The It's Kind Of Personal (Complete 6 Book Series)ies

by Anna Brooks

  Day thirty: “One month. Thirty fucking days since I’ve last talked to you. I wish I knew what you were doing. How you are. It’s getting cold there about now, I bet. Have you gone for a hike yet to see the leaves change color? We’re in Florida now, so it’s still hot here. I’d rather be back with you, though. We could pack a lunch and go on our favorite path. If we had a dog, he could come, too. I haven’t had anything in a month, princess. Man … that sounds so lame. And stereotypical. A drummer who’s an addict. But it’s the truth. And I’m working on fixing it. I’m keeping good on my promise to you.”

  Day thirty-seven: “I miss you.”

  * * *

  “Forgot one!” Nik elbows me as he walks by, and I allow his joke to be the final straw for the day. I grab the dirty glass he jokingly pointed at and throw it across the bar, then go for another, but he halts my movements and grabs my arms, holding them at my side.

  “Let me go!”

  “Chill. Damn, Meara.”

  “Let me fucking go!” I screech.

  “I’ll let you go if you promise not to throw anything else.”

  After a minute, I steady my breathing as my heart rate slows and nod. He releases my arms, and I slide to the floor. Thankfully, we’re already closed and there are no customers here. With bent knees, I rest my elbows on my thighs and hang my head.

  I blurt everything out to Nik, but there are no tears. I don’t think I’m physically capable of producing them anymore. Crying is all I do when I’m alone. He sits next to me and listens, but every once in a while, he’ll look away or make a grunt. I haven’t said anything to Jamie because I’m not sure I could trust him to keep it to himself. Charlotte is the only other one who knows about the baby, and it’s fucking killing me to keep everything inside. To pretend that Liam being a douche is the only reason I’m a mess right now. Sure, everyone knows now what happened that night, but they don’t know the truth. The agony I’m facing myself. How the one person I want to be here can’t be. That I question every single decision I’ve made over the past couple of months and wonder if what I’m doing is right or if I’m being selfish.

  “Why didn’t you say something before? I can’t believe you’ve been going through this alone.”

  “I have Char, but if I’m being honest, I put on a front around her because I don’t need her worrying.”

  Nik puts his arm out and I lean into his embrace and allow him to comfort me. I don’t know what it is about him or this particular moment, but I feel better just talking to him. He doesn’t treat me like a kid or judge me, he’s just here, and I need that right now. I’m afraid if I told my family, then they would make the situation worse. I don’t want words of comfort and a bunch of platitudes. I just want to move on.

  I finally yawn, and Nik chuckles. “Let’s get you upstairs, and if you give me shit for it, I’ll … I dunno, do something.”

  “No shit tonight.”

  After we lock up, he walks me to my door and before I have a chance to shut it, he sticks his foot in the crack. “I don’t really know what to say to you, Meara. I mean, you know I’ll do whatever you want me to do, right? I’ll keep it between us, I’ll tell whoever you want, I’ll—”

  “I know, and I’d appreciate it if you’d keep it between us. I just … I need to deal with this my way, and even though it’s probably not the right way, it’s my choice.”

  * * *

  Day forty-two: “We’re playing in Chicago tonight. I’m so close. If you want to see me, I’ll come to you. I’ll do anything you want, Meara, please … I’ll do anything. Text me, send a message through Jamie. Something. Anything.”

  Day forty-three: “Well, I guess you didn’t want to see me. That’s okay. It’s only been a month and a half. I still have time, right? Only a little while and then I come home. I don’t know if you’ll welcome me or not, but I’m still going to try. I’ll never stop.”

  Day forty-nine: “Bart says I should check into a rehab program. I told him that I call you every day and talk to your voicemail. He thinks it’s not healthy and it’s just a matter of time before I snap. But I don’t think that’s true. I like talking to you … well, your voicemail. Hearing your voice on the message is the highlight of my day. I look forward to it more than I should, probably. I still love you, Meara. More than you’ll ever know.”

  Day fifty-five: “We’re in fucking New York, Meara. You’ve always wanted to come here. People surround me. So many fucking people … but I’ve never felt so alone in my life. It’s not the same without you.”

  Day fifty-nine: “I love you, Meara. I miss you. God, I miss you.”

  Day sixty: …

  Chapter 15

  Liam

  “IT’S BEEN TWO MONTHS, Lee.” Jamie pats my shoulder and squeezes.

  “What? Should I just let her go? Wave good-bye and wish her a happy life?”

  He smiles sympathetically. “She hasn’t returned one of your messages. You’ve left one for her every day for the past two months.”

  I scrub my hands down my face out of frustration, but I have a clear head now and a laser-sharp focus. “I know. But look what I did. She’ll never forgive me. And what kind of man would I be if I gave up after two months? I need to prove more to her. I’m not giving up.”

  “Suit yourself.” He shuts my hotel door and I walk over to the window to look at the Seattle skyline. It’s fucking beautiful here. We don’t get hotel rooms all the time, but it’s a nice change of pace. I wish I could share it with Meara.

