In the tight-knit town of Montgomery, Massachusetts, everyone knows Taylor Dunkin—the high school legend who shattered records and seemed destined for NFL stardom. But when a devastating injury derails his dreams, the path he takes next shatters far more than his knee. Secrets unravel, friendships fracture, and an opioid epidemic creeps into the lives of those closest to him, pulling teens and young adults into a nightmare no one saw coming. Gripped Part 1: The Truth We Never Told dives deep into these raw, interconnected stories of addiction, betrayal, resilience, and the truths families and friends bury to survive.
Scroll down to read the opening chapters.
Prologue
Marc Dunkin
Community is strange. It’s amazing and necessary but strange. It’s probably just the way I look at it, but whenever I hear the word, I imagine this big elaborate shape—not a real shape, at least not according to geometry class, but a bunch of lines, dots, and circles. Again, it’s strange, I know.
The circle in the middle is my family: Mom, Dad, Taylor, Jordan, and me. Even though each of us is spread equally around the ring, I still imagine that if one of us had to be at the center, it would be Taylor.
That’s where the lines come in. They connect us to other people (dots) and groups (circles). Taylor, well, he draws them wherever he goes. Taylor has something about him that makes everyone gravitate towards him. It drives me insane that I respect him as much as I do, but I just can’t help it.
For years, Taylor was unstoppable—destined for greatness, on and off the field—until he was literally and figuratively blindsided. Despite having a family history of addiction, we all underestimated the grip of opiates. It didn’t seem possible that someone as smart, driven, and conscientious as Taylor could fall victim to addiction. Taylor was on our pedestal, and we were blind to his weaknesses.
Prior to his injury, there were warning signs we missed, signs that he was buckling under the pressure he placed upon himself to be perfect, to carry his team, and to make our family proud. With so many eyes on him all the time, it is ironic that no one actually saw him, his struggles, or his pain. They saw his glory, the larger than life figure he was, and the moral person he used to be before college.
Taylor fell hard, and his fall impacted people beyond our immediate circle. Everything is connected in the Gripped book series—the circles, the dots, the lines. Most notable are the powdery lines that link Taylor to my best friend, Luke Davids, and Luke to my love interest, Cathy Kagelli. As the books progress (and Taylor and Cathy’s stories start to merge), you’ll see that some lines we draw just can’t be erased…
Chapter 1
November 2017
Marc Dunkin parked his red Dodge truck on South Huntington Avenue and turned off the engine. He was not ready to go inside his oldest brother Taylor’s apartment. Even though he had spent the half-hour drive from Montgomery to Boston ruminating over the situation, he felt ill-prepared for the ensuing conversation.
Taylor, who had been addicted to painkillers for over a year, was blazing a trail of destruction. Even though Taylor was technically alive, he was nearly dead to Marc. The conscientious and driven role model Taylor had always been no longer existed. He was a shell of the athlete Marc grew up admiring.
Marc was lost in thought as he climbed out of his truck. A moment later, he stood at Taylor’s front door, knocking loudly. A minute went by without any response. He sent a text message to Taylor but received no reply. It was close to one o’clock, and they had planned to watch football together all day. Marc tried calling Taylor’s cell phone, but it went straight to voicemail. At that point, Marc’s heart started pounding against his muscular chest, and he feared the worst. He had been trying for months to save his brother from a downward spiral.
Standing on Taylor’s porch, Marc took a deep breath. He turned the doorknob, but of course it was locked. He felt above the door and looked below the mat for a spare key but found nothing. It was November, so the windows were shut and locked. Marc remembered that his parents kept a key taped under their porch’s banister, and he hoped Taylor did the same. After thirty seconds of searching, he found the key he was petrified to turn.
“Hello?” Marc called while entering Taylor’s apartment. All was still. To his dismay, he could not hear the shower running, and the TV was off. Most people would think their brother was just hungover and still sleeping, Marc thought. I have to worry about finding him dead.
“Taylor?” Marc cried out loudly as he walked through the living room toward Taylor’s bedroom. After banging on his bedroom door a few times and getting no response, Marc barged into the room. The room-darkening shades were drawn, and Marc had to turn on the light to see if Taylor was in his bed. He was wrapped up in his comforter, lying on his side in the fetal position.
