Mangled Hearts: Francesca and Cade (Scarred Hearts)
Page 13
“Anytime. I knew Ally would be able to get you to smile, Franny Girl.”
“I took care of that. I’m giving her five to not call me that.”
“She told me. I raised it to ten. She also told me what you said. Asked what it meant,” she snorted.
“Hush,” I demanded, feeling the blush rising on my cheeks. “I didn’t know she was in there.”
“It’s ok, she’s probably already forgotten about it.”
“Yeah…” I hoped she had. We spent the rest of the morning talking and playing. They definitely helped me to get my mind off of Cade.
Chapter Twenty-Four-Cade
Monday morning met me with the now familiar pounding that accompanied Cason coming to visit. I needed to give him a key or something, because this heavy beating on the door thing was getting old. I stumbled over, opening the door enough for him to slip through.
“What the hell? Cade, you went and got liquor didn’t you?” he accused.
“Good morning to you, too, sunshine,” I groaned, running my fingers through my hair.
“You look like shit. And smell worse,” he said, pointing to the bathroom. “Go shower. You have an appointment at ten.”
“What appointment?” I asked. What was he talking about now?
He gave me a quizzical look, “Seriously? Go shower,” he demanded, sighing heavily.
I trudged in the bedroom, rummaging through for something decent to wear. An appointment had to be serious, right? At least he was taking me somewhere this time instead of Pops. I let the hot water clean me off, scrubbing the dirt and grime from the past few days away. Something was in the back of my mind, pushing and wanting me to remember, but I couldn’t. I slipped the towel around my waist, stepping out and yelling for Cason. Holding up the outfit I’d chosen, I asked, “Is this ok for wherever we’re going?”
“You really don’t remember, Cade? You’re worse than I thought. You promised to go talk to a therapist about your drinking problem today,” he explained, looking annoyed.
“My drinking problem? I don’t have one, little bro. What’s your deal?” I hissed, wondering what in the hell he was talking about.
“You do have one, and we are going, no questions, no ifs, no ands, and no buts. Get dressed.” He sounded just like Pops. This whole thing wasn’t sitting well with me.
“No.”
“Cade...have you talked to Francesca?” he inquired, turning his head sideways to stare at me.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Have you?” he pressed.
“No.” Then I remembered, I was going to text her yesterday. It was past eight now, she’d be on the way to work. Waiting would probably be better for me so I wouldn’t be in agony all day wondering if she would reply.
“You slept with her Friday and haven’t talked to her? I thought you loved her? Why are you doing this?”
How did he know all of this? It was like he could read my mind or something. “How do you know how I feel about her?” I questioned.
“Cause it’s been obvious since the first time you came home from school and had that stupid smile on your face. Seriously, get dressed and let’s go. You need to straighten your ass up so you can be the man she deserves.”
“Do you like her or something?” I asked defensively. I wouldn’t fight my brother for Francesca. There was no reason, she was mine.
“Not in the way you do. She’s good for you, Cade. You’re happy when she’s around. And I saw her Saturday morning when I carried you out of here. She feels the same. So don’t let that slip away.”
The memories came flooding back. I’d been getting sick from not drinking and embarrassed she saw me that way. I’d blown her off, telling her to call Cason. He was right. I did need to do this. I’d promised. I’d been given a second chance with her and I couldn’t lose that. After being with her physically, I knew I never wanted another. “You’re right. Again,” I admitted.
“I’m always right, big bro. Now don’t make me tell you again,” he chuckled, pointing to the clothing in my hand.
I agreed, finishing up what was needed for this appointment. I didn’t bother with eating. I was suddenly nervous, afraid I’d lose her again. I couldn’t let it happen. I followed Cason out, allowing him to take me wherever it was he scheduled me an appointment. I tried not to think about what this meant for me. What was going to happen. I just needed to get through the day so I could call Francesca later.