  My phone rings and I dive over my bed to grab it, praying that it’s her. It’s not. My sponsor went home for his grandson’s birthday for a couple of days, but he still calls to check on me a half dozen times a day.

  “Hi, Bart.”

  “Hey, kiddo. How’s it going?”

  “Ehh. Meara still hasn’t returned my calls.”

  “Listen, kid. I need to tell you something.”

  At the serious tone of his voice, I sit up on the bed. “Yeah?”

  “Your old man … he passed away this morning.”

  “What?” I just talked to him a few weeks ago.

  “I’m really sorry. Your mom called me, not sure of how to tell you the news. She was afraid it might put you over the edge.”

  “When’s the funeral?”

  “Oh, umm. I don’t know details yet. I thought you might like to plan—”

  “No, I’ll pay someone. Can you do it for me? Or find someone. Then just tell me when the funeral is. I’ll show up for it.”

  I click my phone off after he lectures me about sobriety and focus and continue staring at the lights. My initial thought is to punch something. Then I think I want something to drink, but I quickly shut that down, not even using it as an option. I grab my phone to call Meara, my automatic instinct, but before I can push send, I throw my phone across the room. She doesn’t care about me anymore.

  I suppose now is a good time for a pity party. My fists leave holes in the wall, and I shatter the lamp when it hits the floor. Everything in my life is falling apart. And in a couple of months when I’m done with the band, I’m going home to nothing.

  “Ha!”

  I laugh to myself and pace across the floor. The mini bar stares at me. Mocks me. I take a step toward it and then stop. It’s not worth it. Fuck, maybe it is. What do I have to lose? I’ve already lost Meara … nothing else matters. Another step closer. But I stop when there’s a knock on the door.

  I bite the inside of my cheek and answer it.

  Jamie gives me a hug and shuts the door behind him. “You all right?”

  “I guess.”

  “What can I do?” He looks around and his eyes widen. “Aside from writing the hotel a fat check.”

  I actually chuckle at that. “Go back to what you were doing ten minutes ago. I’m good.”

  “When will you get it through your fucking head that we’re here for you, man? All of us. We know this isn’t easy. You can’t just sit around all day staring at your phone a
nd pretending the outside world doesn’t exist. I know you’re hurting man, but you’ve gotta start to live your life again.”

  “Really?” I laugh. “You know? You understand? You’ve been with one woman your whole life. She’s been your entire fucking life, and because you’re a weak ass addict, you lost her? You’ve been there? You just found out your dad died, and the last time you talked to him you blamed him for your shit ass life?”

  Jesus, what is my problem? I sound like a little bitch, whining like a pussy.

  “No, I haven’t. But I know that you’re my brother and I can feel your fucking pain. And I want to help you. ‘Cause you’re not weak, Liam. You and I both know it.”

  “I used to think so.” I sit on the bed and point at the mini bar. “I was on my way over there before you knocked.”

  “So, you were tempted, but you didn’t do anything about it.”

  “I would have.”

  “You just found out your dad died. Give yourself a break.”

  “So every time something bad happens, you need to come to my rescue so I don’t fall off the wagon again. Yeah, that’s not weak.” I laugh humorlessly.

  He surprises me by grabbing the little bottles and bringing them over to me. “Here. If you were gonna do it anyway, might as well not drink alone, right?”

  “Fuck you.” I slap his hand away, but he just opens the cap and takes a swig of vodka, then puts it in front of my face. “What the hell, Jamie?”

  “You sure you don’t want some?” His words taunt me.

  I shake my head and turn my back to him, all my fight just gone at this point.

  “You are strong, Liam. You just need to believe in yourself as much as everyone else does.”

  The door shuts quietly behind me and when I finally turn around, I stare at the half-empty bottle on the floor.

  * * *

  Thankfully and surprisingly, my dad had a will, and he had very specific demands about not wanting a funeral. He didn’t want to have anything where people stood around awkwardly and reminisced about his life, even though I didn’t even think he had any friends. I respected his wishes and had his body cremated. No wake, no saying good-bye. Somehow, the record label was sympathetic to my situation and gave me a few days off, only having to reschedule one show.

  I flew in late last night and was making arrangements all day today with his lawyer and the funeral home. I’m sitting in my dad’s recliner now, looking around his house. He doesn’t have much but a bunch of shit. Lots of garbage, old newspapers, some knick-knacks. It would probably be a good idea to look through his stuff before I go back since I’m just going to hire a company to come through here and clean it out before I sell his house.

  My dad had been a factory worker his whole life. He had advanced pretty high up in the company until his addiction got the better of him, causing him to miss too many days of work. He was fired, my mom divorced him, and then he kept getting dead-end factory job after dead-end factory job. He lived on his social security, but I sent him money every month, so I knew he was okay financially. Did that make me an enabler? Who knows, but as much as I hated him for some of the things he did, he was still my dad.

  I grab a big black trash bag and start walking around to throw out all the garbage. The small living room fills four bags, and I start in the kitchen, gagging at the moldy food in the sink. Once I reach the cabinet where I know he kept his stock, I give myself a silent pep talk. The old cigar box grazes my fingers and I throw it in the bag as fast as I can. I swipe my arm on the shelf and breathe a sigh of relief when everything crashes to the bottom of the bag.