“T, wake up! It’s almost game time,” Marc stated loudly.
No response.
Slowly Marc walked over to the bedside and observed his brother. At least he’s still breathing. Turning to the window, Marc opened the shades and allowed sunlight to fill the room. “Time to get up, T,” he said as he turned back toward the bed. He sat down on the edge of it and nudged his brother.
Taylor let out a slight moan but continued sleeping.
“Get up, dude,” Marc demanded, nudging him again. No matter how hard he shook him, he could not get Taylor to acknowledge his presence. It was like he was in a trance.
Marc felt dejected as he sat and looked around Taylor’s room. He leaned toward the nightstand and opened the top drawer. Sure enough, it was filled with prescription bottles: Xanax, Percocet, Klonopin, and OxyContin—Taylor’s favorite. Marc picked up the OC bottle and noticed it was empty. Years prior, pharmaceutical companies had stopped producing the extended-release, crushable tablets that Taylor liked to snort, so OxyContin was difficult to come by—even for someone as well-connected as Taylor. This scared Marc because he knew his brother was dependent on it.
Marc shut the drawer and looked for any traces of powder on his nightstand. There was a residue, but it wasn’t white. Marc squinted and tried to figure out what his brother had snorted. He whipped open the bottom drawer of the nightstand to find a large green box. After opening it up, Marc found himself staring at a large quantity of marijuana, small bags of cocaine, an unmarked bag of small blue pills, a large bag of smiley-face-embossed ecstasy, a bag of capsules that were likely filled with molly, and an unlabeled vial of a yellowish powder.
Marc darted his eyes at Taylor and then back at the green box. He sat in complete shock, realizing the vial could be filled with heroin. His heart pounded. He glanced again at the residue on the nightstand. It was so sparse that he couldn’t tell what color it was. “T, wake up, buddy,” Marc said again and nudged his brother hard in the back.
“What’s up?” Taylor mumbled without opening his eyes or flinching.
“The Pats game is on. Time to get up.”
“I’m good,” he mumbled.
Marc sighed and stood up from the bed. As he did, he heard something crack beneath his shoe. Lifting his foot revealed a small pile of broken plastic. Marc’s throat went immediately dry, and he felt the color drain from his face. He was faint at the realization he had just stepped on an empty vial, one that most likely had been filled with the yellowish powder. He walked out of Taylor’s bedroom in a daze. It took a minute, but the tears came, and they didn’t stop until halftime.
Chapter 2
Later that afternoon, Marc widened his blue eyes when he heard Taylor’s bedroom door squeak open. After hours alone with his thoughts, he still had no idea what to say.
“I’m so sorry, dude,” Taylor said as he entered the room. “I totally forgot you were coming over for the game. How did you get in?”
“Your spare key,” Marc replied, unable to look at his brother as he lay down on the couch across from him.
“Under the banister just like at home,” Taylor said lightheartedly.
“Dude, what the hell were you just on?” Marc asked and shot Taylor a look of panic.
Taylor was wrapping himself up in a blanket; his coloring looked terrible. “I’m sick,” he replied. He pulled the hood of his gray sweatshirt over his messy blonde hair and locked his blue eyes on the TV.
“Well, what did you do? Take too much Nyquil? You were in a trance.”
“You don’t want to hear about it,” Taylor stated flatly, holding his gaze on the television.
“No. I do want to hear about it,” Marc said sternly.
Taylor sighed. “I ran out of OCs, and I’m going through withdrawal.”
“You didn’t look withdrawn.”
Taylor groaned and turned toward Marc. “I couldn’t sleep last night. My heart was racing, and I kept puking. Finally, around eight this morning, I crushed up some Percocet and Xanax. The mixture knocked me out, but now I feel like death.”
The Xanax Marc saw in Taylor’s drawer was yellow. He wondered if the vial he had found was, in fact, filled with a Percocet/Xanax combination. Knowing all Taylor knew about drugs, he must have been desperate to mix Percocet and Xanax together. Mixing opiates and benzos was a quick recipe for an overdose. “What are you doing to yourself?” Marc asked and shook his head disgustedly. “Go to rehab.”
