“She’ll never take me back.” I clasp my hands together and sigh.
“Maybe she won’t,” he reasons. “But you can still show her you’re a decent man. Prove to her people can change. Go from there. I doubt it’ll be easy, but you have to try. Stop sitting back and expecting everything to fall in your lap. It fucking won’t, Rush. Get off your ass and work for it.”
I reach out and clasp my hand to his.
“Brothers?” I ask.
He grins back at me. “Always.” Letting go, he adds, “I’m proud of you, man. Now, don’t make me take those words back. Prove to me, to Kira, to yourself that you’re better than this.”
“I will,” I vow, feeling a blanket of acceptance fall over my shoulders.
I’ve accepted myself as I am now, who I’ve become, but I’ve also accepted who I can be.
It won’t be easy, it won’t be quick, but things are going to change.
33
Kira
Walking across campus, my backpack weighs me down. It’s heavy with textbooks, and with my growing belly I feel lopsided.
I get looks on campus now, people staring at my pregnant stomach. I glare right back, because I don’t have time for judgmental assholes. I covered my bases, but fate had other plans for me—a fate that seems to include a son.
It’s weird to no longer call the baby an it. It’s a he. A little boy.
A son I have the responsibility to raise right, not to be like my father or his. It’s not going to be an easy task, but I’m ready to rise to the challenge. I owe it to him to give him the best shot at life.
My phone blares in my pocket and I curse, yanking my phone out.
I finally get the phone out of my pocket and answer. “Mia?”
“Why is it I see you loping across campus like the Hunchback of Notre Dame?”
“Where are you?” I spin around, looking for her.
“Answer the question.”
“Um … because I just got out of class,” I explain in a duh tone.
“Today is your first session with Dr. Franklin. Get your ass over there.”
“Shit,” I curse. “I totally forgot.”
“Well, unforget and get your ass in gear. Move, move, move!”
Suddenly she appears right behind me and I drop my phone.
“Don’t scare me like that,” I scold, slightly out of breath. “Scaring a pregnant lady should be a crime.”
“Whatever.” She bends down and hands me my phone. “I finally got you to agree to seeing a therapist and I’m not about to let you revoke on this promise. Now, go.” She points to the parking lot.
“I’m going—you’re the one who stopped me.”
“But did you remember your appointment?”
I give her a sheepish look.
“That’s what I thought.” She flips her hair over her shoulder. “Now, leave. Skedaddle.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I take off for my car and reach it in a few minutes. Placing my bag on the passenger side I quickly put the car in reverse and back out of the space.
Thankfully, Dr. Franklin’s office isn’t far from the campus.
I think I subconsciously forgot the appointment I reluctantly agreed to because it’s fucking scary to sit down and talk to someone about my issues. They feel silly when I voice them out loud—childish somehow. But those issues are engrained deeply into me, because they hurt me.
Parking my car in the back lot, I enter the old building with peeling blue paint on the siding and find a kind looking older receptionist sitting behind a counter.
“Good afternoon, dear. You can sign in here.” She points to a clipboard.
With a sigh I add my name and arrival time, before sitting down in one of the hard plastic seats.
I look around at the cornflower blue walls, and the painted pictures of historical buildings downtown.
Run, my subconscious tells me. The desire to flee is strong. Nothing good or useful can possibly come from this. What can this person help me realize that I haven’t already?
My hands wrap around the armrest of the chair, knuckles turning white.
“Kira?”
My head jerks up at the sound of my name and I’m surprised to find a younger looking woman standing there. Her blonde hair is perfectly curled and I’m slightly envious of her red lip color. If I wasn’t here to relive horrors, I’d have to ask her where I can get it.
Forcing my body out of the chair I stand and walk the six steps to her—yes, I count them.
“It’s nice to meet you, Kira.” She shakes my hand and I’m surprised by the warmth and softness of hers.
“You must be Dr. Franklin?” I ask, slightly shocked a woman this young could possibly be my therapist. She barely looks thirty.
She gives me a small laugh as she leads me down the hall and into a room where she closes the door.
“I am—but call me Della. I like my patients to think of me as a regular person. I’m just like you with my own problems. I don’t want anyone to think I’m sitting there judging them or psychoanalyzing. In order for us to get to the root of your problem you have to learn to trust me—and I want to earn that trust. Please, have a seat.” She gestures to a tan suede couch and sits down in a leather chair across, crossing her legs.
I look around the room, taking it all in. The wall across from the couch has built in bookcases full of books, anything from medical ones to children’s. There’s a little bit of everything, and for some reason that makes me feel a little more comfortable.
The walls in the room are painted a soft gray color with a hint of purple that’s somehow soothing.
From the ceiling hangs a small chandelier that adds some elegance to the room. The old wood floors are covered with a fluffy white rug—the kind that makes you want to curl your toes into it.
It’s such a vast difference from the front room that I’m slightly confused.
Sensing this, she says, “I just bought the building so I haven’t decorated everything yet. I wanted to get this room fixed first. It’s almost done.”
“It’s nice,” I say, wiggling around on the couch.
