by Jules Dixon
I couldn’t imagine I was emotionally deep enough to have something seeping into my psyche and allowing the white devil to control me.
Maybe I’m just another asshole who has an addiction.
The front door opened and Kirsch stretched his neck while he walked into the family room.
“I’ll be back later.” Jude stood and walked into the office, closing the door behind him.
“How about we go toss a baseball around, Drexel?” He pulled two ball gloves from his bag.
I glared at him. “Was that meant to be funny or mean?”
“Neither. That’s where this started, right?”
“Well, kind of, but I can’t throw.”
“I didn’t say ‘throw’, I said, ‘toss’. There’s a difference, Drex. I’m not asking for your ninety-nine-mile-an-hour fastball, which I read was your specialty. Impressive.”
“Thanks, but that’s over. I haven’t thrown or tossed a ball in over two years.”
“I’m asking for a few lobs and some back and forth interaction. Kind of like a father and son would do.”
My head snapped up. My father never played with me, too busy and not interested. My brother was the one who got out and threw a ball around. When I was seven, he left for college in California, and I glommed onto every father in the neighborhood who’d even consider teaching me any part of baseball. Although some took temporary pity on me, most were young parents and concentrated on their own kids first.
“What is it?” Kirsch asked, sitting on a stool next to the sofa.
“Nothing.” My chest had a pressure that wasn’t normal. It hurt.
Kirsch paused, then stood. “Then let’s go.”
“It’s raining out.”
February in Nebraska was an erratic blend of rain, ice, and snow. Right now was only rain, but the second and third weather conditions could sneak up quickly when the temperature fell.
“I don’t suppose you’re going to let this go,” I added when he said nothing.
“Ten minutes.”
I grabbed the better-looking glove of the two, punching a nice pocket into the leather. I loved the deep smell of a new glove, but this one wasn’t new.
“These yours?”
“Yeah, I played in college too. Never further, but I miss it.”
Maybe he did know how it felt to lose something that you thought was meant to be with you for longer.
We walked into the muddy backyard and the dog followed us outside.
“Not sure this is going to work with that psychomotor thing, Kirsch.”
“Just give it a try. Pushing through these rough patches is going to be key, Drex. You need to know you can get better, but in small steps.”
We tossed the ball back and forth. I started throwing a little harder, and a little harder, and soon I was sending some real zingers, nothing like I used to, but faster than I thought I’d ever be able to accomplish again. I waited for the pain in my shoulder to return, but it didn’t. Kirsch even squatted and held up his mitt for a few pitches. I threw a couple of breaking balls and a screwgie that had Kirsch racing the dog when the ball curled the opposite way he thought it was headed.
I laughed when the dog ran off with the ball and came back with the stripped outer leather piece hanging from his mouth. That dog was a beast, and since his name was Animal, he proved the choice was appropriate. I’d caught him carrying my toothpaste from the bathroom this morning and hunted him behind the sofa to get it back. And when I left my breakfast on the coffee table to get a refill of coffee, the mutt had cleaned the plate spotless in five seconds. Actually, he was sixty pounds of wagging garbage disposal. Convenient, but only if his adventures didn’t land him at the veterinarian’s office.
“Well, that ends that.” Kirsch pulled the dripping leather from the dog’s mouth. “You’re possibly my least favorite dog ever, Animal. You could do with some therapy.”
Animal ran to get the wool innards of the ball, but dropped the wet mess when Kanyon appeared at the back door and gave a whistle.
“Not a chance,” he said, grabbing the dog’s collar to stop it from tracking mud everywhere. “You’re gonna need a bath.”
“Sorry, Kanyon. Didn’t realize it was that muddy,” Kirsch offered.
“No problem. You guys want to go get some lunch with Jude and me?”
Kirsch glanced at me. “Up to you.”
“I’m gonna pass. Kirsch, you mind talking for a few?”
He grasped my shoulder and squeezed. “I’m all ears for you, Drex.”