“I don’t have insurance,” Taylor said. “Mom and Dad cut me from the policy when I stopped talking to them.”
“They know there’s more going on with you than depression. If you ask them for help, they’ll reinstate you. They’d pay anything to help you.”
“What do they know?”
“I told them you’re taking too many painkillers and you need rehab. They didn’t believe me until you stopped coming home or taking their calls.”
“I can’t let Dad see me like this,” Taylor said quietly. “I’m sorry, dude, but can we just watch the game? I can’t deal with this conversation right now.”
“Well, we need to have another conversation.”
“What?”
“How long have you been supplying Luke with drugs?”
Taylor’s blue eyes widened.
“How long?”
Taylor sat up straight and looked away from Marc. “Long enough.”
Marc’s heart sank. “Shoot straight with me. What’s he into?”
“Luke? Molly and coke.”
“Then why is he giving painkillers to his little brother?”
“To Jason? I don’t know,” Taylor replied defensively. “Probably because he doesn’t want them and Jason does.”
“So, he sells for you in Montgomery?”
“No!” Taylor exclaimed. “Luke’s been buying drugs from me all year. He gets a good amount every time, so I assume he’s distributing. Who he gives them to is none of my business.”
“You used to babysit us!” Marc cried in dismay. “Why would you sell him drugs?”
“I can’t deal with this right now,” Taylor whined. “I’m sorry. I feel like $@%&.”
“Before Chris went straightedge, he almost OD’d because he drank on Xanax and Vicodin that he got from Luke. Those drugs came from you. Our cousin could have died because of you.”
“I didn’t tell Chris to do that,” Taylor retorted.
“When you give pills to Luke, he gives them to kids we know. Why would you do that?”
“Marc, what do you want me to say?”
“I want you to realize how much damage you are causing in the lives of people you once cared about. I want you to stop blowing things up your nose and re-apply to college. Do you know how many schools would want you if they knew your knee was healed? You could go anywhere you wanted, and you could be on a sick team. You belong at ‘Bama or Auburn or Notre Dame with Jordan. Dad could even make a call to The U.”
“I can’t deal with this,” Taylor said and rolled over on his side.
“You know what I can’t deal with? Any of this!” Marc exclaimed and stood up from the couch. “I’m done. I love you more than anyone, bro. You were my idol for seventeen years of my eighteen years on earth, but I’m done.”
A moment later, Marc stormed out of Taylor’s apartment. As soon as he reached his truck, he called his father. “Dad, you have to come to Boston and talk to Taylor.”
“Where are you?”
“I just left his place. I took his spare key.”
“What happened?”
“He ran out of his painkillers, and he’s going through withdrawal. He needs rehab,” Marc replied, feeling himself start to choke up. “I’ll tell you the rest when I get home. I have to drive, and I’m too upset to talk.”
Marc hung up the phone and took a deep breath. He felt like his world was crashing down. He could not bear the thought of Taylor mixing benzos and opiates to ease his withdrawal symptoms. It was a deadly concoction… and if thatwasn’t what he had taken, then he had snorted heroin. Either scenario was terrifying.
When Marc returned home, both of his parents were waiting for him. Marc’s father was a recovered alcoholic who had been sober for fifteen years. Marc grew up attending Al-Anon meetings with his mother and brothers, so he knew a lot about recovery. Being eighteen and the youngest, Marc had no recollection of his father ever drinking, but Taylor, who was twenty-three, vividly remembered the pain alcohol had caused their family. For that reason, along with many others, Marc was stunned that Taylor had become an addict.
“What happened with Taylor?” Marc’s mother asked as soon as he walked into the living room. His parents were sitting together on the sofa, watching RedZone. Football had always been a staple in their family.
Marc sat down beside her. “He’s way worse off than he led you to believe,” he began. “He’s worse than I even thought.”
“What’s going on?” his father asked, sitting up straight and staring Marc directly in the eye.