###
“Mr. Kelling?” A woman with a crisp blazer, slacks, and glasses stood at the opening of the doorway, glancing around the waiting room.
I stood, motioning for Cason to come with me. I couldn’t do this alone. “I’m Cade,” I introduced, holding my hand out.
She smiled warmly, accepting my outreached greeting. “Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Norrod, please come in and have a seat.” She held her arm out, giving us entry to her office.
“Thanks, doc. This is my brother, Cason. He’s here…as emotional support,” I explained.
She nodded in understanding. “That’s quite alright. My receptionist spoke with your brother this morning. As long as you’re ok with him being in there, there are no problems.”
“I’m fine with it.”
“Great. Now, Cade, could you tell me why you’re here?” she inquired.
My heart sped up. “Didn’t Cason explain this morning?” I asked, looking at him for verification.
“He did, but Cason isn’t the patient. I need you to tell me the problem, Cade,” she urged gently. She held a pen and a pad of paper was situated directly in front of her. Just like a movie or something.
“Well, I…uhh…I mean…we…I think I may have a drinking problem,” I finally stammered out. Cason’s strong hand patted me on the back, showing he was there for me. “I use alcohol to solve problems. To forget things I want to forget, but it seems to be causing a bigger issue.”
“How long have you been drinking?” she asked, writing while she watched me.
“I started stealing my Pops’ when I was about ten,” I admitted. It sounded even worse telling a stranger.
“Have you used anything besides alcohol?” Her face was unemotional, unreadable. It made me even more nervous.
“Some drugs…but that was more in high school, and pills occasionally,” I said, my voice soft and embarrassed.
“How often do you drink?”
This was harder than I thought. I peered at Cason and he smiled gently, nodding for me to continue. “Everyday.”
“And what happens if you don’t drink one day?”
“Well, I went about 24 hours between Friday and Saturday without drinking…I had shaking hands, I threw up, I was sweating, and my head hurt. It wasn’t pleasant,” I said, recalling the pain I’d been in.
“Did you drink after?”
I could feel my embarrassment starting to show. I leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Yes.”
“How much? And what happened?”
“I got two bottles of liquor I finished between Saturday afternoon and yesterday. The symptoms went away.” I couldn’t look at either of them. I felt like an idiot.
“Cade, do you want help?”
“Yes. I can’t keep living like this. I have to be better,” I told her, dipping my head back down to face her. I looked her straight in the eye. “I think I’m an alcoholic,” I choked out.
She put the pen down, clasping her hands together. “Cade, I think you are, too. I suggest a rehabilitation facility. From what you’ve told me, AA meetings wouldn’t be enough. You’ll need to be monitored during your detoxification, as well as counseling to help you find new ways to deal with your issues and pain. If this is what you want, I can make some calls and get you in today. All of your family members will need to come for a meeting while you’re detoxing, and you won’t be able to see anyone for two weeks. After that, your assigned counselor will hold meetings with you and other patients, you and your family members, and you by yourself. Now, C
ade, from the withdrawal symptoms you and your brother described to us, I think you’ll need the longer program. You’d need to stay at least three months.”
I let her words soak in. Rehabilitation facility. Three months. Counseling. I really did have a problem. This woman could see it and she didn’t even know me. Remembering Francesca, I had to ask, “Only family members can come by?”
“Yes. It’s easier on patients that way.”
“I have a court date Friday for a fight I got into a couple of weeks ago.”
“Well, if we get you in today, you should be clean enough to go supervised.”
“Will I be able to contact anyone?” I asked. Three months without seeing Francesca. The thought hurt me deeply.
“After your two weeks, it will be the decision of the counselors. You can write letters at any time, but phone communication depends on how well you are doing. You’re going there to get better, Cade. That’ll be everyone’s main focus,” she explained softly.
I liked Dr. Norrod. She was nice, but to the point. “Ok. Doc, can you call and get me in? Cason, can you call Mom and Pops?” I asked. I couldn’t face them just yet. Cason wanted to help me, so I’d leave him to deal with them.