After giving the dog a quick rinse in the laundry room sink, then putting him in his kennel to sleep, Kanyon and Jude headed out.
“How did you know?” I asked him, making my way in the family room.
“Know what?” He grabbed two bottled waters from the fridge.
“That my arm was no longer the problem.”
“Honestly, I didn’t. I was using the ball-throwing more to show you your world didn’t end after baseball. The fact you’re not experiencing physical pain is a welcome surprise.” He handed me a bottle. “Drexel, I’d like to talk more about your family.”
I drained the water, hoping he’d decide to move on, but he said nothing and stared at me. “And if I don’t want to?”
“Silence speaks volumes, but I’ll respect your need for time.”
Time … there’s a limit on his time, respect it, too.
“Do you ever get out of therapist mode?”
“Occasionally. I promise, I can unwind, but that’s for another day.”
I stared at the picture of Willow, Kanyon, and Grace, the happy family in front of their Christmas tree. “I don’t think I’m ready to talk about it.”
“I can see you’re still detoxing, so I understand. I’ll give you until Sunday and then we’ll have to dig in.”
“Thanks.”
“Watch some TV?”
“I think I’ll go write in the journal you gave me.”
“Even better.” He stood, pulled my phone from his pocket, and handed it to me. “You’ve earned it.”
Upstairs, Animal barked in Willow and Kanyon’s bedroom, so I let him out of his kennel. He followed me into my bedroom and curled into a ball in the middle of the bed.
Great.
“Move!” I pushed on him and he allowed me to shove his damp body to one side of the bed. “You smell like athletic socks dipped in ball sweat and dragged through dirt.” I pulled my phone from my pocket.
Three voice messages and dozens of texts. I started going through the texts, mostly concerned pleas for me to contact someone on Wednesday. Then I opened my voice mails. One was from my sister telling me my niece had a dance recital next weekend and my niece—not necessarily my sister—wanted to see me there. The next was from Ollie and he was reaming me for what had happened to Rory. Lastly, there was one from her. I opened the message and her soprano voice teased me.
“Drexel, just tell me what’s wrong so we can face it together. Please, call me back. I … I lo—” She sighed in a different way, tugging at a new warm place in my chest. “Drexel Mason, I love you. I’ve loved you since that gentle and magical first kiss when we started our own exploding fireworks six years ago and every kiss since only cemented how much you mean to me. I’m scared, too, but that’s what love is. It’s scary and as much as you know it could rip you apart, it can also put you back together. You said I might be a part of you, but Drexel, you’ve always been a part of me. Remember I love you and that’s what’s important.” I swallowed. “At least to me it is. Call me and let’s talk, please.”
I listened to the message probably thirty times and each time I smiled wider, felt more hope, and my dick responded with his brand of aroused happiness. Knowing someone cared for me was a powerful drug, but I wanted to make sure she wasn’t a substitute for the drugs. We had the heat, and damn, being with her … my cock spasmed in my jeans. I ignored the reaction to the memory. There was a never-ending list of things to consider, not the least—f
eelings. I cringed. That term wasn’t in my usual vocabulary, but Kirsch was starting to tunnel a path into my subconscious.
Damn him.
Addict-to-clean was usually a tall tale, but it was clear clean for me would never be clean-clean. I would always have a little white demon pursuing me, hounding me, and wanting me to fuck up and turn to him. I would need to be smarter, stronger, and more determined than him to have a future, with or without Rory.
I opened the journal Kirsch had given me yesterday and wrote more than I had in years. I closed the book and took a short nap to reboot my brain, and if I was lucky, end the slow-motion movie of the day.
It worked.
Back in the family room, I offered the journal to Kirsch.
He turned off the TV. “Why don’t you tell me about what you wrote?”
“Do you know who Aurora Jessen is?”
“A little. She’s the girl Oliver was talking about, right?”
“Yeah, and she’s my boss’s daughter.”
Kirsch was really good waiting-for-more-information. I imagined the skill was a prerequisite to being a good counselor.