Her appearance might’ve taken me by surprise, but that voice is still telling me to run far and run fast.
“So, Kira,” she begins, smiling kindly. “Tell me something about yourself—anything, big or small.”
“I like Coke and I feel like I need about ten right now.”
She tosses her head back and laughs, her blonde hair swaying around her shoulders. Her blue eyes sparkle when she looks at me. “I actually have some Coke in the fridge if you’d like some.”
“Please,” I practically beg.
She stands and opens the door on a mini-fridge in the corner I hadn’t even noticed.
She hands me a can of Coke and I give her a grateful smile before popping the can open. The liquid hisses and bubbles.
She waits for me to take a sip before she says, “Now tell me something else. I think you can do better, don’t you?”
I sigh.
“Just something small, Kira.”
At this moment, even something small feels like a huge admission.
“Um…” I bite my lip. “Well, I’m pregnant. Obviously. It was a huge surprise, definitely not planned, but…” I rub my stomach idly. “I wouldn’t take it back.”
Even in those moments where I lose myself to worry, I know I wouldn’t change having this baby for anything.
She smiles. “Do you know the gender?”
“It’s a boy,” I say softly.
“A son.” Her smile widens. “How amazing. I don’t have any children yet.”
“You don’t?”
She shakes her head. “One day. How did you feel when you found out, since it wasn’t planned?”
“Angry. Terrified,” I admit to her. “I questioned whether I should even have him and if I did, if I should give him up for adoption.”
“What changed your mind?” she inquires.
“I�
�m studying to be a nurse,” I explain. “Seeing the babies at the hospital I knew then I couldn’t … I couldn’t just get rid of this tiny little being—and I also knew in my heart I wouldn’t survive my child going to someone else, and that I had to do whatever possible to give him as good of a life as I can.”
“Thank you for sharing that with me, Kira. Is there anything else you’d like to share with me today? We have time.”
I nibble on my bottom lip, my eyes dancing around the room and landing on nothing in particular.
Finally, I start speaking. “My best friend told me it was finally time I dealt with my past … that’s why I’m here.”
“I want you to know, that there’s not anyone on this planet that doesn’t have a past. You’re not alone in that.”
I nod. “I’ve been carrying the baggage of it around for a long time. Growing up, even after my parents split up, any time my dad came around he was always roughing my mom up. It was nothing new, most of the guys she was with were the same way. But then my dad nearly beat her to death. He landed in jail and we moved here while I was in high school.” I take a breath, noticing that I’ve been idly rubbing my fingers back and forth over the arm of the couch. “I thought she’d change after that, but even once we got here, she still sought out the same kind of men. The assholes and drunks. The druggies and abusers.” I sigh heavily, because admitting all of this out loud is taking a lot out of me. I honestly can’t believe I’m confessing all this so quickly to her, but if I don’t open up then what’s the point of being here? “I guess I’d hoped for once she might choose me, but like always, she couldn’t stand the thought of being alone and I wasn’t good enough.”
She stares at me, seeming to assess what she wants to say. “Her choices aren’t yours,” she tells me in a soothing, calm voice. “There are people who get stuck in a cycle,” she leans forward, closer to me, “and then they find it impossible to get out of. To someone on the outside looking in, it might seem like a simple choice to break this cycle but that’s not always the case. For some people, what they have is love, because it’s all they know. When you don’t know any better it becomes easy to stay because it’s what’s expected. Something else might be better, but it’s a foreign concept.”
“Are you saying I’ve been too quick to judge?” I snap. “You don’t know what it was like growing up with that—”
She holds up her hands to silence me. “But do you know what kind of background she grew up in?”
“No,” I admit softly.
She sits back. “For you, seeing what you did, it made you go the opposite direction it seems from what you’ve said thus far. You’re determined to never be that person. But for her, she might not have seen that choice as an option.”
“I’m just like her, though,” I blurt.
“What do you mean? Explain, please.”
I sigh, and launch into the story of Rush and me. Of our hook ups and deals, of getting pregnant and pushing him away, of me starting to fall for him even though I told myself repeatedly I wasn’t. I tell her about the New York trip and his confession, how I pushed him away even further this time, and what it ultimately led to.
“He sounds like a troubled young man,” she murmurs when I’m done. “But he was never abusive to you?”
“Never, I swear,” I add. “Trust me, I would’ve been done with him in a heartbeat if he was.”
“Hmm,” she hums.
“What?” I ask, almost plead. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking maybe it’s taken meeting each other, for you both to realize you can’t continue living the way you are. You’re here with me, making a step toward bettering yourself. I hope he’s doing the same.”
I look away from her. “I do too.”
34
Rush
My heart is a solid lump in my throat. I can feel myself choking on it.
Panic like I’ve never felt before threatens to smother me like a blanket dousing flames.
Speaking of flames, I feel like I’m on fire all over.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper into the cab of the SUV. “I can’t, man.” I shake my head rapidly back and forth.
Cannon reaches over from the driver’s seat and claps a solid hand on my shoulder. “You can. You’re strong enough for this—don’t let fear make you think otherwise. You’re going to go in there, sit down, introduce yourself, do whatever it is they have you do and you’re going to be fine. After, you’re going to feel better, and I’ll be sitting here waiting for you. I have your back.”
