by Sierra Hill
Ainsley held out her arms and guided me over to the block of seats lining the wall.
“I’m just going to come right out and tell you this. I’m sorry to be the messenger and I want you to know I adamantly disagree with his decision. But Lance…he, um…he doesn’t think seeing you is a good idea right now for either of you.”
Something in my brain doesn’t receive the message. I try to get up and walk toward his door, but Carver’s tall, imposing form steps in front of me and he shakes his head. It’s a protective gesture, but I don’t know who he’s trying to protect. Me or his best friend.
I look over my shoulder at Ainsley again and she pats the chair beside her.
“No,” I whisper. “This doesn’t make sense. I need to be with him! Why would he do this to me?”
Ainsley stands and wraps me in a hug. My tears fall down my face and soak her hair.
“Shh, it’s okay, Mica. Just give him some time. He’ll come around, I’m sure of it. But right now, he needs to get help. He’s going to check into a twenty-eight-day rehab program. While it’s voluntary, it’s also a requirement for him to remain on the team.”
Ainsley then escorts me out of the hospital and we drive to her house. The drive over is a blur and now I sit on her couch, wrapped in a blanket, wet, used tissues balled up on the floor around me. I sniff and rub my eyes, red and stinging from all the tears I’ve shed.
“I don’t understand why I can’t see him. He must know how much I love him and want to be there for him.”
The tough part about all of this is that Ainsley and I have had to study addictions and the affects they have on users in our nursing program. I know the signs of addiction and yet none of that clicked with me the closer I got to Lance. It’s exactly as they say it is. Something can be right under your nose and you can’t see it. You’re blinded by love. Misdirected because an addict will manipulate the one’s the love them into thinking they are okay.
I mean, I realized he liked to drink and party. I’d witnessed that over the last year, as did all his friends. He was such a happy drunk.
The flip side is that I also saw him get sullen and blue over the last month or so. It was this roller coaster of emotion. He’d be happy and light-hearted one day and the next day moody and almost anxious.
And I was blind to it all.
I’m so angry with myself for not seeing the signs that were right there in front of my face. Why didn’t I notice the changes in his behavior?
The man I love is an addict. Was depressed. Was hurting and I didn’t do anything.
I’m a shit girlfriend.
It’s for that reason, I’m sure, he doesn’t want to see me. I let him down. I lied to myself and he lied to me about what was going on between us. It was smoke and mirrors. A house of cards.
And now he’s checked into a rehab program and I’m alone with the knowledge that he doesn’t want to see me and probably hates me.
“Mica, you know he loves you.”
I shake my head. “He never said it. I meant nothing to him.”
Ainsley scoots next to me on the couch and places a hand on my leg. “Don’t you dare do that to yourself. We all know he was head over heels for you. And maybe didn’t say it outright, but we saw it. He does love you. And if I had to make a guess, he’s trying to protect you from whatever he’s going through right now. I’m sure of it.”
My eyes latch onto hers, searching for the truth. “Do you know what happened? Did he explain what happened to Cade?”
She sighs. “He may have told Cade, but he didn’t share it with me. And even if I did know, I’m in the middle and it’s Lance’s story to tell. Not mine. I’m sorry, honey. I know this is so hard and unfair to you. But maybe you just need to give him that time and space for him to get clean and deal with whatever he’s burdened with.”
I know she’s right. He does need to get well. To get clean and sober. But I’m scared.
Scared of what will happen to us. Scared mostly of losing him.
What if during his stint in rehab he comes to the conclusion that he doesn’t want to be with me anymore? Or he meets someone else who understands what he’s gone through better than me. It’s not unheard of when spouses or partners enter programs such as this and when they return, they look at their lives differently. The changes they need to make are difficult and life altering.
The worry grips me, but the positive side is at least Lance is alive. And while it crushes me to know he doesn’t want to see me and I may never again get to be with him, it’s still a beautiful miracle that he didn’t die.
When I called and heard all the commotion in the background that night when Lance OD’d, I was inconsolable. Thank God someone at the party had the wherewithal to call an ambulance and get him to the hospital.
I guess the hospital administrative staff called his emergency contact, which happened to be his father. I know their relationship is strained and estranged, but at least he made sure he got the medical attention he needed and called Cade to let him know what was going on.
Whatever secrets Lance has about his past and the estrangement between he and his father, I hope at the very least he can come to better grips with it through counseling and the rehab program. He’ll need someone to equip him with better coping mechanisms so he doesn’t fall back into drugs and alcohol that he has been using in the past.
Ainsley and I sip wine on the couch and talk for a while until we here the door open and Cade walks in looking haggard and defeated.
“Hey babe,” Ainsley greets, as he walks over and places a chaste kiss on the top of her head. He accepts the wine glass she hands him and takes a drink before passing it back.
Cade scrubs a hand over his face. I’m sure he hasn’t gotten much sleep between work and being at the hospital the last three days.
“How’d it go?”
He sits down on the edge of the coffee table, bending at the waist and places his elbows on his knees, chin in his hand.
