Defeating the Odds

by Kacey Hamford

  Elliott: Hey, are you busy tonight?

  Me: Sorry, can’t. I’m going away for a while. I will text you when I can.

  I don’t wait for his reply. Instead, I turn my phone off and hand it over to Nick. He takes it and drops it into the empty door panel.

  “Let’s do this, even if it is bullshit,” I say, annoyed, and I climb from the car. I shut the door and walk around the boot and pop it open. Nick comes to stand next to me while I lift my bag out of the boot and over my shoulder. Nick looks at me and then to the building, knowing he can’t go any further. I move closer and wrap him up in a bro-hug. I slap his back a few times and he does the same. When we pull apart I see that Nick has tears in his eyes. My heart constricts. Fuck.

  “I will do this, Nick. For you, I can quit. I don’t need to gamble. It’s fun, man. It gets the blood pumping.” I laugh but Nick stays stone-faced.

  “This shit is far from fucking funny, dickhead. But fuck, man, we will always love you. You are my baby brother. No matter how much you have fucked up, I have never stopped loving you. Now go in there and find yourself. Show them how a Matthews kicks addiction’s arse.” He winks at me and climbs back into the car. I don’t have an addiction. Why do people keep saying that? I watch as he drives away, leaving me to deal with my shit on my own. I am twenty-eight, for fucks sake. I should be able to handle a few meetings and talking about my feelings, right? I can get through this. I am Ford fucking Matthews and I can beat any-fucking-thing.

  I adjust my bag over my shoulder and walk towards the reception. A woman walks past me and smiles genuinely at me. The knot in my stomach loosens a little. I push the door open and walk towards the reception desk. The older lady smiles at me and stands from her seat.

  “Hello, how may I help you?” she asks.

  “Hi, I’m Ford Matthews, checking in today,” I say around the golf ball-sized lump in my throat. Fear of the unknown starts to seep into my blood. I try to smile but fail miserably. I watch as she types away on the computer in front of her and then she smiles up at me. She picks up a small manila file and presses a button before speaking.

  “Spencer, can you come to the front desk, please?” She looks back to me, her smile still in place. “Spencer will show you to your room and give you a little tour of the place. Welcome, Ford. I hope you find what you need to here. Remember, tomorrow is a new day.”

  I pull the door to my room open and step through it. It automatically shuts behind me. Shit, my key card. I left it on the desk. I grasp the handle and try to push the door open. Locked. This is just great, what a brilliant start to my time here. I shake my head at my stupidness and head down the stairs. I am already late for my first appointment with the doctor. I turn the corner and find the third door. I raise my hand and knock on it loudly.

  “Come in,” a gruff voice responds.

  I push the door open and step inside. The office is huge and bright. There is a set of patio doors behind the doctor's desk that lets in all the light.

  “Mr. Vardy, it’s good of you to join me,” he says as he glances at the clock on the wall. “Ten minutes late.” He is pissed. His jaw is tense and his eyebrow is raised, waiting for my response.

  “Oh, shit. Sorry. I got locked out of my room. Can I get another one of those key card things?” I stroll over to the couch beside his desk and lay on it.

  “Mr. Vardy, please come and sit in the chair.” He points to the black leather chair that faces his desk. I must have a look of confusion on my face, the frown giving that fact away. “We are not having a session today. Just a welcome meeting.”

  I climb to my feet and re-position my black t-shirt that had ridden up slightly when I’d laid down. I slouch in the chair and place my right foot onto my left knee.

  “What are your first impressions of your home for the next several weeks?”

  “It looks okay.” I shrug my shoulders.

  “This programme will only work if you are willing to try, Mr. Vardy.”

  “Cut this ‘Mr. Vardy’ crap. My name is Damon.” I lean forward and point to my name that he has in front of him on my file.

  “Well, first of all, Damon, you need to learn a little respect. I am here to help you. There is no need to swear.”

