An Underestimated Christmas (Underestimated 3) by Jettie Woodruff Page B

between his legs told me differently. This is why Drew and I fought every day. Who the hell did he think he was? I walked to the kitchen windowsill, knowing there was nothing there.
    We finally got to spend some time with my mom, Caroline, and Jason that day, but it was much of the same. Drew and I talked like nothing was wrong and we sucked at it. My mother knew five minutes after we entered her kitchen. I blew it off and told her we just had an argument. I had planned on talking to her, telling her everything, and hearing her advice, but I was starting to panic. I was going to have to ask Drew for my pills. I didn’t want to do that. It was strong, consuming everything around me.
    I couldn’t enjoy the boys, have a conversation with my mother, or talk to my little sister about the next hot pop song—probably something from Taylor Swift. She loved her. I couldn’t do anything but think about taking a Lortab. Just one. That’s all I needed.
    We laid the boys down for a nap after dinner at my mom’s and Drew and I walked out to the deck with a glass of wine. I didn’t care what I had to do. I needed my pills. Who was he to tell me what I needed, what was best for me? I could decide that myself.
    My first thought was to seduce him. That would mean intimacy, though. I was trying to avoid anything that might hurt. I wasn’t sure I could handle the rejection without a pill. Drew walked down the steps and to the beach when he got a business call. I listened for a minute, and then darted inside. Where would he have hid them? I frantically looked through anything of his in our room, looking for the bottle.
    Where the fuck were they? They were nowhere to be found. I checked shoes, coat pockets, dresser draws, and even the gray lounge pants that were folded across the foot of the bed.
    “They’re in my pocket, Morgan,” Drew spoke from the door. Damn. The tone he used wasn’t condescending, hurtful, or meant to make me mad. It was defeated. Drew sounded defeated. I dropped his pants and turned to him.
    “Drew, my head is killing me. Give them to me,” I begged.
    “I don’t believe you. I think you’re jonesing and you need your fix.” I took a step back when Drew moved toward me. “Look at yourself, Morgan. You’re a hot, fucking mess. When the hell did this happen? Why didn’t I know about it?”
    “There’s nothing wrong, Drew. Just give me the fucking bottle.”
    “Look at your hands. Look how you’re talking. You’ve been this way all day.”
    I jerked my shaking hands from Drew, trying to figure out what the hell to say to get that bottle. I didn’t care what Drew was accusing me of. He could call it what he wanted. I just wanted the bottle.
    “I’m only giving it to you because I am terrified that you’re hooked on these things, but you’re getting help,” Drew ordered, handing me one. I didn’t want one. I wanted two.
    “Give me the bottle,” I demanded, dry swallowing the one pill.
    “No, I’m not going to give you the bottle. Is there anything you want to pack? I need to get back to the store.”
    “Go.”
    “No, I’m not going without you. Get ready so we can head out as soon as the boys wake up.”
    “Well, since they’re sleeping, we may as well take advantage of it,” I proposed, sliding my arms around his neck. Drew ran his hands seductively up my arms and to my wrists, and leaned in to kiss me.
    His words touched my lips, without a kiss. “Do you still want me to fuck you if I tell you you’re not getting the bottle?”
    Well hell.
    “Let’s just get through this next week and then we’ll talk about me.”
    “So that’s a no? What’s next week?”
    “Nicky’s appointment with the developmental pediatrician.”

Morgan and I didn’t speak five words to each other in three days. We didn’t even look at each other. Unless it had to do with the boys, we didn’t communicate. We didn’t talk about the new bottle of pills Morgan seemed to have found while getting her hair