by J. Lynn
I didn’t have withdrawal symptoms from alcohol, something that didn’t seem to surprise Dave or the staff, but I did have a problem. I was a binge drinker, possibly one of the most dangerous forms of alcohol abuse. Where some…some alcoholics drank every day, a little here and a little more there, I drank until I was so drunk I couldn’t say my name. I drank to the point that the alcohol in my blood could kill me. I drank until I was unable to think, every single time. I didn’t have whatever people had in their heads that made them stop.
I couldn’t.
That wasn’t the only diagnosis. There were a couple more. An understanding that came two days after I’d told Dave how I had a habit of rearranging my furniture and painting the walls during those quiet moments. Of course, it wasn’t the only thing that led to the diagnosis. Years worth of stuff had led to it.
Depression and Anxiety.
The…the diagnosis didn’t surprise me either, not if I were being truthful. Maybe part of me had always known. Interesting enough, it would be a while before the role that alcohol played in my…my illness was known.
There was also an emphasis on physical activity. Besides the fact I was a little weak and a lot sore from surgery, there was a stress on staying healthy. I was lucky, though. I didn’t need physical therapy.
After the third week, I was allowed visitors twice a week for an hour each time. My parents came the first time, along with my brother, and that was hard. Syd came the second time, and that had been even harder.
Syd had told me that Tanner wanted to visit me. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that, but I couldn’t avoid him forever. He hadn’t done anything wrong. For the most part, he’d done everything right, and I agreed to see him.
Tanner came on a Thursday afternoon, in the fifth week. Without makeup, I felt exposed as I waited for him in one of the visitation rooms. The whole makeup thing felt silly, but there was nothing between us now. Not even a layer of foundation. No pretenses.
The room wasn’t bad. It had a couch and two chairs, a table in the corner, and it was painted a pretty robin-egg blue, but I figured the room was monitored. Made sense. No one who worked here wanted people passing drugs or something to the patients.
I’d been waiting for about five minutes when the door opened. I looked up and my tummy dropped as I saw him. Goodness, it felt like forever since I’d last seen him.
Tanner walked into the room and then stopped. The door shut behind him, and he didn’t move as he stared at me. His brown hair appeared freshly cut, buzzed on the sides, and his jaw bare of stubble. Those electric-blue eyes burned bright from behind a fringe of dark lashes. His striking face was pale. For a long moment, neither of us moved, and then I stood on shaky knees.
He came forward, his long-legged pace eating up the distance between us, and then I was in his arms. I let out a soft gasp as I squeezed my eyes shut as he held me close to his chest, and I soaked up the warmth of his body, breathed in the fresh clean scent of his cologne.
“I had no idea if I’d ever get to do this again,” he said, his voice gruff as his chin grazed the top of my head. “The last time I saw you…” He pulled back, sliding his hands to my arms. Despite everything, a tight shiver coiled down my spine. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? I wasn’t thinking—”
“No. I’m fine. Nothing really hurts anymore.” My gaze drifted to his and caught. I didn’t know what to say.
It seemed like Tanner didn’t know either, but after a few seconds, he took my hand and guided me over to the couch. We sat side by side. I expected him to let go of my hand, but he didn’t. “You look a thousand times better than last time.”
“I can imagine.” I laughed, but it was without humor. I studied our hands. “I wish you hadn’t seen me like that.”
“I wish that had never happened.”
“Me too.”
He was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know what to say. We only have an hour and I don’t want to waste a second, but all I can do is sit here and stare at you.”
Oh gosh, why did he always have to say the right stuff?
“I guess I’ll start with saying I’m happy that you were okay with seeing me. I knew you were okay, but I…I just needed to see it with my own eyes.”
“I know…you heard the call go out and that you came straight to the hospital,” I told him. “I’m sorry you had to go through any of that. I just wasn’t ready to…to see you.”
“You don’t need to apologize.” He squeezed my hand. “What’s been going on in here?”
I raised a shoulder and then became aware of what I was doing. I wasn’t being honest. I was hiding, and damn, if Tanner deserved anything from me, it wasn’t to sit here and act like a tool.
Taking a deep breath, I slipped my hand free. I couldn’t be touching him when I had to be honest. Weird, but true. “I’ve spent a lot of time talking.”
“About?”
I smiled wanly. “Everything.”
“Would you…would you tell me?” he asked.
This was hard. Putting voice to this stuff, especially to someone like Tanner, who probably had only ever seen one side of me, but it was something we focused on during my sessions with Dave. To put a voice to what I was feeling, to cope that way instead of bottling it up…and turning to a bottle.
So I told him.
I talked about always rushing toward tomorrow, my restlessness and all those quiet moments. I confided in my fear of letting my parents down and how I couldn’t settle on a future. I even told him about when I’d taken my first drink and how it felt to not care about anything, to feel like I was free, and I told him about the crash, because that feeling never lasted.
When I was done, I was exhausted. It was like shedding skin, but all of these things I spoke to Tanner about, it wasn’t the first time I gave them a voice. These were all things that Dave had snaked out of me, one meeting after another.