“I do too,” Fox adds from the back, leaning up through the center console and making Cannon drop his hand.
“Why did we have to tell Fox what we were up to?” I grumble at Cannon.
“Because I’m your friend too,” Fox reasons in a carefree tone. “I’m here for moral support.”
I look in the backseat. “Or to read comics.”
“Well, fuck, do you expect me to sit here twiddling my thumbs while you go to an AA meeting.”
I wince—the words a verbal slap to the face.
I’m about to set foot in my first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.
After telling Fox and Hollis I was going to start attending AA, I made all three guys swear not to say a word to Hayes until after I went to my first one.
Tonight, I sit down with other alcoholics, confess my sins, chant over a fire, say some spells or some shit. I have no fucking clue.
Then, tomorrow morning, I’ll have to tell my boss, my fucking mentor and a man all four of us have looked up to for so damn long, that I’m an alcoholic.
“I’m an alcoholic,” I whisper out loud.
“Uh…” Fox begins. “Thought we’d established that and that’s why we’re here?”
I slap him away like an annoying fly that won’t stop buzzing.
“I’m still processing this shit. I don’t need your peanut gallery bullshit.”
“You know what would be great right now—peanut butter. Thanks for the reminder.”
Turning around I watch him pull out a small round snack pack of peanut butter. He then proceeds to rip the foil back and dip a finger in the peanut butter.
“What?” he asks, blinking innocently like this is a normal occurrence.
Which it kind of is, with Fox you learn to expect weird and random.
I raise my hands. “I didn’t say a thing.”
I turn around and face the front.
“Go in, man. It’s starting in five minutes,” Cannon warns, his voice encouraging.
I sigh, looking at Cannon, then Fox.
Sobering, Fox says, “You’re going to be fine, dude.”
I press my lips together and exhale a gusty breath through my nose. Before I can talk myself out of it, I put my hand on the door handle and push it open.
“See you guys in an hour.”
I close the SUV door and walk slowly into the building. I looked up the local AA online and found that they meet at a gym that’s near our hotel.
Walking inside I’m surprised to find it’s an MMA gym, and not the regular one I’d been expecting. Guess I should’ve paid more attention when I looked online, but the name was pretty standard.
ImBOLDen Gym.
I swallow in fear as I spot some people milling around.
The gym is closed at this hour of the evening, therefore, I know anyone I see is here for the AA meeting.
I walk forward and find a table with coffee and donuts. I grab a Styrofoam cup and fill it with the black coffee, dumping a heap of sugar in and dousing it with creamer. Stirring it, I take a sip to test it and wince.
“The coffee here is shitty, but the donuts aren’t bad.”
I look up to find a kind-eyed man who looks like he’d be my dad’s age … if my dad was alive. Wire-framed glasses sit on his nose, and his gray hair is cut short and receding, despite that he has a heavy gray beard of the same color.
“I’m Daniel,” he says, holding out a hand. “I’m the head aro
und here—and you are a new face. I always try to introduce myself before we get started. I know the first time is scary. I still remember my first meeting like it was yesterday.”
“You … you’re …?”
He gives a small chuckle. “An alcoholic? Yes, I am. Sadly, we’ll all always be one. Once it’s in your system it’s impossible to shake. It takes willpower to realize you’ll never be okay with alcohol. A little voice likes to tell you after a while you can handle one drink, but it’s lying. I’m speaking from experience. Ten years sober this time around.”
“Ten years, huh? How long did you last before?”
He looks away, wincing slightly before he answers. “Only two.” Looking back at me he adds, “The beginning is the most difficult part. This journey isn’t easy. It’s a constant battle, one we have to fight every day. It’s a never-ending struggle inside ourselves. You have to wake up every morning and decide are you going to be an alcoholic or are you going to be the best version of yourself you know you can be.”
I stare at him for a moment, mulling over his words. “I don’t want to be this … this person.”
He claps me on the shoulder with a kind smile. “Good, then you’re in the right place. Now, grab a donut and join us.”
“I’m not very hungry.”
“Just grab the donut, son,” he tells me again, so I do.
I pick it up and carry it, along with my shitty coffee as I follow behind him.
My heart hasn’t slowed since I arrived. With Fox and Cannon waiting outside I know if I ran out, they’d haul my sorry ass back in.
This is where I need to be.
Not for them.
Or Kira.
Or even my parents.
I need to be here for me. I am here for me.
“Grab an empty seat,” Daniel tells me, indicating the chairs lined up in rows.
I pick one in the back, to myself, and Daniel chuckles—flashing me an amused smile. I don’t think he’s one bit surprised I’ve chosen to keep to myself.
I place the Styrofoam cup on the chair beside me, silently daring anyone to take that seat. Most of the ones in front of me are already filled and when I glance behind me, I don’t see anyone else. I’m surprised by the variance of genders and ages in front of me. I expected it to be mostly males ranging in age from my age to maybe fifties.
Wild Flame (The Wild: A Rock Star Romance Book 2) Page 26