In rehab, I was learning how to remove those obstacles. Even the ones I hadn’t realized were there.
“And how are you feeling now?” Dr. Wyatt asked. “You’ve been sober for three weeks. That’s an accomplishment.”
“Good,” I said without hesitation. “I mean, the thought of going back into the ‘real world’, I guess, is a little intimidating. But I’m ready to start making amends for the things I’ve done.”
I had a lot of apologizing to do, and a lot of trust to regain. Maybe it was naïve, or just the rose-colored glasses from being here in rehab, but I finally felt like I’d be able to do it. Like I had the skills, and the grit, required to fix things with Brennan and the club.
“And,” I added, “I’m really ready to see Nix again.”
Understatement of the century. I longed for him—for his touch, and his kiss, and his laugh, and the cute way he arched one brow when I did something that particularly amused him.
Dr. Wyatt frowned slightly. “I know it’s thrilling to finish rehab and jump back into a potential relationship, but we strongly advise against it,” she said. I moved to respond, but she just shook her head. “I know you’ve heard me say this before, but I do need to reiterate. While you’re in early recovery, recovery needs to be your priority. That’s why we strongly advise people against starting relationships while they’re working through the steps.”
I nodded. “I know,” I said. “And recovery is my priority—that’s why I’m here. I’m here for me, but I can’t deny that learning what Nix went through pushed me to think about it seriously. That I might not have gotten here yet without his experience and support. And that’s the kind of support I’m going to need most when I leave here.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she dropped the subject. We’d had this discussion more than a few times. I understood where she was coming from, and I knew it was the policy of the rehab facility to reiterate that recommendation. But if the past few months had taught me anything, it was that Nix was a source of stability in my life, and a boon to my sobriety, not a threat to it. And this wasn’t a new relationship—but it was a new chapter.
A chapter I was ready to start.
“So what are your plans for next week?” Dr. Wyatt asked. “Once you’re back out in the world.”
“I’ve already planned out the meetings I’ll be going to,” I said with a nod. “And don’t worry, it’s not Nix’s group. There’s another group in Junee, and two in Elkin Lake, so I’ll be at three or four a week—at least for the first few weeks.”
“Good,” she said with a smile, noting that on her clipboard.
“I’ll be working through the steps,” I said. “And hopefully at one of these meetings, I’ll find a sponsor organically.”
“And if not, you know how to reach us for support,” Dr. Wyatt said.
“Right,” I said.
“What about your mother?” she asked.
“Avoiding,” I said immediately, then softened it with a self-aware smile. “I mean, I’ll be avoiding as many triggers as I can. Like bars, obviously, and late-night parties at the clubhouse, and I’ll be changing my nightly routine so I don’t start craving beers at certain times. But Mom’s a huge trigger, so I’ll be avoiding her while I’m getting myself set up. And once I get my feet under me, I’m going to reach out to her. But not until I’m solid with my own sobriety.”
Dr. Wyatt smiled proudly, nodding, clearly happy with my answers. I couldn’t help but return the smile. I’d come a long way in these few weeks, and I wouldn’t have been able to do it without her guidance.
The session ended, and I stood up with a grateful smile.
“Merry Christmas,” she said as I turned to leave.
I started. “Is it?” I asked.
“Yep,” she said with a smile. “Sneaks up on you, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Wow.”
“Enjoy it,” she said. “I think they’re watching Die Hard in the common room.”
“Well, that’s my afternoon then,” I said with a grin, then threw her a cheerful wave as I walked out of the room.
With nothing else on my schedule for the day, I supposed I would end up watching the movie with the other residents stuck here on Christmas Day. It’d be nice to be spending it with Nix, and Brennan, and the club, but there’d be other Christmases. The disappointment at missing it didn’t hit nearly as hard as I’d thought it might.
I knew the best gift I could give myself—and my loved ones—was my own sobriety. And if I stuck to this, next year would be different. Next year would be better.
21
Nix
“All right!” Blade cheered as he adjusted the Santa hat perched haphazardly on his head. “Where’s the coffee? I want to get this show on the road!”
He peered at the coffeemaker, still brewing the third pot of the morning, and then started distributing presents from underneath the enormous, gaudily decorated Christmas tree.
The clubhouse wasn’t quite as crowded as it was on Thanksgiving—many of the members spent Christmas morning at family homes—but a lot of us celebrated together, too. Logan and Rebel were laughing together in the kitchen with Gunnar and Raven, while Coop, Dante, and Heath lounged on the couch. Others were outside on the back deck, enjoying the chilly weather with coffee and hot cocoa, and I was at the table with Brennan at my side.
It was noisy, and cozy, and it felt like home. I was so grateful to be here, in this gorgeously renovated clubhouse full of laughter, smelling of coffee and freshly baked Christmas cookies. There was only one thing that could make it better.
Brennan nudged me, giving me a little smile like he could read my mind.
“What?” I asked, just a tiny bit petulantly.
“You’ve got that wistful look on your face,” Brennan teased. “That same one you get when you spend too much time gazing longingly at your phone.”
“Sorry,” I said. “It’s just…”
“I know,” Brennan said. “I wish Dawson were here, too.”
My cheeks flushed, but I nodded in agreement. “I miss him.”
“I do too,” Brennan said. “Plus, you know, I think he’d like to spend the holidays with a big, supportive family like this.” He swept his arm around the room demonstratively. “This isn’t exactly what our last few Christmases have been like, at least.”
“I think so, too,” I said with a small sigh. “I want that for him.”
“He’s in the right place this Christmas, though,” Brennan said, squeezing my shoulder affectionately. “I know you know that.”
“I do,” I said. “Still sucks a little, though. I love Christmas.”
“Who doesn’t?” Brennan said with a grin. “Luckily, we’ll have plenty more.”
Something in my chest twisted at the implication. I’d dared to imagine that there’d be more holidays in our future, and it sounded like Brennan did, too. It felt good to know that it wasn’t just me that was looking wide-eyed and hopeful toward the future.