I exhaled loudly. “So that’s…that’s everything.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly, and I peeked at him. He was staring at the wall. “That is everything. I…”
My cheeks heated. “You’re probably wishing you hadn’t asked.”
“No. Not at all,” he replied quickly. “I just didn’t know. I mean, I knew you…I thought that there was something going on, but you’re getting help.”
I shifted. “Sometimes I wonder if I would’ve changed on my own. If I hadn’t gotten in that car and had the accident, if I would still be doing what I was doing,” I admitted.
Tanner nodded slowly. “I don’t think you’ll ever know, but you know what, it doesn’t matter. You’re doing something about all this now, and that’s what counts.”
I glanced over at him. “Really? That’s what counts?”
His brows knitted. “Yes.”
“I don’t know. I think it has to be more than that. I messed up, Tanner. I drove drunk and could’ve killed someone. I think that counts.”
“It does.” He twisted toward me. “But you didn’t. You only hurt yourself. And you’re getting help. The fact that you are facing this is a big deal. And Syd told me you didn’t fight it when your dad said you were going to treatment. Facing this takes real courage.”
Courage? I wasn’t sure about that.
His gaze searched mine. “Just in case you’re wondering, I’m not looking at you any differently, and I’m still waiting for you to come to me.”
My jaw nearly hit the floor. “What?”
He grinned a little. “Andrea, I really care about you. What I feel…” He moved his hand to his chest, above his heart. “I—”
“I’ve been diagnosed with depression. They think it’s a chemical imbalance, since I haven’t had any major life changes that would cause this, but that’s not something that is as easy to diagnose as people think it is. I have anxiety too, and it could be coming from the depression or the drinking. Or it could be a whole different set of issues. It could take months to really give a definitive diagnosis, but I’ve been self-medicating,�
� I rushed on, getting it out there. “With alcohol, and God knows what else.”
Tanner blinked. “Okay.”
A knot crept into my throat. “I think I’ve always known. I mean, I knew my head—my thoughts sometimes just didn’t make sense. Like it always went to the worst-case scenario and I…I don’t think I’m good enough or worthy enough, and those quiet moments, God, they’re killer. That’s what’s really going on with me, so please—please don’t say anything you really don’t mean.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment and then, “First off, you are fucking good enough and you are worthy. Okay? Yeah, you made a shit choice when you got behind the wheel of that car, but that’s not going to define who you are from this point on. You know why?”
My eyes widened. “Why?”
“Because you learned from your shit choice. You are still learning. You are doing everything to not make a shit choice like that again. And secondly? You have depression. So do how many million other people? I’m not trying to downplay it. I know it’s serious shit, but do you think that makes me think less of you? Depression isn’t a villain in this. The way you were trying to cope with it was. Depression isn’t the bad guy and neither are you. Not when you recognize what you’ve done.”
Tears rushed my eyes.
“And finally?” he continued. “I love you, Andrea.”
My lips parted. “Come again?”
He barked out a short laugh. “I love you. Okay? I’m not quite sure when I realized it or how long I’ve felt it, but I know that’s what I feel. Trust me. When I thought you were going to die, the panic and horror I felt? Yeah, I know how I feel.”
All I could do was stare at him.
“I’m not expecting you to say it back to me.” He gently cupped my cheeks and tilted my head back. “I don’t want you to say it back to me now, because when I hear those words, I want you to be sure. I want you to say them with only happiness in your eyes. I can wait for that. I will wait for that.”
As I stared into his eyes, in that moment, I knew that I still loved him, but I could not shake the feeling, the realization that I so did not deserve him.
I did not deserve the happy ending Dave loved so much.
Chapter 24
Andrea
“Do you really believe in happy endings?” I asked.
Dave arched a brow as he sat behind the desk. “Of course I do. Without them, what’s the point of all of this?”
It had been two weeks since I’d seen Tanner, two weeks since he’d said that he loved me and he’d wait to hear me say it with only happiness in my eyes. Two weeks where I had a hard time accepting that I deserved a happy ending.
“It’s a strange question to ask,” he commented. “May I ask why?”
The last thing I wanted to do was talk about Tanner with some oddly attractive guy. Why, oh why, did my counselor have to be a dude? “Tanner said—”
“Oh, the dreamy Tanner?” He grinned when I narrowed my eyes on him. “Continue.”
“He said that he loved me,” I told him.
Dave picked up the baseball. It was like he had a special relationship with the damn thing. “Is this a bad thing? From what you’ve said, he’s a good guy.” He threw the ball up and caught it. “Or do you not feel the same?”
My heart did a little jump. Answer enough. “I…I love him.”
“Does he suck at kissing?”
I rolled my eyes.
He chuckled and then quickly sobered as he clenched the ball. “Do you think you don’t really deserve it—the happily ever after?”
I pulled my legs up and wrapped my arms around my knees. A moment passed and Dave waited, and from prior experience, I knew he literally would sit there and wait until I opened my mouth. “I don’t know,” I said, shrugging one shoulder. “I mean, I’m a fuck-up and I’m a shitty person. I could’ve killed someone, and he…he deserves someone better than that, you know?”
“Having depression does not make you a fuck-up, Andrea.”