“I’ll do it now. Here’s the address,” she said, handing over a slip of paper. “If you two head over now, I should have the proper papers in order so you can just fill them out.” She stood, holding her hand out to me. “Cade, I’ll see you in a week or so. I’m one of the weekend counselors at the facility. I wish you well until then,” she said, smiling widely.
I nodded, “Thanks, doc.” I shook her hand, feeling the warmth. It reminded me of two weeks ago when Francesca had shaken my hand like I was just a client. Dropping it, I motioned to Cason, “Let’s go.”
###
The facility was large, homey, but still held that feeling that hospitals did. The “you’re not well, and you’ll be treated like a patient here” feeling. I hadn’t gone home to pack or anything, Cason said he’d make a list and take care of it. I had to hand it to my baby brother; he was really stepping up and helping me through this. I probably wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. Pops hadn’t responded, but Cason said Mom cried when he told her. I’m glad I didn’t make that call.
The counselor we spoke to was a nice older lady. She got me registered, admitted, and to a room in less than an hour. The room was decent sized, not small like a hospital room, but more like a dorm. I had a TV, a bed, a dresser, a bathroom, and a closet. The colors weren’t white like I was expecting, but green, blue, and yellow. It was sort of calming, to be honest. I looked around, unsure of what to do, when I realized I needed to tell Cason bye before I started having withdrawals. I dreaded this part, because the few hours I dealt with them over the weekend were hell. Days of this would be torture…but I had to do this. It was time for me to get over my addiction, grow up, and be the man I should be.
“Cason…” I started, resting my hand on his shoulder. “I want to thank you for helping me do this. I do have a problem. I’ve been in denial for a long time, but this will be good. Can you call Francesca and tell her something came up and that I’ll see her Friday? Please?” I asked. I didn’t want to leave her hanging, but she needed to hear it from me and not him.
“Of course. She called Saturday to check on you, but I didn’t answer because it’s not my place. I’ll let her know so she won’t worry,” he said, giving me a comforting grin.
“I love you, little bro,” I said. My emotions were running ragged. It was embarrassing and ridiculous.
“I know. You too. I’m going to go and get your stuff. They said I can’t see you when I come back…so…I want you to know that I’m proud you’re doing this. I hadn’t realized how much trouble you were in or I would have stepped in sooner.” He looked distraught. He couldn’t be blaming himself, could he?
“No, Cason, don’t. This is all on me. No one else. It’ll be fine once this is over. Just…could you search the apartment and get all the liquor out?” I asked.
“Already on my list,” he grinned. He gave me one last hug, a tight bear hug, and turned to leave. He waved a little ways down the hall and I knew this was it. This was my time to change. It was now or never.
Chapter Twenty-Five-Francesca
The office was once again bustling with partners and higher level lawyers. Something was going on. I hadn’t gotten much sleep over the weekend. Instead, I laid in bed going over Friday night. Everything from the bike ride to the dinner date replayed in my head. The feeling of his body pressed into mine was permanently etched into my brain, and I just prayed it would happen again someday. My face was pale and appeared tired, my eyes red from crying more than I’d like to admit. I hoped today wasn’t my day for appraisals.
As if on cue, Mr. Phillips and another partner, Mr. Lemming, knocked on my door. I stood, brushing my skirt down straighter and called them in. They had papers, and their expressions gravely serious. My stomach turned and knotted. It was appraisal day.
“Mr. Phillips, Mr. Lemming, good morning. How can I assist you today?” I asked, motioning for them to sit in the seats in front of my desk.
“Hello, Ms. Taymon. We’re here to conduct you’re six month performance appraisal. Is now a good time?” Mr. Phillips asked.
“Of course,” I said, taking my seat.
“I see here that Mr. Phillips is letting you take a case for a Cade Kellling? Is that correct?” Mr. Lemming questioned.