“They got him checked in to the rehab center. He didn’t say much, which worries me. But then again, he’s going through detox and he was in rough shape there for a while.”
Through our nursing program, I’m very familiar with the effects of withdrawal on a body and the excruciating pain and agony that opiate addicts experience when they quit. The medical staff constantly monitors their vitals and pain levels to manage the process. It generally starts with body sweats, fevers, chills, flu-like symptoms such as vomiting and diarrhea. Depending on the level of detox required, they may also administer some medications to help ease the transition to avoid the cold-turkey health risks such as heart attack or organ shut-downs.
I cringe hoping that Lance didn’t get to that level of discomfort. God, my heart hurts for him.
Fearful of the answer, but needing to know, I finally get up the nerve to ask.
“Do you think he’ll stay in rehab? Does he want to get better?”
Regardless of whether he wants to see me or be with me anymore, I still love Lance and only want him to get well. This is only the first step and it’ll surely be a long road to recovery and sobriety.
Cade shrugs, his broad shoulders indicating a true uncertainty about his friend’s position.
“This is so fucked up,” he laments, running his hand through his hair. “Had we noticed and done something about it last year, it wouldn’t have gone this far. He could have fucking died and we didn’t do anything to prevent it.”
He stands suddenly and begins pacing, as Ainsley and I exchange a worried look. We know Carver and Cade are beating themselves up for not seeing Lance’s addictive behaviors, just like I am, but that’s the thing. Addicts will hide and lie so no one knows. They lie to themselves, too.
Ainsley stands up and encircles her arms around Cade’s back. “Baby, none of us did. We couldn’t have known. Plus, he got drug tested for the team, how did they not catch it?”
Cade shakes his head as if it’s a mystery to him, too.
She
continues to offer him soothing words to placate him, while I interrogate myself in my head.
Why didn’t you see it? Why didn’t you say something? You had a gut feeling, but were too scared to speak up. You were afraid to lose him and now you’ve gone and done it any way.
I’m sobbing loudly and don’t even realize it until Ainsley is holding me and rocking me in her arms.
“It’s not your fault, Mica,” she coos, gently running a hand down my head and stroking my hair. “It’s none of our faults. So, let’s move past the blame game and figure out how best to help him when he returns better than new.”
She’s right. I know she is. But it still doesn’t help matters that I overlooked so many things because I was blinded by love.
My mother was right. I wasn’t meant to be with Lance.
Chapter 27
Lance
Three months later
I keep having the same recurring dream.
The sunshine is bright, reflecting off of water. All I see is the shape of someone, a woman. Long dark hair flows down her back. She’s holding a child in her arms. Even though I can’t see her face, I know she’s smiling.
And I know it’s because her life is good. She doesn’t have me in it to ruin it for her.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist or psychic to know the dream is about Mica and her future. And I know I’ve done the right thing by keeping my distance.
A lot has happened since I went through my harrowing life and death experience and got clean. It hasn’t been easy. Not one single part of it has been easy. Sometimes I look back at those first three days of detox and it seems like a breeze compared to my itchy desire to get high.
My doctors and therapists, and other addicts in NA, all tell me that need may never go away and to take it one day at a time. Today, that need has mellowed and isn’t as sharp as it was back then. They’re right that it does dull over time.
Sometimes it feels like I’m floating up on the top of the ocean and that itchy need to get high is the sand beneath me. I know it’s there and it’s present and surrounds me, but it doesn’t have to consume me.
I don’t want to sink back to the bottom ever again. It takes a lot of effort to work at floating on the top, but it’s a much better existence. There’s more freedom and beauty that exists when I’m up on the surface and not swallowed by the habitual need to get high or drunk.
My only regret – well, there have been many regrets – but the biggest is that I had to let Mica go. I tell myself all the time it was for her own good. But honestly, it was for myself, as well.
I knew in my heart that until I was sober and could deal with all the shit eating away inside me she was better off without me. I couldn’t be the boyfriend she needed in the state of chaos I was in.
And my counselor advised me that it’s best to deal with my demons first, work through the steps of the program and get myself right before I try to forge ahead in a relationship.
That doesn’t mean I don’t miss her like crazy every single moment or want to be with her more than anything.
But rehab taught me that I have to learn to love yourself before I can love someone else.
I haven’t seen Mica in over ninety days. Haven’t spoken to her or texted with her. Haven’t witnessed that beautiful and playful smile of hers that lights her up like a Goddess.
But I have read and reread all the letters she sent me while I was in rehab. That was the only form of communication I could have with the outside world during that twenty-eight day stint. I received letters from my coaches, the team, Cade and Carver, my grandma, even fans. But the only ones I really cherished and read over and over again were those from Mica.
Mostly they told me what she was up to. Nothing out of the ordinary from her typical schedule but she did mention updates about Ainsley and their wedding dress shopping and working out details for their upcoming wedding.
I want so badly to ask her to be my date to the wedding, which is three months from now. But I’m scared. Worried that I won’t be strong enough yet. Worried she won’t want me anymore.
