Addicts.
Recovery.
Regressing.
Addicts.
Regressing.
Addicts.
The words were coming to Melinda from a long way away. She knew her face must have been glowing bright red because it felt like fire had scored her skin.
“We’re not serious,” she heard herself say, pulling her hands away and crouching back to the floor. She dabbed the carpet furiously, while her mind tried, and failed, to make sense of what Olivia had said. Was there any way she’d misunderstood?
“It took him a very long time to conquer those demons, Melinda. And I watched him fight. I don’t want to see him fall at this hurdle.”
“Hurdle?” She croaked, lifting up a little to make eye contact with the beautiful princess.
“Loving someone and being rejected is not easy.” Her face was so expressive. Melinda could easily see that Olivia meant no harm. She was trying to protect Ra’if, and conversely, unexpectedly, Melinda liked her all the more for that.
Melinda stood, her mind hammering against the side of her head.
“I …” She closed her eyes, grabbing the back of the chair for support. “I could never be serious about an addict. Recovered or otherwise.” It was the moment; she felt her heart cleave almost completely in two. “Excuse me.”
She moved quickly through the apartment, her only thought on escape.
“Honey?” She found Jordan lying on the floor, an elaborate Lego construction before him. “We have to go.”
“What? You said …”
“I know what I said,” she spoke more sternly than she ever had to her son. “But we’re leaving. Now.”
The unusual nature of his mother’s manner and request struck a nerve inside Jordan and he stood quickly, placing his little hand in hers, allowing her to lead him back to the shiny elevator doors. Olivia emerged, Ra’if beside her, at that moment.
“Azeezi?” Ra’if asked, studying her carefully.
Melinda couldn’t meet his eyes. Fury was blinding her. She knew that if she didn’t escape – fast – she was going to have a full blown meltdown, and she wouldn’t do that in front of Jordan.
But her feelings were violently lurching through her.
He had betrayed her.
How could he have said he was falling in love with her, knowing he was keeping such a vital secret from her? She, who had every reason in the world to mistrust addicts?
“Yes?” She asked coldly, her face pinched.
“What is it? What’s the matter?”
She wanted to shout! She wanted to shout all kinds of obscenities and furies at him. But she didn’t. It was yet another way in which she subjugated her first instincts for her son’s best interests.
“Let’s speak later,” she murmured, looking pointedly at Jordan.
At a complete loss, he could only nod. “I’ll come …”
“No.” She cut him off fiercely, then took a steadying breath. “I’ll … contact you when I’m ready.”
* * *
“I presumed she knew.”
Ra’if nodded, numb all over.
“Why wouldn’t you tell her?” Olivia moaned, wrapping her arms around her waist. “You’re completely in love with this woman. I presume you see a future with her?”
He nodded again and closed his eyes.
All he could see was Melinda’s face. The betrayal in her eyes, the hurt in her lips. The worry. The tension. The grief.
“I would have told her,” he said finally, his voice hoarse. “But the situation was complicated.”
“It’s an important part of who you are; of what you’ve come from.”
“I am not denying that,” he said with a hint of impatience. “Jordan’s father is an addict,” he said slowly.
But Olivia was quick. She put two and two together instantly. “That’s why you were calling rehab facilities?”
He nodded.
“I’m sorry,” Olivia said heavily. “I was trying to look out for you.”
“I can’t quite bring myself to thank you for the inclination.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Jordan weighed a tonne. Then again, he’d eaten two servings of ham, roast potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce, white bread and pudding. His Granny had spared no effort to make Christmas amazing and Melinda appreciated her efforts. Especially because she knew that they were filling a huge void in her life. They had no other family.
Perhaps they never would.
The sooner she could reconcile herself to the alone-ness of their life, the better.
It would stop her from looking for fantasy solutions; it would prevent her from believing in the delusional notion of love at first sight. What a fantasist!
She rounded the corner, shifting Jordan onto her other hip, tucking his head down on her shoulder as she approached her building.
Christmas eve.
One of her favourite times of year.
This year, though, it was devoid of any pleasure.
She felt like she could cry at a moment’s notice.
She didn’t.
Because she had been through loss and recovered.
She knew that time really did heal all wounds.
Even this one, this gaping, festering pain in her heart, would one day cease to hurt so brutally. She crossed the street, listening for cars, and then paused outside her home. Her keys were buried in her bag; a bag that was tucked under Jordan’s thigh.
“Need a hand?”
She startled, but there was no fear. She would know Ra’if’s voice anywhere.
She turned slowly, taking a moment to school her features into an expression of disinterest. But she was wary.
“What are you doing here?”
He cut to the chase immediately, knowing that seconds mattered. “I should have told you,” he said. “I want to tell you everything now. May I come up?”
She shook her head, her eyes shooting fierce fury. “No.”
“Just for long enough to explain. If you want me to leave afterwards, I will.”