I frowned. “That’s not what I mean.” Or was it? I was still coming to terms with what it meant to have something that was shaping my life.
“We obviously haven’t gotten through your skull yet. Not completely. I see I still have lots of work to do,” he said, placing the ball on the desk. It rolled to a stop against a large binder. “That’s good. I like job security.”
“Ha. Ha.” My lips twitched, though. “Seriously. I just…I just want to be normal.”
“You are normal,” he replied. “Depression does not make you abnormal. Neither does anxiety, but the way you cope with it, the way you treat it, is what can make you abnormal.”
I nibbled on my lower lip, mulling that over.
“Let me ask you a question. When you volunteer at the suicide call center, do you think the people you talk to are fuck-ups?”
“God.” I scrunched up my face. “No.”
“Do you think they’re abnormal?”
“No. I think…I think they just need…” They just need help. God, I closed my eyes, exhaling softly. A few minutes passed before I reopened my eyes. “I think that’s why I volunteered there. Maybe in a way I related to them. Maybe I was coping…”
“And that would be a good coping mechanism as long as you’re not bringing that home with you.”
I hadn’t. At least as far as I knew. We’d talked about my volunteering before. Dave thought it would be a good idea if I backed off from that until I had a better grip on everything.
“I’m going to ask you another question.” Dave inclined his head. “Do you think I’m a terrible person?”
Odd question. I looked around the room. “Um, no?”
He sat back, resting his ankle on his knee as he studied me. “When I was close to your age, maybe two years older, we had a lot of things in common. I didn’t drink a lot.” He smiled. “Or at least I didn’t think I did. I just liked to relax on the weekends or whenever I was out with friends or when the day was stressing me out.”
Yeah, that sounded familiar.
“One night I was at the bar with a couple of friends and it was getting late. I had what I thought was a couple of drinks. I didn’t think I was drunk, and no one stopped me. No one was like, ‘hey, drunk guy shouldn’t be driving.’ I left. I got in my car and I started to drive home. I didn’t make it. I wrecked, but right there is where our similarities ended.”
I couldn’t look away.
“I totaled my car, but I was basically uninjured. Sure, I was bruised a bit, but I walked away from the accident with nary a scratch.” The smile faded from his lips. “But I didn’t hit a barrier wall, Andrea. I hit another car.”
At that moment, I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.
“His name was Glenn Dixon. He was thirty-six years old and he was getting off from his shift at one of the warehouses in the city,” he continued quietly. “He was married and had two children. One was four and the other was seven.” Pausing, he drew in a deep breath. “I didn’t realize I’d crossed the center line until it was too late. I tried to swerve, but it was virtually a head-on collision. He died on the scene.”
I closed my eyes then. “Oh my God…”
“My actions took his life. One decision. One choice. I got behind the wheel of a car, and although I spent time in jail for it and I’ll spend the rest of my life making damn sure I try to stop another person from making that one choice, I will never fully pay for what I did.”
Horror filled me—horror for the deceased man’s family and even for Dave, because I couldn’t imagine living with something like that. But that horror—God, that horror—was also for how close I’d come to becoming Dave.
“So, let me ask you again, Andrea,” he said, and I opened my eyes. “Am I a terrible person?”
I never answered Dave’s question. I tried to give him an answer, but I never found the right words, and it wasn’t until later that I realized there was no right or wrong answer to that.
At first, I did look a
t him differently. I hated to admit that about myself, but I couldn’t help it. He’d killed someone. Accidentally, a dozen or so years ago, but he’d made a choice that had ended with someone losing his life.
And his story, what he confided, hit close to home. That could’ve been me, but it wasn’t. Not because I did anything different or better than Dave. I had luck on my side that night. Just damn luck.
Did I think Dave was a terrible person? That was a stone I wasn’t ready to cast, and there was a good chance I would never be able to, but something about his story not only hit home for me, but shook things up hardcore.
I wasn’t Dave. Whether it was due to luck or what, I wasn’t him. I, for the most part, could walk away from all of this and move forward without major baggage. I could get to that happily ever after, but I was going to have to work hard.
So I stayed in treatment longer than was required. Not because I was hiding, but because I knew, deep down, I knew that I still needed help. I needed to learn to recognize when I was feeling depressed and what those quiet moments signified. I needed to develop better coping mechanisms, and that’s what Dave and the staff helped with. When I started to become restless, it was time to pick up a book, go watch a movie or take a walk, call a friend or visit family. I learned that I needed to open myself up. I had an amazing support system right at my fingertips. I just needed to allow myself to use them.
But I was leaving, after all that.
My suitcase was packed up and my parents would be arriving soon to pick me up. I’d briefly considered moving back in with them, but right then, I was sure I could handle being on my own.
I would be attending therapy sessions once a week and Dave was hooking me up with local AA meetings. Even though my addiction to alcohol was not as severe, it was still an addiction. The outpatient therapist would determine if I needed medication to help keep balance or if I could continue without meds.
When I left my little room for the last time, I went and saw Dave. He was in his office, with that damn baseball in his hand. I didn’t say anything as I placed my suitcase down and walked to where he stood by his desk.
