Reminiscent of the beloved novels by Mary Kubica and Jodi Picoult comes a chilling portrayal of a son’s addiction and its harrowing effects on both him and his mother from New York Times bestselling author Courtney Cole.
There comes a time when offering your life for your child’s doesn’t work, when you realize that it’ll never be enough.
The cold needle in his warm vein was a welcome comfort to my son at first. But then it became the monster that kept us apart.
Heroin lied, and my son believed. It took him to a world where the last year didn’t happen, to a place where his father was still alive. What Beck didn’t understand was that it couldn’t bring his father back from the dead. It couldn’t take away his pain, not permanently.
You think it can’t happen to you, that your kids, your family, will never be in this situation.
I thought that too. But you’re wrong.
Step into our world, and see for yourself.
Watch my golden boy become a slave to this raging epidemic. Watch me try and save him.
Drug addiction comes with a price.
Trust me, you’re not equipped to pay it.
Don’t miss this heartwrenching, evocative, yet hopeful novel—it will leave you forever changed.
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About the Author:
Courtney Cole grew up in rural Kansas and now lives with her husband and kids in Florida, where she writes beneath palm trees and is still in love with the idea of magic and happily-ever-after. She is the author of Saving Beck.
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Excerpt:
The hospital is a beacon of light and hope as we pull in. I barely remember to put my car in park before I jump out and I leave it in the middle of the lane, the tires wrenched haphazardly toward the curb.
“Ma’am, you can’t park there,” a guy in a security uniform says with his fake badge, but I don’t answer. I toss him my keys and push my way to the doors, and that’s when I see him.
My son.
They’ve pulled him out of the ambulance, and he’s so still, so white. He’s got the body of a man and the face of a boy, and he’s got vomit in his hair. One hand dangles over the edge of the gurney, orange flecks dripping from his fingers to the floor, but no one notices, no one cares.
“Beck,” I breathe, and he doesn’t open his eyes. “Beck,” I say louder, as loud as I can. His mouth is slack, but he’s not dead, he can’t be dead because someone is pumping his heart with her fist. She’s running next to the gurney, and she’s pounding on his heart, making it beat.
“Coming through,” she yells at the doors, and there is a team of people working on him. They’re frantic, and that’s not good.
I chase after them, through the emergency room, through the people, but someone grabs me at a giant set of double-doors, the gateway to the important rooms.
“You can’t go in there,” a nurse tells me.
“That’s my son,” I try to tell her, but she doesn’t care. “Beck,” I scream, and I try to see through the windows, but I can’t because he’s gone. “I love you, Beck. Stay here. Stay here.”
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