At first, I did look at him differently. I hated to admit that about myself, but I couldn’t help it. He’d killed someone. Accidentally, a dozen or so years ago, but he’d made a choice that had ended with someone losing his life.
And his story, what he confided, hit close to home. That could’ve been me, but it wasn’t. Not because I did anything different or better than Dave. I had luck on my side that night. Just damn luck.
Did I think Dave was a terrible person? That was a stone I wasn’t ready to cast, and there was a good chance I would never be able to, but something about his story not only hit home for me, but shook things up hardcore.
I wasn’t Dave. Whether it was due to luck or what, I wasn’t him. I, for the most part, could walk away from all of this and move forward without major baggage. I could get to that happily ever after, but I was going to have to work hard.
So I stayed in treatment longer than was required. Not because I was hiding, but because I knew, deep down, I knew that I still needed help. I needed to learn to recognize when I was feeling depressed and what those quiet moments signified. I needed to develop better coping mechanisms, and that’s what Dave and the staff helped with. When I started to become restless, it was time to pick up a book, go watch a movie or take a walk, call a friend or visit family. I learned that I needed to open myself up. I had an amazing support system right at my fingertips. I just needed to allow myself to use them.
But I was leaving, after all that.
My suitcase was packed up and my parents would be arriving soon to pick me up. I’d briefly considered moving back in with them, but right then, I was sure I could handle being on my own.
I would be attending therapy sessions once a week and Dave was hooking me up with local AA meetings. Even though my addiction to alcohol was not as severe, it was still an addiction. The outpatient therapist would determine if I needed medication to help keep balance or if I could continue without meds.
When I left my little room for the last time, I went and saw Dave. He was in his office, with that damn baseball in his hand. I didn’t say anything as I placed my suitcase down and walked to where he stood by his desk.
I stretched out, wrapped my arms around him, and gave him a quick, tight hug. Settling back, I exhaled softly. “Thank you. For everything.”
A quirky grin appeared. “You’re going to be okay.”
“I know,” I said, without hesitation. “And even if I’m not okay, I’m going to be okay.”
“Right.”
I nodded and then turned, heading back to my suitcase. “Goodbye, Dave.”
“Make yourself proud,” he called as I walked out. “Don’t forget, Andrea, make yourself proud.”
That was something I wouldn’t forget as I walked down the wide hall, toward the doors leading to the reception area. Make yourself proud. That’s what mattered, because I could still be a daughter, a sister, a friend, and maybe even a girlfriend one day. I could be a teacher or I could be whatever I wanted. I could be all these things.
This was the new normal—my new normal, and I was going to be brave. I was going to use that courage some had seen in me long before I ever had.
Tanner
My legs burned and my heart thundered as my sneakers pounded on the treadmill. The whole damn thing was shaking, but I didn’t slow down. It was early, way too damn early to be up and running, but once I woke up, I couldn’t go back to sleep.
Forty-two days.
It had been forty-two days since I’d last seen Andrea in the treatment facility. And those forty-two days felt like a lifetime ago.
I knew she was out. She’d been out for the last week and a half, according to Sydney, and I hadn’t heard from her. There was an ache in my chest, but I’d meant what I’d said to her that day. I would wait as long as she needed me to and I wanted her to come to me when she was ready.
I was not and could not be her first priority right then. I understood that and believed in that a hundred percent. She needed to take care of herself first, and if that required another forty-two days, then so be it.
But I missed her. Fuck. I missed her.
I missed her snappy comebacks and the way she gave as good as she got. I missed the sound of her husky, throaty laugh and the way her brown eyes reminded me of aged whiskey. I missed those tiny, feminine sounds she made, and I missed the way she said my name.
I simply just missed her.
And truthfully, I didn’t think of her differently. Yeah, I’d wanted to yell at her when I found out she’d been drinking and driving—she could’ve killed someone or herself. I was pissed, fucking in a rage, but the fact that she’d immediately gotten treatment and held herself responsible for her actions lessened that anger pretty quickly.
I was just happy that she finally had an answer for why she turned to alcohol—that we all had an answer to why. Knowledge was everything, the only way she could get better. Having depression didn’t make me think less of her. Honestly, if anyone thought less of someone because of that, they could go fuck themselves.
A huge part of me wanted to be there for her right then—wanted to help her in any way possible, to take care of her. But I knew she didn’t need that. Andrea didn’t need me to swoop in and save her. I knew damn well she could save herself.
She would save herself.
A beep intruded on the music blasting from my phone.
Slowing down, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and hit the screen, revealing the text message.
I straightened and almost fell off the damn machine. Smacking the stop button, I stared at the message, no longer feeling the burn in my calves or my lungs as my lips spread into a wide smile.
Chapter 25
Andrea
A breeze rolled across campus, stirring the loose curls around my face. An hour had passed since Syd had dropped me off and I’d texted Tanner. My phone was in my purse beside me, and I hadn’t obsessively checked it. I didn’t know if he would come or not. It had been a while since he’d visited me in rehab and I’d gotten out. For all I knew, he could’ve moved on. It wasn’t like I expected him to seriously wait for me. People’s lives changed in a matter of minutes. That was the way life was, and he’d said he loved me, but while love was strong, things…things could change.
It would suck if they had. Admittedly, there were many moments while in treatment that I did cling to the idea of him and me, the promise of a sweet future, and that dream had helped get me through the roughest of the moments, but if there wasn’t going to be us…I was going to be okay in the end. I’d be sad. I’d cry. And I’d want to take a drink, but I wouldn’t.