My heart twisted again, with affection and pride, and I couldn’t help but tug him down for another kiss, sparking another honk from Brennan. “That’s what I want, too. And I think we can get ourselves there.”
Dawson pulled away, then sighed in frustration, leaned back in and kissed me again, like he couldn’t stop. “Sorry,” he said. “Shit. I have to go.”
“I can tell,” I said, as Brennan kept honking. “He’s going to wake up the whole club.”
Dawson brandished a finger at Brennan, mouthing ‘wait!’ Then he pushed me up against the wall one last time, his lips curved into a smile as he kissed me. “Okay. I’m really going.”
“Go,” I said, mustering all my willpower to push him away with my hands on his shoulders. “The month’s going to fly by.”
“Don’t know if that’s true,” he said. “Gonna miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too,” I admitted.
Dawson stepped away, then heaved his duffel back onto his shoulder. “Thanks,” he said, blushing a little.
“For what?” I asked. “This is all you.”
“It’s not,” he said. “Without you, I don’t know…”
He trailed off, biting his lower lip as he cast his gaze to his feet.
“I know,” I said, because I did. I knew how much it meant to have someone believe in you—someone who thought it was worth the trouble. Thought you were worth the trouble.
Who would wait.
Dawson smiled, then steeled himself, gave me a nod, and went down the steps back to Brennan’s truck. I curled my arms around myself and watched as the truck backed out and drove away, with Dawson watching me back through the passenger side window the whole time.
I was overwhelmed by the sudden flood of emotion as soon as the truck rounded the curve and disappeared out of sight. Rehab was the right decision for Dawson—of that much I was sure. I’d been unsure about his commitment—unsure that he could tackle his problem with just meetings and force of will. I’d seen—hell, I’d experienced—firsthand how powerful addiction was, and I was scared to start trusting in him. In a future together.
Knowing he’d chosen rehab was a deep and unexpected relief. It meant he was taking his sobriety seriously. I was proud of him, shockingly proud, proud all the way to my bones. I’d hoped he’d come to terms with his problem on his own, but I hadn’t even dared to hope that he’d take this kind of step to address it. Yet, there was still a cold twist of grief in my chest that he’d be gone for a month. I’d gotten so used to his presence around the clubhouse, dependent on the rush of happiness I felt when I saw him, and now he’d be gone.
And beneath it all, the pride and the grief, was a foundation of hope. And that, possibly, was the scariest and most unexpected sensation.
I stepped back into the clubhouse. Tru had a coffee in hand and was watching me curiously.
“Aren’t you going to be late?” I asked.
“Texted my client, it’s all good,” he said. “That seemed important.”
“He’s leaving,” I admitted, and to my surprise, I felt the hot prickling of tears behind my eyes.
“What do you mean, leaving?” Tru asked, suddenly concerned. He set his coffee down and crossed the room like a shot, to stand at my side and place a hand on my shoulder. “What’s going on?”
I rubbed my eyes and then laughed, smiling and shaking my head even as the tears threatened to fall. “No, it’s—it’s a good thing. Just unexpected.”
“Where’s he going?” Tru asked, visibly confused. “You’re freaking me out, man.”
“Rehab,” I said.
Tru dropped his hand, and his eyes widened. “Rehab? Seriously?”
“Seriously,” I said. “Thirty days.”
“Wow,” Tru said. “Can’t say I expected that.”
“Me neither,” I said.
Tru motioned me back toward the kitchen, then poured me a fresh cup of coffee. “How are you feeling about it?”
“It’s weird,” I said. I wrapped my hands around the mug, letting the familiar sensation and smell ground me. I took a deep, steadying breath. “Maybe it’s selfish, but—I’m hopeful. More than anything, I want this to be a new start for him, so he can get back on his feet, but also… I really think there’s something between us. Something real. Something that we can rebuild from, into something even better.”
“I can see it when you talk about him,” Tru said. “And when you’re together.”
“But we can’t be together if he’s drinking like he was,” I said. “We both know that. And—I know he’s not getting sober for me, that never works, but… He asked me to wait for him.”
“And you said…” Tru prompted.
“Yes, obviously,” I said, then rubbed the back of my neck. “And I know rehab is only the beginning of the journey, that he has a lot of work in front of him, but I can’t help but think about what we could have together.” I glanced up at Tru and grimaced. “Does that make me an asshole?”
Tru barked a bright laugh. “No, it makes you human.” He took my coffee mug from my hands, set it aside, and the pulled me into a rough hug. “I hope to hell this all works out.”
I sighed, slumping heavily into the hug. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”
DAWSON
When we pulled up outside the rehab center, Brennan threw the truck into park, but left the engine idling. It was a simple, one-story building, Harvest Oaks Rehabilitation, just a few hours outside of Elkin Lake. Brennan had pulled right up to the glass doors that led to the intake, under the awning surrounded by well-tended flowers and a few benches.
So this was it.
I put my hand on the truck’s door handle, then paused. I swallowed before turning and looking at Brennan.
It was still early, and he still looked tired—but happy, with a relieved smile on his face and his dark red hair tamed by a well-worn beanie. He tilted his head slightly. “You ready for this?”
“Hell, no,” I admitted, and some of the anxiety swirling inside me eased at saying it. “Never will be.”
“Yeah, you are,” Brennan said. “You’re gonna kick ass. You’re doing the right thing here.”
“I think so,” I said. “Doesn’t make it any less intimidating.”
Brennan nodded.
“I just…” I sighed, then carded my hand through my hair. Now that I was about to spend a month away from Brennan, I suddenly had so much I wanted to say. “I’m sorry it got this bad.”
Brennan’s brow furrowed slightly. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You’re getting help, that’s what matters.”
“Yeah, but it’s affected the business, and our friendship. I mean… You’re my family, man.” I bit back the embarrassment of saying it because it was true. “I’m going to make up for the ways I fucked things up.”
“You will,” Brennan said. “But that’s not important right now. If anything, you should be doing this for Nix, right?”