captain of a ship headed straight for hell. While I don’t believe I’m “addicted” to anything, I do know that my body has become dependent on my recreational drugs of choice. Every time I go for a prolonged period of time without something in my system, my body begins to go haywire, its circuits overloading and making it behave erratically. Luckily, I haven’t developed the junkie shakes.
My brother wraps me in a tight hug. “I’ll see you soon, man.”
I clear my throat, choking back the heavy lump building there as it finally strikes me that I won’t be seeing him for a while. “Okay.”
Trip turns to me, his eyes sad as they flick from the floor of the porch up to me. “Guess this is it, brother. Be sure to call me every chance you get.”
“I will,” I say.
Without another word, Trip turns away from me and heads for his car. I stand there, watching as he gets into the driver’s seat of his Mustang, firing up the engine before heading back down the drive and out of sight.
“All right, first things first, Timothy will go ahead and search your belongings and get inventory.” I whip around and eyeball Dr. Shepherd as he gives his henchman orders.
I tighten my grip on my duffel bag as the nurse takes a step toward me. “Hold on just a goddamn minute. You aren’t going through my things.”
Dr. Shepherd holds his hands out palm up. “Tyke, I know you may not understand or agree with some of our methods—lack of personal privacy being one of them—but I assure you that we are merely looking for contraband items that could hinder the recovery efforts of both yourself and those around you. We have a zero tolerance policy here, and we search all personal items brought into our treatment center.”
I cling to my bag, tucking it tightly against my chest. “Can’t you just take my word that there’s nothing in there?”
He shakes his head. “I’m afraid not.” He extends this hand. “If you want to stay here and begin treatment, this isn’t up for discussion.”
Fuck.
My lungs fill with air and I shut my eyes and take a deep breath, before blowing it out through my nose. If I tell them to fuck off, and take off walking, there’s not a damn thing they can do to me. This wasn’t court ordered, just a Black Falcon demand—a demand that if I ignore, I can kiss my spot in the band good-bye, handing Sergio the gig of a lifetime.
What other real choice do I have?
I loosen my hold and reluctantly hand my bag over to Dr. Shepherd. The moment I let go, I shove my hands deep into my pockets, dreading the moment they find everything I’ve hidden in there.
“You’re going to do all right here, Mr. Douglas. Following rules and protocol are key, and the sooner you understand we are only doing these things for your own good, the better our treatment program will work for you.”
I simply shrug my shoulders in defeat. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”
“Very well.” He nods curtly before handing my stuff to the nurse. “Timothy, let’s get started. This way, Mr. Douglas.”
I follow behind the doctor and nurse as requested. We don’t immediately go into the house, though; we veer off the porch toward a small building that I didn’t notice. Tucked into the thick tree line, it’s white like the house, and appears to be a small cottage.
Dr. Shepherd steps up onto the stoop and pulls a ring of keys from his pants pocket, sorting through them before finding the one to unlock the building. The moment we step inside, it’s clear this is some sort of intake place to greet visitors, and most likely new enrollees. A small waiting room with four chairs faces the reception desk sitting in the middle of the room. Behind the desk is a small room that reminds me of a doctor’s office with an exam table sitting catty-corner in the space.
Dr. Shepherd pushes the exam room door open a little wider and gestures me through. “We need to conduct a full physical exam before we get you settled into your room. Timothy will remain out here to go through your things. I must make you aware that if we find any drug paraphernalia of any type we will dispose of it in your presence. These are not items we will return to you, even if you elect to withdraw yourself from the program, because they are illegal substances.”
I nod. “Understood.”
Oh shit, will that nurse get an eyeful when he goes through my stuff. There’s not a lot of product in there, but enough for emergencies if I needed it. Enough that the mere thought of flushing it makes me cringe.
“Coming?” The doctor’s words pull me out of my haze as I realize I’m just standing there staring at Timothy as he shoves his hands into a pair of gloves and then unzips my bag.
It’s too late now to stop what he’s going to find, so I might as well get this exam over with.
“Yeah.”
Dr. Shepherd wastes no time pulling a gown out of the cupboard and sets it on the exam table. “Strip down to your underwear and put on the gown.”