“There is no explanation for what you did,” she said angrily. Jordan shifted in her arms and she swore softly under her breath. “Go away.” She moved up the steps, jamming her key in angrily. She dropped them to the ground and Ra’if was there, scooping them up and placing them in the lock.
“Please,” he said quietly, his eyes holding to hers. “Just a moment.”
Her heart stitched painfully.
“Ra’if?” Jordan’s groggy voice dragged Melinda’s eyes downward, and the sight of her son reaching a hand out for Ra’if was like a hammer being drummed into her side.
Ra’if took him instinctively; and she let him. Wasn’t it her first concern that Jordan not be affected by her bad choices?
And letting Ra’if into her life had been a very bad choice.
“Five minutes,” she said through gritted teeth, pushing the door in and holding it open for him and Jordan to push through.
He took the stairs easily, leaving her to walk in his wake. He stopped just outside her flat and waited while she unlocked the door. He took Jordan into his bedroom and settled him; Melinda watched.
“Will you be here in the morning?” Jordan asked, the words coated in sleepiness.
“I’ll make sure there’s something under the tree for you,” he said simply, ambivalently, wisely side-stepping the boy’s request.
“Night Night,” Jordan said, rolling onto his side, his soft snore making ripples in the palpable tension.
They left the room, Ra’if quietly pulling the door closed behind them. He stood in the lounge, staring at her.
“Ra’if –,”
“I should have –,”
They said in unison.
“Go,” she snapped, moving further away from Jordan’s room, into the kitchen. She flicked the kettle on out of habit.
“How was your Christmas eve?”
“Uh uh,” she shook her head. “I’m not going to do that. I�
��m not going to talk like nothing’s wrong.” She pulled a mug – one, not two, Ra’if noted – from the cupboard and slammed it forcefully onto the bench. “How could you not tell me?”
“I would have,” he said quietly. “I would have. I wanted to, so many times.” He dragged a hand through his hair.
“So why didn’t you?”
A muscle jerked in his cheek. “You look at me as though I am your Knight in Shining Armour. I wondered if the truth would make you hate me.”
She bit back an angry retort – one that would have unfairly agreed with him. “You don’t know how I would have reacted,” she said instead, her words clipped. “You don’t know that I wouldn’t have listened and understood.”
“Yes, I do. I know what Brent’s addiction has done to you. I know how wary you are of people like him.”
“People like you,” she snapped, regretting the words.
But he nodded, dragging a hand through his hair. “Drugs were my escape,” he said quietly, with an inner-strength she couldn’t help but admire. “It was never about getting high. It was a way to cope with my feelings and the expectations that I had carried for too long.”
Sympathy clawed her throat but she ignored it. “Yes, well, lots of people feel lots of pressure and don’t turn to drugs.”
He nodded; she had expressed his very worst fear. “You’re right. It was a weakness on my part. I should have known better; been better. I owed so much more to my father, my brother, my family.”
“And yourself,” she said angrily.
“Yes. But at the time, I just wanted to obliterate everything in my head. And I found no shortage of ‘friends’ who would help me do that.”
“Blaming other people? Classic junkie behaviour.”
“I blame only myself,” he clarified sharply. “And I am not a junkie. I have come a long way in two years, and it has not been easy. I can tell you, Melinda, that I am not the same man I was then. I could be in a room with people high on God knows what and I would feel not a hint of interest. I am myself again; freed from the oppression of dependency that once controlled me.”
Her breath was ragged in her chest. She wanted so badly to believe him. “You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“About who you were, and about this. Has any of this been real?”
“Melinda!” He groaned, crossing into the kitchen and standing right beside her, his eyes clinging to hers. “Search your heart and ask that question of it.”
“If there were no Jordan, and no Brent, I would still find it impossible to trust you,” she said simply.
He closed his eyes, but he was a fighter, not a quitter, and the most important thing he’d ever fought for was within reach. He just needed to find the way in.
“I fell in love with you as soon as I came into this flat and saw all this.” He ran a hand through the air, indicating the explosion of festive paraphernalia. “I have seen the way you live your life and I have wanted only to be a part of it.”
“Tough,” she said, but the word lacked venom. “I have to think about what’s best for me and what’s best for Jordan. And that’s definitely not you.”
She was underscoring every single one of his fears. He didn’t deserve someone like her. He had felt it often during their relationship.
He nodded. “I’ll go,” he said quietly, something in his eyes instantly extinguishing.
“Wait.”
For a second, hope flared.
“You at least owe me more of an explanation.”
He sighed. “What do you want to know?” He crossed his arms over his chest, a gesture of reticence. Yet he stayed. And he waited patiently.
“How long were you in rehab for?”
“Four months.”
“Four months? And you say you’ve completely kicked the habit?”
“Yes.”
“This is why you were cut from the … order of succession or whatever?”
He nodded.
“Because you were on drugs.”
“Yes.”
She shook her head from side to side. “What a waste. You would have been an excellent ruler.”
His smile was without pleasure. “Thank you.”
“How could you keep this secret?”