Marc swallowed deeply. “I know you guys want to believe he’s just depressed over getting injured and losing his scholarship, but it’s so much more than that.”
“You and Jordan tried to tell us he was misusing his meds, and I’m sorry we didn’t take you more seriously,” his father said. “Taylor was good at appearing like he had a handle on everything… until he stopped talking to us.”
Marc swallowed deeply. “It’s not even that he’s misusing his meds. He’s moved onto stronger stuff now. He has a supplier in Boston who sells him OxyContin. He’s been high every time you’ve seen him this year.”
Marc’s mother dropped her jaw, widened her eyes, and turned to his father, who looked skeptical. Marc wasn’t surprised; his father had been putting Taylor on a pedestal his entire life.
“But you said on the phone he’s going through withdrawal,” his father stated and eyed Marc in a confused manner.
Marc locked his eyes on his dad. “Drug companies stopped making OCs as caplets because people were abusing them. They’re now made of gel, which can’t be crushed up and snorted. Taylor’s supplier was somehow able to still get the caplets, but he must have run out because Taylor has none left—”
“—Wait,” his father interrupted him. “You mean he’s been snorting his pills?”
Marc nodded.
Marc’s father appeared to be at a loss for words.
“Why hasn’t he come to us for help?” his mother asked.
“He doesn’t want you to see him like this,” Marc replied. “I think he finally realizes he has a problem, but I don’t know if he wants to get sober or get high.”
“So, he’s just sick all the time?” his mother asked.
Marc was trying to hold back as many details as he could to spare his mother’s heart, but he needed his parents to understand the gravity of the situation. “He’s trying to rid himself of withdrawal symptoms by doing other drugs.”
“What other drugs?” his father asked, looking as though he were about to cry.
“I couldn’t wake him up when I got there. He was in a trance. I saw some yellow powder in a vial in his room. I feared the worst, but when he woke up he said he had mixed Xanax and Percocet together so he could sleep.”
“I need to get to Boston,” his father said and stood up abruptly. “Where’s his key?”
“Dad, wait. There’s more,” Marc said and stood up beside his father. “He deals drugs now. Serious drugs.”
Marc’s mother burst into tears as his father snatched the key out of his hand, grabbed his own keys off the coffee table, and bolted out the front door.
Marc turned and hugged his mother. “Dad will get him the help he needs,” he said as he held her tightly in his arms. “Taylor can beat this.”
His mother continued sobbing on his shoulder, and Marc could not remember ever feeling so brokenhearted.
Chapter 3
After Marc left his apartment, Taylor sat upon his sofa with his head in his hands, trying to fight his nausea. Withdrawal. He could not believe he was going through withdrawal. That meant he was addicted to a drug and had likely been addicted for months. That meant Marc and Jordan had been right. His ex-girlfriend Julie had been right. He had become an addict, something he never thought possible, something he arrogantly assumed he was too strong to ever become.
The shame Taylor felt superseded the humiliation he felt when he lost his chance to play for Notre Dame, when he lost his senior season at Northeastern to a knee injury, and when he forced himself to break up with Julie to protect her from the corruption in his life. Losing all of those important things hurt immensely, but losing his brother Marc’s respect gauged his heart.
Fighting the nausea was no longer an option shy of taking Percocet. Taylor knew he would need to take at least four pills to mitigate his withdrawal symptoms, but that would just prolong the inevitable and mean that Taylor accepted the identity of drug abuser.
Slowly rising from his couch, Taylor grabbed ahold of his stomach. Sweat was once again seeping from his forehead, and his muscles were spasming like they did after a grueling practice. He stumbled toward his bedroom. It was time to draw a line in the sand.
Chapter 4
Mr. Dunkin arrived at Taylor’s apartment around six o’clock that evening. He banged loudly on the door five or six times, expecting no response and hoping the door was not deadbolted. Taylor’s Jeep was in the driveway, as were a couple of other cars. Before Mr. Dunkin could pull Taylor’s key out of his pocket, the front door began to swing open.
“Mr. D!” Ryan Blake, Taylor’s roommate since his freshman year, exclaimed in surprise. “Is everything okay?”