I shoved my hands into the pocket of my hoodie. “And she and I have this … hell, I don’t know what to fucking call it. A relationship that walks the line between dysfunctional and phenomenal?”
Kirsch chuckled. “Sounds kind of great to me.”
“One of the messages on my phone was from her.” I rubbed my hands through my hair. “She told me she loves me. I think she’s in love with me.”
“And which side of the line does that fall on for you, Drexel?”
“Kind of straddles both.”
“What do you mean?”
The dog sat in front of me and I ran a hand through his soft fur. “I don’t know. On one hand, I don’t think I’ll ever be happy with anyone else, but on the other, I don’t think I’m good enough for her.”
“Sometimes we need to let people decide for themselves what or who is good enough.”
“She’s said the same thing.”
“The bigger question is why do you feel that way?”
I heard the front door open and Oliver and Holt followed behind Kanyon and Jude, saving me from answering. I was starting to understand what the root of my evil sideshow was.
“Hey, what’s up guys?” I asked.
“Thought you might like some company tonight.” Oliver held up some beers and a poker set.
“Sure, help me substitute alcohol and gambling as my addiction.”
Kirsch chuckled.
Oliver smirked. “Well, I’m sure as hell not going to help you substitute sex.”
I laughed. “As long as Counselor Matthews says it’s okay, I’m in.” I’d never been a heavy drinker, so that didn’t worry me, and gambling was wasted money in my mind.
“This is your journey, Drex. If you need a guys’ night—”
“Sorry, Presley will be here in a few,” Jude said, leaning back from the open fridge door.
“And Willow will be home from an appointment soon.” Kanyon opened a bag of chips and poured the contents into a bowl.
“And I think Bryson, Avery, and Jake might make an appearance,” Jude added.
“And Chloe will stop by after she’s done at school.” Holt took off his cowboy hat and placed it on the back of the sofa.
My heart started to pound. They were trying to support me, but I was quickly overwhelmed. More importantly, they hadn’t said the one name I wanted to hear. I snuck into Kanyon’s office and took some deep breaths. I drew my phone from my pocket.
Oliver appeared beside me. “Rory’s coming, too. I don’t know why, but she seems to think you’re something special.”
“Special?”
She’s special, but me? That’s a stretch.
“She wants to see you, but can I suggest you keep your pants on, so she doesn’t see all of you?”
“When it comes to Aurora Jessen, I can’t promise that, Ollie.”
He smiled. “There’s something about how you say her name, Drexel. Like you’ve said it all your life and she owns you and the most important part of you. You’re in—”
“Don’t say it. I’m not ready, actually pretty shit-scared. I don’t want to hurt her.”
“Just listen to her, then listen to your heart.” He grabbed my shoulder and shook. “Whatever happens, Rory wants you to be happy, so don’t worry.” He glanced down at his phone. “That’s her, she’ll be here in ten minutes.”
I stepped out of the office and Kirsch met me.
“Drex, I have a date tonight, unless you think you’re going to need me?”
“No, I think I’ve got this one. Thanks, Kirsch.”
“Enjoy these people. They care more than any group I’ve ever met. Kind of disappointed that I have to go.”
“You’re welcome to come back.”
“We’ll see, otherwise I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
To relax and lessen lingering nausea from detox, I took another shower and came back down in clean clothes.
“Drex, you look good.” Presley’s arms wrapped around me and she kissed my cheek.
“And you’re looking better than Tuesday.”
She turned her back and whispered, “It’s called ‘morning sickness’ for a reason. I’m fine in the evenings.”
“Good to hear.”
One by one everyone made his or her way to me, except one person. Her hair was piled up into one of those messes of hair on top of her head and all I could think about was pulling the band out to watch the tangled mess fall, then wrapping it in my hand to control her head for one of those mind-bending, dick-rising, heart-pounding kisses.
Get your fucking nuts back in the sack, Mason.
I walked into the family room and sat next to Rory on the loveseat. The furniture naturally dipped to the middle and her body adjusted to keep from leaning into me.