  “Sorry,” I mumble, sitting back in the chair. I feel like I’m being told off by the principle again. I spent a lot of time in his office when I was at school.

  “So, this is how this is going to work. There are several activities you will need to participate in.”

  “Like what?”

  “I was just getting to that.” He shakes his head in annoyance. “Individual and group therapy. Meditation, yoga, massage, and possibly equine therapy.”

  “I’m happy for the massages.” I wonder if Will would be the one to do that. “But meditation and yoga and shit… I don’t see how that can help.” I cross my arms over my chest and glance around his room. One wall is full of books on an extremely large bookshelf. Who the hell reads that much?

  “If you are serious about defeating your anger issues then you have to be open to trying everything, to see what works best for you.”

  “What will work best for me is doing laps in that pool out there.” I climb to my feet and head for the door.

  “Your first group session is this afternoon, two o’clock. Meet everyone in the communal room.”

  I can’t believe I have to do this shit. How the hell was having a massage going to help me with my anger issues?

  I storm through the halls until I reach the communal room. There are only a couple of people around. I look for Will. I need a new key card for my room, so I can grab my swim gear and thrash out my need to train in the pool. My gaze shoots to his when I hear a rumble of laughter. He’s walking into the room with a woman. She is tall, skinny but toned with long mousy-brown hair. I stroll over to them.

  “Oh, Damon. This is Sam.” He introduces us. I nod my head at her and she smiles back.

  “So, what are you in for?” she asks. I raise my eyebrows and look at her.

  “What are you in for?” I shoot back at her.

  “Sex addict,” she replies. I feel my mouth drop open. Was this chick serious? “Only kidding.” She laughs. “Anger issues.” Wow, it just shows you don’t know anything about anyone just by looking at them. How did this little thing have anger issues?

  “Me too. Apparently,” I add on the end. “Anyway, Will, man, I locked myself out of my room and I need a swim.”

  “I’ll let you back in. See you later, Sam.” He winks at her. I nod my head at her before following Will out of the room. “How was your welcome meeting with the doctor?” he asks as I follow him up the stairs.

  “Yeah, okay. I guess. He wants me to do some weird shit.”

  “It will all help, I can guarantee it.” He smiles over his shoulder.

  “Oh right, because you see it so often?”

  “No, because this is where I met my husband. He was in for anger management.” He waves his card over the panel on my door and it clicks open. I push it with my hand, so it doesn’t close again.

  “And he did all the yoga and meditation and shit?”

  “He did and still does, every day.”

  “Fuck, man, I’m a cage fighter. I can’t go all soft and spiritual. This is my life, my career.”

  “If it helps you control the beast inside you, then it will further your career. People won’t know what’s coming if you come across cool and calm. It will work to your advantage.”

  “And what does your husband do for a living?”

  “He was a head chef, but the stress of the kitchen made him lose his temper. Now he teaches meditation and yoga.”

  “Fuck!” I swear.

  “I’m joking. He runs a cooking class now. Don’t be afraid to try new things. I’ll see you in the group class later.” He squeezes my shoulder before he turns around and heads back down the stairs.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been out here swimming. I have just kept going at a st
eady pace. Length after length. Alternating between front crawl, breaststroke and backstroke. I am currently doing backstroke, and as I head towards the shallow end of the pool, a shadow lingers over me. My eyes pop open to see Will gazing down at me.

  “It’s time for group therapy.” I push my feet onto the floor of the pool and stand up straight. Will offers me his hand and pulls me out of the water. Shit, he is strong. I am a large built man at six feet tall and weighing just over sixteen stone. The sudden change in elevation causes my head to spin and Will’s large hands grip my waist to steady me. I groan in the back of my throat at the feel of his contact. My eyes widen and I step away as I feel my cock hardening.

  What the hell was wrong with me? He’s married.

  Although I’d love to get him underneath me, I’d hate it if I was married and someone was lusting after my husband. I need to get my head in the game and sort out my problems, so I can get the fuck out of this place and away from temptation.