“I need to speak with my son,” Mr. Dunkin said and stepped past Ryan into the house.
“Uh, okay… he’s in his room,” Ryan called out as Mr. Dunkin proceeded down the hallway towards Taylor’s bedroom.
Without knocking, Mr. Dunkin whipped open the bedroom door and slammed it behind him. Taylor’s room was empty, but the door to his adjoining bathroom was ajar. The sound of someone vomiting was apparent, and Mr. Dunkin soon found his son bowing before the toilet.
Taylor, turning to see who was in his room, fell over when he saw his father. “Dad!”
“What is wrong with you?” Mr. Dunkin hollered as he grabbed Taylor by his shirt and pulled him to his feet. Taylor immediately looked down and began breathing heavily. Sweat was raining down his sickly pale face. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall.
“We are going to the hospital right now!” Mr. Dunkin stated firmly.
“No,” Taylor said in an exasperated tone. “I can’t.” With that, he dropped to the floor and began throwing up again.
Mr. Dunkin stared in disbelief that the scene before him was truly happening. Over the years, Taylor had made him prouder than anyone else in the world. He had broken every quarterback’s record in his high school’s league and scored high enough on the SAT to satisfy every recruiter. In college, he had been ranked by ESPN as one of the NFL’s top prospects. Taylor, even more so than his brothers, was a leader and a fighter. Mr. Dunkin could not believe the weak, sickly human being in front of him was his oldest son.
He stepped out of the bathroom and began looking around Taylor’s bedroom for the drugs Marc had mentioned. When he found the prescription bottles, he started inspecting each one. They were prescribed to Taylor, but the labels said they were filled over a year ago. He threw the bottles of Xanax, Klonopin, and Percocet onto Taylor’s bed, shut the drawer, and opened the one below it. Upon opening the green box that he found, Mr. Dunkin was stunned. This was his worst nightmare.
He grabbed the prescription bottles off Taylor’s bed and threw them inside the box. While Taylor continued throwing up in his bathroom, Mr. Dunkin left the bedroom and walked to the half-bath off the kitchen. He locked the door behind him, and bottle by bottle, bag by bag, vial by vial, he flushed every single substance down the toilet.
A moment later, he returned to Taylor’s bedroom and placed the box on his bed. Making his way toward the bathroom, he heard his son crying. A second later, he found him lying in the fetal position on the cold bathroom tile. “You have to go to the hospital,” Mr. Dunkin demanded.
“I can’t,” Taylor replied faintly. “This can’t be in my medical history—not if I ever want to play for the NFL. I’m already damaged goods from my injury. This would ruin me.”
“Taylor, you can’t think about football right now. You need to detox.”
“No!” Taylor cried out. “I did this to myself. I’ll suffer through it.”
Mr. Dunkin was somewhat relieved that Taylor seemed to still care about football and his future. He did not know whether to comfort his son or further reprimand him. Many of the drugs that Mr. Dunkin had flushed down the toilet would have mitigated some of the withdrawal symptoms. The fact that Taylor was allowing himself to go through withdrawal led Mr. Dunkin to believe that he wanted to get sober. He knew that someone could not die from opiate withdrawal, and because he had flushed Taylor’s stash, he would not overdose. Mr. Dunkin reasoned that the best thing to do was let his son endure the pain.
“How long have you been sick?” Mr. Dunkin asked.
“Since Friday,” Taylor replied and stood up in front of the sink. He splashed water on his face and then slumped back down on the floor. He closed his eyes and rested the back of his head against the wall.
“It won’t get much worse than this,” Mr. Dunkin said. “You’ll feel this way for a few more days and then things will start to ease up. You’re sure you want to do it this way?”
Taylor let out a heavy breath and nodded.
“Once you’re free of this, you won’t need a supplier to get you pills,” Mr. Dunkin stated.
Without opening his eyes, Taylor nodded.
“And you will not deal drugs.”
Taylor shot his blue eyes open and looked at his father as though he had seen a ghost.
“I know you’ve been doing that to support your habit, but if anything is going to jeopardize your future, it’s dealing drugs,” Mr. Dunkin said matter-of-factly.