Of course, I’ve hung out with the boys and asked how she is doing. I know for a fact that she’s single and hasn’t been dating, which I’m relieved to hear. And I also heard that she finally told her family that there was no way in hell she’d ever marry Alberto. Thank God for that.
Even if I can’t have her, I didn’t want that man to be with her.
I smile as I envisioned her putting her foot down and going on a rampage in Spanish, her words flying fast and furious. That little pipsqueak can really pack a punch and is a fiery hell-on-wheels girl when she wants to be.
God, I miss her.
My heart aches constantly for want of her. The need to hold her in my arms. To touch her. Feel her warm embrace. To be buried deep inside her where everything is right in the world.
My memories are littered with all the moments we were together. All the playful flirting we did as friends, when she was keeping her distance. All the times in bed together, her body laid out before me, open to me; so beautiful and filled with promise.
And I broke every promise I made to her.
It’s a far climb back to the top when you’ve hit rock bottom. I’ve had to work had at earning back the trust I’d lost from everyone close to me, starting with my team and coaches.
When I was in the hospital right after the incident, Head Coach Welby and Assistant Coach Parker gave me an ultimatum. I could remain on the team and finish out the year on the bench, with maybe some play if we made it to the championships, if I voluntarily checked into rehab and committed to weekly drug testing afterwards.
It was no easy decision, but I wasn’t going to let my college basketball career go down the drain over drugs. Just yesterday, Coach Parker and I were talking after a pretty grueling practice.
“I’m really proud of you, Britton,” he said, clasping me on the shoulder with his wide palm. “You’ve made a comeback that many people don’t make. You’ve worked hard and I know it’s not been easy not being able to play during games. But I’ve seen your leadership blossom from the sidelines and you’ve been a great mentor to these younger guys.”
I think I actually blush, which is something I’ve never done before.
“Thanks, Coach. Thanks for giving me the opportunity to do it.”
He flicks his hand. “Didn’t give you anything you weren’t ready for. You’ve earned it.”
Looking back, I realize that I needed someone outside my circle of friends to tell me they saw the good in me, because it didn’t come from my dad. It was something missing in my life for years and I hadn’t realized how much it played on my self-confidence and self-worth.
It’s going to be a long road, but one I’m now equipped to travel with the tools my new counselor has provided me. Coach Parker is the one who referred me to Dr. Carson.
Coach Parker is one of the first people I apologized to during my NA step. I’ve slowly been working my way through the list and I’m now ready to talk to Mica. Whether she wants to hear from me at this point is another story, but I can’t let that stop me.
With shaky hands, I pick up the phone and dial her number.
The phone rings twice and then her sweet voice fills my ear.
“Hola?”
She greets me in Spanish, which tells me she either didn’t check the phone display or she’s deleted my number after all this time and I’m now an Unknown number to her.
I clear my throat, swallowing down the emotion blocking my airwaves. A frisson runs through my blood stream and I can scarcely breathe.
“Mica, it’s me. Lance.”
A gasp.
Then silence.
I expect her to hang up on me, but she doesn’t. I thank God and all that’s good and holy she doesn’t.
“Hi,” she says, her voice tremulous. But it’s hard to interpret what she feels about my call.
“How are you?”
Dumb thing to ask, but I don�
��t know how else to start the conversation. I’ve practiced it a thousand times and it all sounds stupid to my own ears.
“Estoy bien,” she responds in Spanish. It makes me wonder if this is her mechanism to keep things civil. To create a barrier between us. Although I understand what she says, that she uses her native language creates distance and is distracting.
“That’s good. I’m glad,” I take a cleansing breath and continue. “Mica, lo siento. I’m so sorry. I need to talk to you. To see you. I need to explain things to you and tell you in person how sorry I am for everything I’ve put you through.”
I expect her to say no. To tell me to fuck off for hurting her and not responding to any of her letters. For cutting her off and out of my life completely.
But instead, she does what only Mica would do.
“Of course. I had hoped…” There’s a hiccup on the other end of the line and I wonder if she’s crying. She sounds so dubious.
Fuck, I’ve made her cry.
Of course, you have, idiot. What’d you expect?
“When? When can I see you?” Suddenly, it can’t be soon enough. I need to right this minute.
I check the time on the clock and realize it’s after nine p.m. and she’s probably at her apartment studying.
She keeps me waiting for a second. “Um, what about tomorrow? Breakfast?”
I nod emphatically like a dumbshit. “Okay, yeah, that sounds good. Where should I meet you?”
It might sound pushy of me, but I want this to happen so badly. I’d go anywhere she wants me to go just to see her again.
But she stuns me in Mica fashion once again. “My apartment?”
Oh, fuck me.
My entire body shakes, the phone at my ear jiggling with hope.
“Mmm-kay. Sounds good. Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow morning around eight?”
“Si. Okay. Bye Lance.”
“Bye, Georgie. Sleep tight.”
And when I end the call, I notice my heart and head feel sanguine and lighter than they have in weeks. In months. Maybe even years.
Because there’s hope in my life. Hope that she’ll forgive me. Maybe not right away. It’ll take time for forgiveness to take place. At least I can live with the burning optimism that I have the opportunity to see her again.