  “I’ll just get changed and then I’ll be there,” I shout over my shoulder as I hurry away.

  I step under the shower in the changing room and dip my head forward, causing my long hair to cover my face. The shower stall is clinical, all whites and chrome, with a frosted glass door. The room has brown benches and lockers, for each person here. I still can’t believe I am in this place. If I had just controlled my temper, then I might still have been at home having fun with Sean. At the thought of him, I grab my hardening cock and pump it. This wasn’t the place to be doing this, but my thought was that if I released some of my pent-up hormones, then I would be calmer in fucking group therapy.

  Just as I shoot my load over my hand and wash it away, Will's voice comes from behind me. I turn off the shower and wrap a towel around my waist.

  “For Christ's sake, man. You’re late. Dr. Tamer sent me to find you. She’s not happy. Are you trying to get kicked out?”

  “I can get kicked out?” Hope swarms in my chest at the knowledge I can leave this place. I step into my boxers, not caring that I’ve just showed this guy all of me. He remains professional and keeps his gaze on mine.

  “Yeah, you can. But your coach told us that if you get kicked out of here, you get kicked off his team.” I can’t get kicked off the team, the cage is my life. I live for fighting. Fucking Nobel is screwing everything up.

  “Fuck!” I throw my fist into a metal locker, which causes a huge dent. “It’s all his fault that I am here anyway.”

  “Your coach?”

  “No, Noble. He killed my sister! How can he live with himself? He took her away from me, away from all of us,” I roar, slamming my fist over and over again into the locker.

  I stop once I hear footsteps running towards us. I look over Will’s shoulder to see two men dressed in a uniform identical to his heading towards us. My fists are clenched tightly at my sides and my body is wound up tight.

  “You okay, man?” Will asks me.

  “No! No, I’m not fucking okay,” I shout.

  “Stand back,” one of the guys orders.

  “No.” Will turns his back to me to face the other support staff member, “I’ve got this.” He turns back to me. “You need to calm down or they are going to sedate you.”

  “I don’t need to be sedated!” I yell.

  “At the minute you are a potential threat to me and my staff.” Will stands there, arms crossed across his chest.

  “I just need to work it out of my system. I need to fight.” I pace, my muscles tense.

  “That is what got you here in the first place.”

  “No, I need to train. A punching bag.” He nods before shooing the other two support workers away.

  “Come with me.” I follow behind Will, clenching and unclenching my fists. Why can’t I calm myself down? What the hell is wrong with me? He broke me. Noble broke me.

  “What the…” I start saying when Will pushes me into a room. “I was told that I wouldn’t be able to train.” I was standing in the middle of a cage fighter’s dream gym. All the equipment looked new and untouched.

  “Your coach paid to have this installed in here for you on the agreement that you attend all the activities the doctor requests.”

  “Like group therapy?” I ask.

  “Yes. You can use this now. I think your negativity won’t be good for the group session today. Work through what you need to. Dinner's at six, don’t be late. The kitchen doesn’t stay open. You eat when we eat.” I nod in understanding.

  “Thanks for this, and thanks for keeping them and their needles away from me.”

  “It works both ways. I’ll help you, but you have to help yourself too. I won’t give you any more special treatment.”

  “Thanks, man.” I slap him on the shoulder before strapping my hands up to work out my frustrations.

  Spencer is one hot fucking piece of arse, not that I would say that out loud in here. But in my head, I am ripping his clothes off and taking him hard and fast against the wall. He is tall, like me, with white blonde hair. He looks Russian with his blonde hair and blue eyes, that square jaw but without the sexy accent.

