Sunny smiles sadly at my declaration, folding her hands on top of the notebook as she leans closer.
“How many times have you relapsed since you and Lacey got together?”
“Fuck if I know,” I mutter, looking away from her. “Too many times, but it was no fault of hers.”
“Of course not,” she agrees. “Your addictions are yours and yours alone. She doesn’t control them, but they nonetheless affect her. Can you tell me how she reacts when you relapse?”
“Lacey is a certified drug counselor,” I reveal, shrugging my shoulders. “I don’t have to tell you how she reacts, isn’t that something you should know?”
“She’s a counselor, but she’s also your wife, Dominic,” she replies. “It’s a very fine line. Please answer the question.”
Sighing, I cross my arms against my chest. All the times I’ve apologized flash before my eyes. It doesn’t matter how many times I disappoint her or break her heart; she’s always there assuring me it’s okay. She puts her faith in me and trusts I’ll do better even when I’ve proved I’m incapable of being what she deserves.
“She forgives me,” I rasp, slicing my eyes back to Sunny. “Time and time again she forgives me.”
“Because she loves you, Dominic, and it’s easier to forgive someone who hurts you than ever live without them. You can spend the next ten months telling yourself you’re going to get well for her, but the truth is, Lacey will take you any way she can have you. Holding your hand as you battle addiction is better than never holding your hand again. Do you understand what I’m trying to say to you?”
“You’re saying her love enables me.”
“I’m saying if you don’t make this recovery about you, you will never fully heal. You’ll eventually relapse because Lacey’s love is a sure thing. It doesn’t falter no matter how many times you hurt her.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” I admit. “Everyone has a breaking point and me not being there for her during her pregnancy or…” I pause as I choke on the words. “…not being there for the birth of our child…well, I’m not so sure she’ll ever forgive that.”
“Yesterday is not ours to recover, Dominic, but tomorrow is ours for us to win or lose,” she says softly. “You’ve been benched from the game but it’s not over until the time on the clock runs out.” She hands me the notebook and taps a finger to the cover. “For your next assignment, I want you to list five of things you like about yourself. It’s time to forgive and learn how to love yourself.”
Later that night I sat in my room with the notebook in front of me and stared at the blank pages. There wasn’t a single thing I liked about myself.
Not fucking one.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Lacey
I never went back home. After leaving the hospital, my father took me back to his house and sent Nico to grab some of my stuff. I didn’t put up much of fight because the truth was, I couldn’t bring myself to go back inside that house. It had nothing to do with the break-in either. Riggs and a few of the guys had gone in and cleaned up the mess Javier’s men had made. They even applied a fresh coat of paint to all the walls, leaving no trace of the cartel behind. I couldn’t go home because I didn’t want to be reminded of Blackie.
To say I was devastated would be the understatement of the year. In hindsight, I knew rehab was probably the best thing for my husband, but I still hated the idea of him being gone. I resented him something fierce. It didn’t help that I had no contact with him and wouldn’t for at least a month. Every day that passed I felt more and more alone.
Abandoned.
Discarded like a used toy.
Strange considering I was surrounded by people.
My mom returned from her vacation the week after Blackie was admitted to an inpatient rehab in New Jersey and I finally caught her up to speed on what a mess my life had become. Between her, my dad and Reina, there was always someone on Lacey duty. I felt bad for imposing on my dad and Reina, especially since they were just finding their bearings after suffering their own tragic ordeal, but I knew it was their way of making sure I didn’t lose my fucking mind and so I let them rally around me.
I wish I could say it helped, that their love and support overpowered my maker, but the days were long, and my treacherous mind always managed to find an hour or two to wreak havoc on me. Some days she sank her claws into me before the sun rose, other days she got me at night. Those were the worst. She kept me awake for hours, filling my head with vile thoughts and sometimes I found myself wishing I wasn’t pregnant at all. How horrible is that? I wished for this baby. I prayed for her and here I was thinking how easy life would be if she didn’t exist. I’d wake the next morning feeling disgusted by my own thoughts and want so badly to hurt myself. Then, I’d place my hand over my belly and apologize to the child growing inside of me, realizing she hurts when I hurt.
I never shared that with anyone.
Instead, I keep my grim thoughts to myself, fix my mask to my face and go on with my day. I don’t know if anyone buys my façade, but I like to think I’m giving the people who care about me the performance of a lifetime. That my efforts aren’t wasted. That they don’t see through me.
A knock sounds on my door, forcing me to pull the pillow away from my face.
“Lace, are you descent?” my dad calls from the other end.
Sighing, I toss the pillow to the side. All I want is to sleep. He will never let that happen, though. Since he’s hung up his leathers, he’s doesn’t know what to do with himself and is up at the crack of dawn, cooking breakfast for everyone. Until recently, I didn’t know my father knew how to crack an egg.
“Yeah, Dad,” I mutter, forcing myself to sit up. The door opens, and he pokes his head into my childhood room. “It’s nearly noon,” he reveals.
Great, so he’s moved onto serving lunch now.
“I didn’t sleep very well last night,” I reply, pushing the blanket off me as he opens the door wider and makes his way towards the windows. In one quick motion, he draws the blinds up. The sun shines through the pane, temporarily blinding me and elicits a groan from me.
“Your mother is going to be here soon,” he says as he stares at me worriedly.
“What for? She was here two days ago.”
“She’s taking you shopping,” he says pointedly. “I’m sick of seeing you wear clothes that don’t fit you.”
Narrowing my eyes, I worry my lower lip between my teeth and glance down at my attire. Of course they don’t fit. I’m wearing a pair of Blackie’s sweat pants and one of his t-shirts. I started to wear his clothes because it made me feel close to him, but then I realized my jeans felt a little too snug. Technically, I didn’t have a bump. If anything, I looked bloated and well, my hips were slightly rounder. My boobs, however, were a different story. They were gigantic and wearing Blackie’s oversized t-shirts made it okay for me not to wear a bra.
So I resembled a bum…at least I was comfortable.
“I’m not buying clothes,” I argue. “I’m barely showing. When people can look at me and tell I’m pregnant is when I’ll go shopping.”