Taylor brought his hands to his face and hung his head in shame. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled after a moment. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m going to call your mother and tell her I’m staying the night,” Mr. Dunkin said, wondering if Taylor would ask him to leave.
Taylor nodded. “That’s great, Dad. Thank you.”
Chapter 5
The next morning, Mr. Dunkin watched as Taylor realized his father had destroyed his stash. A look of terror washed over Taylor’s face. “Dad, what did you do?”
“I got rid of the drugs that are destroying your life,” Mr. Dunkin replied flatly.
“No!” Taylor exclaimed in disbelief. “I owe my supplier money for those. I sell them. Then he takes his cut.”
“What’s his cut?”
“I can’t believe you did that,” Taylor said as he hurled over with nausea. He ran out of his bedroom and into the bathroom to resume dry-heaving.
“Taylor, how much do you owe him?” Mr. Dunkin pressed.
“Thousands.”
“I’ll write you a check.”
“No,” Taylor said between hurls.
“I want this person out of your life for good. I’ll do whatever it takes to help you break away from this.”
Taylor lay back down on the floor. “It’s my mess. I’ll get him the money. I won’t cash your check.”
“I’ll deposit a few thousand dollars into your bank account this afternoon. You can leave it there or use it to pay your debt. Whatever you think is smart. Money means nothing to me, but you mean everything.”
“Dad, I don’t deserve that,” Taylor said. “I have let our entire family down—our entire town down. I let my team down. I have failed in every aspect. I deserve the pain I’m going through right now, and I do not deserve your generosity.”
“Didn’t you learn anything about grace during all those Al-Anon meetings? You’re right. You don’t deserve it, but that doesn’t matter. It is my choice to extend grace to you. It is what you and your mother did for me many, many years ago.”
Taylor let out a heavy breath.
“The hardest person to forgive is yourself, but you have to do it, son,” Mr. Dunkin admonished him. “You’ll get through this, and you’ll find yourself again if you stay clean.”
Taylor nodded.
“Why don’t you come home with me? I’d feel a lot better if you weren’t alone.”
“Oh, no, Dad. I couldn’t. Mom can’t see me like this. I can’t hurt her like that.”
Although Mr. Dunkin wanted Taylor to return home, he realized his son was right. His wife’s already broken heart would shatter into pieces if she saw him in this state. “All right, well, I’ll check on you later. Keep your phone on and charged. I want to be able to reach you.”
Taylor nodded.
“Please come home as soon as you can,” Mr. Dunkin said before turning to leave the room. “We miss you so much.”
Chapter 6
***
Four Months Later – March 2018
Cathy Kagelli stared across her biology classroom at his freshly cut, jet-black hair. Even from behind, she could tell that he had spent time arranging each gelled spike on his head. Though he was particular about, well, everything, he still would have been the most beautiful boy at Montgomery Lake High if he had come to school directly after rolling out of bed. She couldn’t see the expression on his face, but the familiar laugh that echoed across the room ensured that the smile that had been giving her butterflies for two years was plastered across his face. Every so often, whether in the computer hall, science lab, or cafeteria, she would feel his blue eyes resting upon her. Any glance in his direction always resulted in him turning immediately away, as though he were fearful of any connection being made.
Cathy’s cell phone vibrated on her lap, pulling her attention away from her ex-boyfriend, Jason Davids. A text had come through from Marc Dunkin—the senior whom she had been “talking to” since December. His text read: What’s up for tonight? Want to go to Luke’s game? She glanced again at the back of Jason’s head and traced her eyes down his neck. It wasn’t long before she was staring at his arm, picturing the toned bicep beneath his shirt. At that point, she would have given anything to feel his arms around her, just one more time.
Sounds good, she typed into her phone. As she sent the text to Marc, she wondered if Jason would be at his brother’s game. After all, Luke had recently been promoted to captain, which was quite an honor for a junior. Without waiting for Marc’s response, she put her phone inside her pocketbook.
“Okay, all the stations are set up,” Cathy’s biology teacher announced. “You know the drill: last names that begin with A through H start on the left, I through P in the middle, and everyone else on the right. Move clockwise around the room.”
