The alarm sounded on my nightstand, reminding me I was fucking late for my first meeting with my new counselor. Any other time I’ve gone to rehab, I spent the first three days detoxing. This time, I spent nearly a week getting evaluated by a bunch of pricks who honestly believe they’ll be able to heal me. That they’ll tame the beast inside of me. Little do they know, I’m a lost cause. If a man can’t get right for his mentally ill wife who is carrying his child, he’ll never get right.
Swinging my legs over the edge of my bed, I wince. My ribs are still bruised from those cocksuckers and my face resembles something out of a horror flick. I push through the pain and grab the notebook sitting on the nightstand. Schwartz says he can’t make any promises but if I stick to my program, I might get me an early release. Maybe a month knocked off the ten. I’ll still miss the birth not to mention her entire pregnancy. Watching Lacey grow, every doctor’s visit and all the cravings. I’m going to miss it all.
The only thing keeping me going now is the sonogram photo Schwartz had sent over with my clothes and the foolish belief, I might be able to make Lacey forgive me once I get out of here. With the photo tucked safely in my back pocket and the notebook in my hand, I exit my room and follow the signs guiding me to the gardens. Apparently, I got the quirky counselor who thinks offices are stuffy and would rather dissect her patients in the great outdoors. I hope it fucking rains.
I push open the glass doors and make my way down across the pavers that lead to the rose garden. Since the state doesn’t pay for court-appointed rehab, I got to choose where I wanted to go. Schwartz shoved a bunch of pamphlets in my face and without bothering to read them, I picked this joint. Mainly because it wasn’t too far from home. I didn’t expect many visitors, but if Lacey got the urge to see me, I wanted it to be a possibility and according to the staff here, family plays a big role in the recovery process. I didn’t bother to tell them my family was basically nonexistent.
It seemed as though Lacey wasn’t the only one to wash her hands of me. Jack never visited me in the hospital. After Lacey left, Schwartz returned and told me Jack had taken her there. I asked him if he thought he’d return but my lawyer quickly made it clear he wasn’t Jack Parrish’s keeper. He never came back, and before I was carted here Schwartz threw me a final bone, revealing Lacey was moving in with Jack and Reina.
I didn’t hate the idea, especially since those cunts broke into our home. It also gave me peace of mind knowing she wasn’t going through the pregnancy alone. Her father would hold her hair back if she got sick and Reina would make sure she never went to the doctor alone. They’d slide into my shoes and though they couldn’t fill the void of a partner, they would do whatever possible to keep her maker at bay while she was off her meds.
Spotting my counselor in some sort of weird yoga pose, I come to a stop and clear my throat. Did I mention if I don’t complete the treatment here, I’ll have to do ten months in jail for possession? I gotta keep reminding myself of that every time I want to book it the hell out of here.
“Dominic,” Sunny greets. If you’ve ever watched Meet The Fockers and remember Barbara Streisand’s character then you got a clear visual of Sunny. It’s fucking uncanny.
I don’t correct her and tell her to call me Blackie and I’m not sure why. Instead, I toss the notebook on the small patio table and cross my arms against my chest as she rolls up her yoga mat.
“You’re late,” she chastises. There isn’t much bark to her bite, though, because she basically sings the words. “Don’t make a habit of it,” she adds, taking a seat in one of the Raritan chairs. “Did you do your assignment?”
“Yeah,” I sigh, tipping my chin towards the book. After our initial meeting, Sunny handed me that book and instructed me to list all the reasons I wanted to live a clean and sober lifestyle.
“Take a seat,” she says, waving a hand to the chair across from her. Reluctantly, I do as I’m told and watch as she takes the book and opens it to the first page. A frown ticks her lips as she reads the single name on the page. “This is it?” she questions, pointing to Lacey’s name.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I glance at the notebook. Last night when I sat down and opened the book, I contemplated what I should write. My first list was a lot longer than the one Sunny is currently staring at and contained the baby, Jack—even the club which is a stretch considering I’m not sure where I stand with my brothers. But then I thought about Bishop and how he tried to get himself straight for his boy. That didn’t bode too well for the bastard and I think that’s because he probably should’ve tried to get a handle on his addiction before Conner was born. Maybe if he had allowed himself to fall for the mother of his child instead of his drugs, he would’ve gotten clean sooner. He could have given himself a fighting chance at being a good dad to his son and spared that sweet boy all that heartache.
Sunny rips the sheet of paper from the notebook much the same as I tore the original list last night. I watch as she crumbles the paper into a ball and lifts an eyebrow when she tosses it across the garden.
“That’s bullshit,” she says, leaning back against the chair. “Noble, but still a crock of shit.”
“Excuse me?”
“How many times have you been to rehab?”
I open my mouth to answer but she doesn’t give me a chance. Instead, she waves a hand dismissively and I smack my lips together as she continues.
“Dominic, I understand wanting to be a better person for the people you love. I’ve been there. Hell, ninety percent of the people here, counselors and addicts, all have been where you’re at. The thing is, that will only take your recovery so far. It can’t be about your wife or even the child you’re expecting together. If you truly want to beat your addictions, you have to do it for yourself. You have to make peace with yourself and be able to look in the mirror and like what you see. You have to love yourself enough to take care of yourself.”
Lacey’s voice rings in my ears.
You just have to love yourself a bit more than you love everyone else.
“Tell me something, Dominic,” Sunny continues. “When you met your wife were you using?”
Trying to shake Lacey’s voice, I stare at her for a minute, processing her question.
“She was just a girl when I first met her,” I answer. “I was married to another woman and Lacey wasn’t even on my radar. She was just my brother’s daughter. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“When did she become more?”
“Years later,” I reply, recalling the day she stumbled into the clubhouse. “My first wife died of an overdose and I was in a bad place. I was drinking and using,” I admit, raking my fingers roughly through my hair. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“So, you were high when you got together?” she prods.
“No,” I growl. “I know what you’re trying to do,” I hiss, pointing an accusing finger in her face.
“What am I trying to do?” she asks, feigning innocence.
“You’re trying to discredit my marriage by saying I was high and incoherent when I fell for Lacey. I fucking love her. High, sober, any which way, I love her. I might’ve been fucked up when I first took her, but I was fucking straight as a pin when I realized I loved her, and I was never surer of anything in my life as I was when I realized I wanted to spend the rest of my life loving her.”