  “Okay, Ford, this is the common room. It is open until ten p.m, at which time you're required to return to your room. Lights go out at ten-thirty. We like our guests to be well rested. Down the hall is the kitchen. For the safety of our guests only staff members who carry ID cards have access inside. The doctor's office is on the second floor. You will be shown there later, once you get settled.” I follow him as he points out which rooms are where. We stop by a room with the numbers one and eight clear as day in big black numbers. Eighteen. My fucking jersey number. This is a punch in the chest for me. Talk about kicking a man when he is down. I take a deep breath and look towards Spencer, who is looking at me with concern in his eyes.

  “Sorry. That,” I say, pointing at the door, “is my jersey number.”

  “Oh, I see. Are you going to be okay in here? I could try and see if there is another room available.” I shake my head straight away.

  “No, it’s fine. Thanks though.” I step forward and grip the door handle. Behind this white door is my room, the place that I will be living for the next ninety days. I go to push the door open when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn my face to see Spencer looking at me. My gaze drops from his eyes to his hand, but he leaves it there, touching me, the heat seeping through my shirt. Ignoring his touch and his gaze, I push open the door into my room. The room is nice enough; a single bed in the middle of the room, a small wardrobe and bedside table. The desk in the corner shocks me as it has a laptop resting on it. I also have a small bathroom to myself which is fucking awesome - there is no way I could wank off in the public showers, and believe me, I need to come. It helps with the tension.

  “It’s going to be hard for the first couple of days,” Spencer says from behind me. I chuckle and turn to face him, running my eyes over his very well-toned body.

  “Tell me about it,” I turn back to my bed, not waiting for his response. No fucker here knows I’m gay. I’m not sure how people would react if they found out. But I need to sort my gambling first and foremost. I hear Spencer chuckle, but I keep my back to him and walk over to check out the bathroom. It’s nothing special, just has the basics; shower, toilet and small sink.

  “Maybe you have other issues you can deal with while you are here, Ford.” I spin around to face him. I frown at him.

  "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" He crosses his arms over his chest, making his muscles bulge under his uniform. The blue polo shirt and light brown trousers look good on him. I can't stop my eyes from taking in every muscle that is straining to break free from the material. He quirks an eyebrow at me and says.

  “That look right there tells me enough. I know all about the gambling, Ford. I have read your file-” I cut him off.

  “I don’t have a fucking gambling problem,” I grind out, but he ignores me.

  “I know you can get through this. But for you to truly be free of all the he
aviness, you need to be completely honest with yourself. It’s a new era. No one bloody cares anymore, Ford. It’s time to be you. I will leave you to get settled. You have an early appointment with Doctor Robin Wilks at nine a.m. I will come by in the morning and collect you after breakfast. Get some sleep, Ford.” His words hit me in the chest, because I know he is right, but it scares the fuck out of me - people knowing I am gay. I know that people are far more acceptable these days – it's just that I won’t like people knowing my shit and judging. I nod my head and walk to the door behind him.

  “Hey, thanks, man, for showing me around and shit. I know I have some shit to sort through but in my profession, it’s hard to admit. Fuck knows how my team would react to having a gay man in the shower with them. It’s easier to hide it. But the gambling isn’t a problem.”

  “But even the hidden can be seen, Ford. Think about it. You can only do what is right for you. It’s easy for other people to tell you what to do and what to feel, but it has to be right for you,” Spencer replies.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  "Of course. I am here to help." He replies.

  "Are you gay by any chance?" I ask, I need to know.

  “No, Ford, I’m not gay. However, I do have a brother who is gay. So, I know what you are going through. But you being here is about you. Get some rest and I will see you in the morning at breakfast.” He turns and walks away. I watch his retreating form, taking in his firm arse in his scrub trousers. Damn the lucky bitch that gets to shag that.

  I slept like a baby last night. I have never had trouble sleeping, even when shit was bad. It’s like my body crashes and the sleep helps me cope with things. Breakfast was an eye-opener, seeing how many people were staying here. I knew the Wood Lake Recovery Centre didn’t only deal with gambling addiction, but seeing the different people here was one hell of an eye-opener.