“Hey, Drexel.”
I lowered my voice. “I want to talk to you, alone. Maybe after dinner we can separate ourselves when they’ve had a few drinks and aren’t playing the part of nervous babysitters?”
She wore a tight smile, but nodded.
We made small talk. She was starting at a preschool and daycare center on Monday. She played with the fringe on a pillow, hugging the square to her body while she relayed her excitement.
“That’s great. I’m sure you’ll be a wonderful teacher.”
“Just an aide to the teacher for now, but it’s a step in the right direction. There are going to be other changes in my life, too, but we can talk about those later.”
Her gaze met mine and I smiled.
Hope she hasn’t changed her mind about me.
Willow wouldn’t have any part of me buying delivery pizza for the group. She made her own homemade version, and soon everyone was groaning from being overstuffed.
“What was on that last pizza?” I asked her while chewing the last of a piece.
“Figs and goat cheese.”
“Figs and goat cheese?” I asked with fake abhorrence. “What ever happened to pepperoni and slimy, greasy fake cheese being good enough?”
“Did you like it?” Willow asked.
I glanced over at Rory and she shook her head telling me not to go there, but I saw the twinkle in her eye trying to predict what I might do.
“Eh, it was okay.” I set my plate on the coffee table.
Willow stood from the sofa and her hands rested on her hips. “Okay? Just o-kay?”
“Yeah, I’ve had better.”
Willow stomped over to me and I could swear I saw tears falling down her cheeks. “Well, I’m glad you sucked down multiple pieces of my crappy pizza then. Next time don’t spare my feelings and just starve, Dixless.”
I stared up at her and the room’s occupants quieted. She hadn’t called me the “dick” name for months. That was when Willow gave a dickhead a nickname, her own special creation for me. Dixless. And I used to resemble the moniker, but she and I had called a tru
ce a few months back.
We do this banter all the time, Willow. Why the waterworks?
She tore the plate from my hands and huffed off with Presley on her heels.
Rory shook her head. “Why’d you have to do that?”
“Because, even though the coke encouraged the asshole in me sometimes, I still like to get a rise from people. Willow just makes it too easy, but she normally doesn’t get all girlie on me.”
She leaned close and her body brushed along my arm. “Drex, you’re not that guy. I know you’re not. I know you, pistachio nuttiness and all.”
I chuckled.
When she sat back in the sofa, her hand rested next to mine, lining up pinkie to pinkie. I swallowed as an urge to hold her hand tingled my arm. A tingle that was pleasant, not the normal, phantom-shooting pain. Sliding my hand under hers, she slipped her long fingers through mine and gave a squeeze.
I leaned over to her and whispered, “I got your voice mail today. At the risk of sounding like the flagrant jerk I can be and there’s more to say, but for now I’ll just say—thank you. I appreciate your honesty and I’m glad you’re here.” The tendrils of hair that had slipped out of her ponytail holder grazed my nose and I inhaled sharply.
She turned her head to whisper in my ear. “You’re welcome. I want to hear whatever you have to say.”
I backed away as her grip on my hand tightened like she thought I was going to go somewhere. “I promise, I’m not going anywhere, Rory.” Our eyes connected and I squeezed her hand back.
We all sat around the kitchen table and played Cards Against Humanity, which involved trying to predict what people were going to think was the best and most original response to finish a statement that could be construed as sexist, racist, masochistic, and all the other nonconforming ‘ists’ out there. I thought the game was bizarre, but since I was a nonconformist myself and I liked to fuck with people, I would read through their responses and tell them whose was whose. I always matched every response to the correct player and I always chose Rory’s as the winner. It was like grownup Spin the Bottle, and my bottle always pointed to Rory.
Rory got up to use the restroom and when she came back, she slid onto my lap. Everyone in the room stared at us, but I didn’t care. I took a moment to absorb how she felt there. Her head nuzzled against me in affection and trust, and it made me want to give her the same.
