Page 2 of Sharing Shadow Secrets (High Five Novella #6)

“ A re you sure it’s cool that I crash the party?

” I ask my best friend’s girlfriend, Rachel, as we hang out on the patio of my family’s lake house.

I love being here, staring out at Geneva Lake, and relaxing with friends.

She and Patrick, plus a few other friends, have all been here since Thursday evening, celebrating the Fourth of July holiday.

“It’s a barbecue. It’s chill,” she says, nuzzling into Patrick on the lounger. He wraps his arm around her, hugging her tight. I chuckle at the scene. His biceps are nearly as big as her head these days.

“I mean, I do have a code to the place.” Since I know the owner of the house.

“How long have you been friends with Declan Kruk?” Rachel asks warmly, her blue eyes locked onto mine.

“He’s just Declan to me.” Growing up the way I did, people’s status has never impressed me, but I get why people react the way they do when they hear his name.

“I don’t know how much Patrick has told you …

” I look at him, gauging his reaction, and he shrugs.

“Declan’s like my big brother. He’s a mentor and helped me get sober. ”

I think back to the first time I formally met him in my dad’s office.

The room was packed with lawyers, and then randomly, there was Declan.

Dubois, my family’s investment firm, had started doing business with his company, Cryptoball, since it’s the most legit crypto trading platform.

The meeting, however, was a misguided attempt at an intervention.

I only took one thing from it: a sobriety clause in my trust fund.

At the time, I hated Declan for it and for the influence he had on my dad.

But Declan made an effort with me, sharing his own story—his childhood, his struggles with addiction—and I realized he wasn’t an asshole.

He was a good guy who saw a lot of himself in me.

It took a couple of years to get on board with the idea of sobriety.

But once I accepted it was best for me, I haven’t looked back.

And now I have the big brother I always needed and never had.

To answer Rachel’s question, I say, “I’ve known him since I was twenty-two. Still can’t believe I’m thirty. That I made it to thirty.”

My mind flashes back to past summers in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin before I got sober.

“We’re all living to one hundred and twenty now, they say,” Patrick jokes.

“Who’s they?” Rachel asks skeptically.

“All the longevity bros are talking about this new study that says if you stay in shape, you’ll live that long.”

“Agh,” Rachel groans. “I wish you didn’t listen to any of those guys.”

I chuckle. “Then you won’t like Declan whenever you meet him. He’s been obsessed with wellness and longevity ever since he got clean.”

“Wait. He’s not going to be at the barbecue?” Rachel asks.

“No. He’s in Australia with his lady for a few more days.”

“Australia would be fun.” Rachel looks up at Patrick.

“I thought we’re flying to Scotland on our next trip?”

“After Scotland.”

I’ve never had a relationship like theirs—easy, low drama, carefree. Just love. I’ve only had Kate. I mean, I’ve slept with who knows how many people, but Kate’s the only person I’ve ever said “I love you” to. We’ve been on this eight-year teeter-totter of good and bad, on and off.

The last time I slept with her—or anyone, for that matter—was four months ago. When Rachel and Patrick met. St. Patrick’s Day weekend.

We’re done, I remind myself, frustrated that I still have to. She just has this power over me. Kate Albert—the most beautiful, chaotic, full-of-life yet deeply wounded, destructive person alive. She’s probably less than a mile away from me, at her dad’s vacation home for the weekend.

Don’t fucking text her.

“I’m going for a run,” I say, needing to distract myself from the temptation of breaking our silence.

I grab my water bottle and walk up the lawn, toward the glass sliding door.

I check my phone. It’s just after ten in the morning.

I’ll change, go for a five-mile run along the lake path, shower, and then be ready for the barbecue.

Then back to the city. I take a deep breath and turn off my phone.

Maybe I should give Patrick my phone, eliminate the temptation altogether. If I don’t know where my phone is, I can’t get in trouble.

My therapist’s voice plays in my mind. “I am stronger than this,” I say softly. “I can live in this discomfort.”

I sigh, simmering on those words.

Kate and I are done. Hitting her up will just restart our messy pattern.

A quick fix has never once been the right idea. The run is the high I need—the right kind of mood booster.