  After I tie three knots in the bag, I throw it across the room and crumple to the ground. I’ve felt so much anger these past couple of months. I’ve been pissed off. I’ve even felt sorry for myself. But one thing I never allowed was for me to be sad … until now. I stick my legs straight out and lean against the wall. Like God could even hear me, I tilt my head up and say a silent prayer, and then let the floodgates open.

  This is going to be me. I’ll turn into my dad. A drunk loser with nobody to love him. He did have people who loved him at one point and a family to come home to, but he ruined that. Just like me. I’m exactly like him. I should have listened to him the last time I was here and walked away. I had it under control with the alcohol. I had no fucking reason to start with the harder shit again.

  “Fuck!” I yell into the empty house, my pain echoing off the walls.

  Somehow, I become even weaker and roll to my side, lying on the sticky linoleum floor. Finally accepting my feelings and allowing the sadness to drain out of me, I close my eyes and pray that when I wake up all of this will just be a really long nightmare.

  Chapter 16

  Meara

  “HE DIDN’T CALL ME yesterday.”

  “Okay. How does that make you feel?”

  “Mad. Shitty. Not important.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “Because he’s not supposed to give up that easy. He’s supposed to grovel for longer than that.” I smile through the receiver, even though she can’t see me.

  Elizabeth chuckles on the other end of the phone. “Does he know that? I mean you haven’t talked to him at all, so how is he supposed to know that you want to give him another chance?” Elizabeth is Brandon and Travis’ mom and a really good therapist. Charlotte recommended her, and I’ve been talking to her about once a week. I needed somebody to talk to without being judged. I like her a lot, so I called her the night after I had my breakdown with Nik and told her everything. When I realized how much better I felt after talking to him, well, let’s face it, talking to a guy about feelings is like talking to a brick wall … I figured it couldn’t hurt to try it with a professional. She’s really helped to open my eyes and makes everything seem so clear. The best part is that I don’t feel like she judges me or is secretly accusing me of making shitty choices or thinks I’m a bitch for what I’m doing with Liam.

  “He doesn’t, I suppose,” I admit.

  “Maybe he gave himself a two-month deadline and said that if you didn’t answer him, he would respect your wishes and leave you alone. Wasn’t that what you wanted? For him to leave you alone?”

  “Dammit. Why do you have to make so much sense?”

  One of the things she’s helped me to understand is that addiction is a lifelong disease. It’s not something that just goes away. She’s helped me to respect that Liam is under a lot of pressure with his band and his career. He wants to be with me but feels an obligation to stay loyal to his bandmates. I knew all of this; Liam and I had talked about it in the past, but I guess hearing someone else explain it put it into perspective.

  Another thing we talked about was that more than likely he is a highly functioning addict. Because Elizabeth has never actually talked to Liam, she was just trying to explain to me some of the symptoms. A person who has an addiction, but on the outside appears, for all intents and purposes, ‘normal.’ Highly functioning addicts can lead a double life in a sense, and when I went home and researched it, I was amazed at how much the description fits Liam.

  He has a problem and what kind of person, what kind of partner, would I be if I walked away from him? I’m still devastated by the loss of the baby. I’m not ready to talk to Liam about it yet, but I think it’s time to get over my own issues and be there for him. Shutting myself off from his life isn’t helping at all. And if I’m being honest, even though it’s selfish, focusing on him takes the torment away from what I’ve been feeling.

  “I’m glad I could help.”

  “I’m sorry to bug you.”

  “It’s fine. I was just reading.”

  “Thanks, Elizabeth.”

  “Anytime, Meara. I mean that.”

  I hang up with her and find Liam in my contacts. I stare at his face on the screen and smile at the man I love. God, I’m an idiot. I fucking love him. Nothing can ever change that.

  “Meara?” Liam’s voice sounds as shocked as I am for
making this call.

  “Two months!” I screech. “You give up after two months! I waited by my phone all fucking night yesterday. I didn’t sleep waiting for you to call. To hear your voice. To know that you’re okay. All I get is two months and then you give up on me?”

  I’ve come to learn that everything happens for a reason. There are so many factors at play here; I just have to believe that there’s a lesson to be learned from all of this.

  “I didn’t give up.” There isn’t even any fight left in his voice.

  “You didn’t call.”

  “Dad died. I flew back yesterday and I’ve been busy making arrangements all day today. I fell asleep on his nasty ass floor an hour ago. I’m sorry.”

  Words don’t form. Instead, I hang up on him and run down the stairs as fast as I can. The pub is lively tonight, but since I hired Lisa, I’m able to actually take some time off and not work fourteen and sixteen hour days anymore. I ignored all the calls from my mom yesterday and even the one from his mom. Now I know why they were calling me.

  I break every traffic law known to man and park in front of his dad’s house. The front door is locked, so I bang on it. When Liam opens it, I throw myself into his arms, wrapping my legs around him and squeezing the shit out of him.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. For more reasons than I can say right now.