“That’s right, Sir. We go to court Friday morning, but I don’t anticipate any issues. He doesn’t have a criminal record, so I think community service will be sufficient for his charges.”
“I see. Now, Ms. Taymon, can you tell us how you think you’re performing with the firm?” he asked.
I hated performance appraisals. The questions were awkward and always put me on the spot. It wasn’t fun talking about myself to my bosses. “Well, I believe I’m an asset to the office. I work hard, I like what I do, and I hope to someday become a partner.”
The two men gave each other a sidelong glance and my stomach dropped a little more. At this rate, it’d be on the floor by the end of the meeting.
“Francesca, can I ask why you look so ill and tired?” Mr. Phillips inquired. He didn’t sound concerned, it was more condescending.
Taken aback, I stammered, “Well…I had some personal issues this weekend. I’m fine to work, if that’s what this is about.”
“No, he’s just pointing out that women are too emotional. We appreciate your work and dedication, but you won’t become a partner in this firm. Haven’t you noticed there are no women partners? There’s a reason for that. We can’t risk the integrity of our business because women cry over everything,” Mr. Lemming explained.
My mouth fell open. I couldn’t believe he just said that to me. I didn’t know how to respond. I wanted to rip their heads off, but instead, I said, “Excuse me?”
“You heard us, Francesca. I appreciate you taking Mr. Kelling’s case. Derek is an old friend of mine and his kid just can’t stay out of trouble. We bail him out every time. This time, for some unknown reason—he wouldn’t tell me--, Derek insisted you be the lawyer. I didn’t want to, I fought him with all I had, but he pays us well. And if we were to piss him off, it would look bad on the company, so I let you have it. It’ll probably be your last, and you will go back to what you’ve been doing,” Mr. Phillips said. He wasn’t even hateful or mean about it. They sat here saying these sexist things like it was perfectly ok.
I stood, gathering my courage. “Now it’s my turn to say a few things. You are going to be in very serious trouble for your discrimination against me. This is a violation of the Civil Rights Act and I will pursue it. I’m quitting. I’m no longer going to sit by and let this place demean me with words and actions. I am a damn good lawyer, and it is your loss and the firm’s loss that I’m leaving. I’ll be out by the end of the day. I’ll see you in court, you may go now,” I snapped out, pointing them to the door.
I placed my hands on the desk, leaning over to get in his face, “Exactly what I was thinking about you, Mr. Phillips,” I hissed back. I heard a cough at the door, and I darted my eyes to see Zander standing there. He looked as pissed as I imagined I appeared.
“I’m done, too. She goes, I go,” he said, coming to stand by my side.
Mr. Phillips nostrils flared, his face growing redder by the second. “Zander…you have a future here. You can’t quit. This is a family business, all Phillips’ work here. You can’t quit,” he bellowed.
Zander was the epitome of calm. “I just did. I’m going when she does.”
Mr. Phillips gave us both one last death glare, then darted out the door.
I stared at Zander. “Family business?” His last name was McKinney, not Phillips. I was confused.
“My mom’s uncle,” he shrugged, nodding in the direction the asshole boss just went. “Dad’s a McKinney.”
I just looked at him in amazement. He’d just quit his job, potentially ruining his career, for me. “Why did you do that?”
“I was coming to bring you a message and overhead their little tirade. That’s so damn sexist, Francesca. You are way better than these people. I’m just going to convince you to open your own firm because I need a job and you,” he said, pointing his index finger to the tip of my nose, “are going to give me one.”
I laughed, pulling him in for a hug. “Thank you.”
“Anytime. Now let’s pack up and get the hell outta dodge,” he joked, pulling my briefcase from the floor. We spent a little over two hours getting our belongings. No one bothered us, surprisingly. By the time we were finished, he’d done exactly what he said he would. I was set to open my own firm. Finally doing what I’d studied so hard for. What I so desperately wanted to do the past three years. I was going to be a kick ass lawyer.