“Do you remember when you told me about Brent? We were having dinner here? It was our first date…”
“Yes.”
“I stayed away after that. I tried to stay away. I knew it would be better for you.”
“You came back.”
“And you told me we would keep this light. That you only wanted a fling. I thought, then, that I could be happy with that. I thought you would never need to know. That we could be together, have fun, and go our own separate ways – no hard feelings.”
“No hard feelings,” she repeated, replaying that night in her mind. She had wanted him so badly that even if he had told her about his addiction, she’d have probably brushed it aside.
“But I was in love with you.”
“Don’t keep saying that,” she snapped, struggling to keep a lid on her temper. “You don’t lie like you did and call it love. It’s classic addict behaviour.”
“Don’t.” It was the first time he’d ever come close to raising his voice around her. She startled and he shook his head angrily. “I’m sorry. But I am not an addict. I have worked damned hard to beat it, and I don’t want you to throw it in my face to make a point.”
“You’re right.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Now you can go.”
He cleared his throat. Another time, under different circumstances, he might have found the idea of being dismissed vaguely amusing. Him! Ra’if Alin Fayez. “I’m sorry you found out like you did. I was planning to tell you after Christmas.”
And, looking into his face, she believed him. But she had nothing left to say; no fight left to offer. She was weary. Tired. Exhausted.
The sound of something heavy landing against the door made them both shift. He moved first, crossing the apartment quickly. “Are you expecting anyone?”
“Just Santa Clause,” she responded crankily.
“He prefers the chimney, I think.”
Ra’if wrenched the door inwards and pulled a face of disgust as a mix of sweat, vomit, urine and stale alcohol assailed his nostrils.
He knew, without looking at Melinda, who it was.
“Brent.” The man shifted heavily glazed eyes with tiny pupils towards Ra’if’s face.
“Oh my God. He looks awful.”
“S’not,” the man shook his head, but the action made him wince. He braced himself on the door frame.
“He’s high as a kite,” Ra’if agreed.
“I can’t believe he’d come here like this.”
“I …” He shut his eyes and reached into his pocket. His fingernails were filthy, his fingers just bone covered in grazed skin. “This.”
Melinda ground her teeth together. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, showing up like this? You’re suppose to be in rehab,” she hissed angrily.
“It didn’t work,” Brent muttered, his skin paling by the minute. He pulled a small, dog-eared envelope from his pocket and thrust it towards Melinda.
“I don’t want it,” she snapped, her brow furrowed. “Bloody hell. I can’t believe you’d turn up on my doorstep on Christmas eve, and like this!”
“This is for him,” Brent responded, but the force of the protest made him fall. He dropped to the ground, the envelope falling with him. Melinda bent to retrieve it without thinking, but it was filthy. She opened it quickly, and gasped.
“What is it?” Ra’if asked curiously.
Melinda shook her head, running her fingers over the leather braid. “It’s a necklace. I gave it to Brent when we first started… dating.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m surprised you didn’t sell it for a fix.”
“I kept it for him,” Brent mumbled, but he was barely coherent. “It’s for Christmas.”
Melinda compressed her lips,
and when she looked at Ra’if she bore such an expression of hopelessness that Ra’if immediately reacted. “I’ll take care of him.”
“No, he’s my problem…”
“Melinda, I meant it when I said I loved you. That means loving all of you. Even your problems and your past.” His meaning, whether he’d intended to lay it before her or not, was clear. Did she love him? If so, didn’t that mean that she had to love his past and problems too? And wasn’t that part of being in a relationship?
She swallowed and nodded, pushing aside the prickly issue for later analysis. “I can call an ambulance.”
“No.” He put a hand out to still hers. “I have spoken to the director of the facility I was at. I will have him taken there tonight.”
“What? Isn’t it in America?”
“It is the best.”
“But …” Her head was spinning.
“He is Jordan’s father. Let me do it. For him, and for you.”
“Ra’if.” A groan. An uncertain plea.
“It is my honour,” he said simply, and she could see in every line of his face the ruler that he would have been; the man he was. Powerful, confident, strong, flawed – yes, but brave too, for he’d fought and faced his flaws and conquered them. How many people could say that?
He reached down and picked Brent up easily. As Ra’if lifted him, Brent vomited a little, filling the hallway with stench.
Melinda swore, her eyes huge on his face. “I’m sorry.”
“It is not your place to apologise.” Ra’if said seriously. “Go to sleep. Don’t let Santa wake you,” he called over his shoulder, carrying the other man downstairs as though he weighed no more than a feather.
It was Christmas eve, and he was looking eye to eye with the ghost of Christmas past.
* * *
“Damn it.” She glared at the blackened gravy – the second she’d burned that day.
Jordan didn’t hear the curse. He was driving a remote control car around the sofa in noisy circles that were giving Melinda a bit of a headache. But it was so rare for her son to have new toys that she didn’t contemplate asking him to stop.
The Sheikh's Christmas Wish Page 13