Cathy watched Jason jump off his stool and hustle toward the back-left corner of the lab. He was the first to reach the observation station, followed by his best friend Chris Dunkin.
“You know I have no patience,” Jason said loudly to Chris. “Let’s get this done!” He laughed and stepped toward a microscope.
Chapter 7
A half hour later, Cathy exited her science class, scanning the sea of freshmen flooding the hallway. She was looking for the piercing green eyes that could best read her own. A moment later, she felt someone gently tap her arm. “I was just looking for you,” she said to her best friend Lisa Ankerman as she glanced over her shoulder.
Lisa’s facial expression fell. “You just came from bio, huh?”
Cathy nodded.
Lisa squinted and appeared to be contemplating a response. Her eyes filled with concern. “I hate seeing you so affected by him.”
“I try not to be. I just… I don’t know who I am apart from him.”
“Yes, you do,” Lisa said with certainty. “I liked you when I met you because you knew exactly who you were.”
“Yeah, in seventh grade!” Cathy exclaimed. “That was before I lost myself in Jason.”
“What do you have next period? Study?”
Cathy nodded.
“All right. I’ll see if Mr. B will give me a pass to the library. I’ll text you if I can make it.”
“How are you going to get out of English?”
Lisa smiled. “He’s the varsity basketball coach, and I’m a varsity cheerleader. We connect.”
Cathy laughed. “More like he’s only twenty-three, and you’re the prettiest girl in our grade!”
Chapter 8
To: Cathy
From: Jason
3/29/18
So much has happened over the last few months. It is hard to even know where to begin this note. When this year started, I never thought we would go a full day without speaking, let alone four months. This letter is so hard to write because I have so many regrets. I never stopped loving you. Even in my deepest anger, even when I sent all your calls to voicemail, you were still the love of my life. I needed to distance myself from our lifestyle to sober up, but I never wanted to distance myself from you.
When I see you in school, the vacant look in your eye makes me so sad. I’m not sure what drug is stealing away bits of your soul these days, but everything I hear about Luke is horrifying. I’m sorry that my quest to find myself caused you pain. Drugs stole my identity, and now, they are stealing yours. But I found out that the person I used to be still existed inside of me. I know the girl I fell in love with is still somewhere inside of you. You left an amazing life behind you—and everyone in it misses you more than you know.
Two years ago, I fell in love with a witty, fun-loving, auburn-haired girl who was full of good morals and faith that I didn’t understand. I pulled you away from all of that. I introduced you to the worst things in your life, and it bothers me every day.
I know you are with Marc, and I know he is a great guy. I don’t want to cause any problems between you two by asking to come back into your life. I just want to offer my support and apologize for being such a bad influence on you.
Two years ago, I fell in love with a beautiful person. I believe she still exists, somewhere, beneath it all. And in my heart, I carry the hope that she still loves me, too.
Cathy stood in silence at her locker, reading her ex-boyfriend’s letter. She took a deep breath and tried to understand the emotions overcoming her body. He had not spoken to her since November. Every day, he would pass by her in the halls and look past her, as though she were a stranger, as though they had never been in love.
She was staring at her name written in Jason’s neat handwriting when she felt a warm hand upon her back. Folding the letter in half, she glanced over her shoulder to see Marc and Luke standing beside her. They were the best-looking upperclassmen at MLH, but for once she didn’t want their attention; she wanted to be alone with her thoughts.
“Hey,” she greeted them, attempting to sound at ease.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Luke whispered and nodded toward the exit.
Cathy lowered her eyebrows and glanced skeptically from Luke to Marc. It was not like Marc to skip class. Although seniors could freely sign themselves in and out of school, Marc rarely took advantage of it. “Where are you going?” she asked.
“Boston,” Luke stated flatly.
“Now?” Cathy questioned him and slid Jason’s letter into her pocket.
“No more questions,” Marc said in a playful tone. “Let’s go, beautiful,” he added and threw his muscular arm around her shoulders.
Chapter 9
Leaving school was not an easy feat, but thankfully Cathy’s friends knew about all the quirks in the system. That year, the athletic department had chosen to spend its funds on new uniforms instead of upgrading its security system, which rendered the cameras incompatible with the rest of the school’s equipment. This created the perfect escape route for the few athletes who knew about the loophole. Since Marc could not be seen leaving the senior parking lot with a freshman and a junior, he had to pick up Cathy and Luke outside of the gym.
“So, what’s going on in Boston?” Cathy questioned Luke while they waited outside in the cold for Marc.
“Marc has a meeting with the coaches at BC,” Luke replied, “so I offered to take the ride with him.”
“That’s where we’re going?”
Luke laughed. “Well, we are dropping him off at BC,” he said with a smirk, “and then going on an adventure.”
“You’re not going to say more than that, are you?” Cathy gathered, knowing that Luke enjoyed building suspense.
“Not until we drop off your boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Cathy said and rolled her eyes. “Missy couldn’t come?” she asked, referring to Luke’s girlfriend.
Luke shook his head. “No. She’s still in trouble with her parents for getting kicked off cheer. She hasn’t skipped school since. I still feel like a jerk for getting her in trouble,” he admitted. “Going to that rave was my idea. Did you know Jay almost came with us?”
At the sound of Jason’s name, Cathy’s heart began to pound. “No,” she replied flatly.
“Yeah, I invited him, but he flipped out and made me drive him to school.”
That must have been when he was trying to sober up. “I’m all set with talking about your brother,” she stated firmly, spotting Marc’s red truck heading toward them.
“That’s fair,” Luke remarked and draped his arm around Cathy’s shoulders. “Let’s get out of here.”
When Cathy climbed into the backseat of Marc’s truck, she hoped whatever Luke had planned would keep Jason off her mind.
“So, Cathy, I have a meeting at BC about my commitment for next year,” Marc said as they drove away from the school. “The meeting goes ‘til four, so Luke is going to entertain you until it’s time to pick me up,” he continued. “Do you need to be home at a certain time?”
“I’ll call my mom after school and tell her that I’m going with Luke to pick you up at BC,” Cathy said. “She’ll probably say I can hang out until my curfew. Since there’s no school tomorrow, I should be good if I’m home by eleven.”
“That works,” Marc said in his usual, agreeable tone. “If our friends meet us in Boston, Luke can stay with them, and I’ll take you home.”
“There’s a reason my parents like you so much,” Cathy said with a smile.
“Just don’t get into too much trouble when you leave BC,” Marc joked and playfully hit Luke in the arm. “Go sightseeing or something; have lunch on Newbury Street; visit the Bruins Pro Shop; go skate on the frog pond—just make sure you’re back to campus before four o’clock.”
“No problem, dude,” Luke assured him. “We’ll find something to do.”
Cathy assumed Luke already had a plethora of ideas running through his mind. After dating his younger brother for almost two years, she knew Luke well. Because of Luke and Marc’s differing opinions about drugs, she found it odd that they were best friends but presumed Marc did not know the half of what Luke did behind closed doors. She felt bad that Marc was likely in the dark, but telling him about Luke’s drug use would only expose her own dark past.
Free sample excerpt from Gripped Part 1: The Truth We Never Told © Stacy A. Padula. For personal reading only—please purchase the full book to continue.
If these opening chapters left you wanting to know what happens next—how Taylor, Cathy, and Luke’s secrets unravel further, how Marc fights to save his brother and his friends, and how the truth finally comes crashing down—then you’re not alone. Readers can’t stop turning the pages of Gripped Part 1: The Truth We Never Told, calling it “impossible to put down,” “addictive in the best way,” and “a raw, honest look at teen life.”
- Gold Winner for “Best Teen Book” in the Readers’ Choice Book Awards
- Average Amazon rating: 4.7 out of 5 stars
- Average Goodreads rating: 4.7 out of 5 stars
This award-winning novel is part of the gripping Gripped series and is currently being adapted for TV by Emmy® award-winning producer Mark Blutman. It’s perfect for teens navigating real pressures, parents wanting to understand today’s challenges, and anyone who loves suspenseful, character-driven YA with heart and hope.
The full story awaits.
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