Mike found his that own breathing matched the rhythm of the distant crashes. He braced his hands on the overhang of the lanai and stared into the dark, moonless sky. The stars were bright enough to cast the water in differing shades of blue. Deep blues, the deepest he'd ever seen.
For the past three years, he had hated the color blue. It was heavy and always seemed to pull and darken, until it was black. And black was where he lived. Black was what he knew. No other color led into black. Just the blue.
The blue of the flower on his chest gave way to the black dagger in his back. Ilsa's blue eyes would surrender to the black of her pupil until she was a caricature of her former beauty. The blue of the sky would never hold out against the pressing black of the night. The peacefulness of blue water would become a terror of darkness in the deep.
He couldn't pinpoint the moment it had happened, the moment he had begun to see the blue stay blue. Maybe it was because sometimes it was mixed with green and rimmed with bronze. Or maybe it was because the darkness inside him had started to retreat and allowed the true colors of everything to bleed through.
It was new. In his life, black had always won. Black didn't have to battle for domination. It was a tar that sucked all of the colors into it, and never let them escape.
When he had been in recovery the first time, he faked it. He had gone through the motions and pretended with all the steps. On the outside he'd looked better, healed. But he wasn't. He had simply put a shiny new package on the old, badly used gift. He had known, though. Before he'd walked out those doors at the center, he stopped at the front desk and signed up again. He hadn't been ready for the world. He wasn't better yet.
While in treatment, Mike had witnessed several repeat offenders. People who had left thinking they were fully healed, and instead ending up right back where they started. Some of them didn't make it back. Some of them left the center and went to celebrate. Because every addict thinks they can have just one more. Just one more crash into the softest pillow of their lives. Just. One. More.
Everyone has a theory on what can help an addict. Even addicts have theories for what would help them the best. Until Mike believed in a higher power, he was lost at sea. Adrift with no compass, wind, or sail.
That's what made the difference. Realizing that he didn't have the strength or will to change, and accepting that he needed God to do it for him. Because on his own... he just couldn't.
Which is why he was here. On this island. Because not every relapse is chemical.
He'd been fighting so hard to keep himself in the black, he missed the danger of it. For whatever reason, he had correlated happiness with guilt. So he kept himself carefully on the darker end of joy, knowing that he was susceptible to going over the edge. To losing control.
After all he had learned, he hadn't successfully put into practice letting God take control. He was still trying to do all the work.
He had arrived in Kauai, Hawaii this morning, found a condo to rent that afternoon. He needed time with his Creator. He needed to reconnect.
Tomorrow, he would drive into the island village and find a meeting. He had already called a friend who knew the area and had given him the contact information. The condo he'd rented was a vacation spot for families, far too large for what he needed. But its slight seclusion and proximity to the beach was perfect.
It was cheating, in a way. Being this close to the water. The ocean reminded him of Clarke, and probably always would. While he needed to be away from her to make sure he was making wise decisions for the both of them, he still wanted to feel her calming energy. This was as close as he could trust himself to get right now.
A distant storm flickered lightning across the sky, showcasing the blues of the water even more. He hoped it would rain.
Maybe it would wash away more of the black.
He was feeling a lot. Deep, heavy feelings.
But he wasn't scared. Why should he be?
***
Clarke had taken her time returning home after leaving the hospital. She let Harrison drive her because she was emotionally spent. The things shared in the breaking light of dawn had taken all that was left of her energy. She needed to sleep, and recover.
For the first time since she had started working for Shane, she called in sick. Greta had taken the phone from Shane and threatened to come over and check on her, but Clarke talked her out of it, telling her she could come over the day after. Greta had questions, but Clarke put her off, promising to answer them as soon as her cognitive reasoning returned. But for now, she was a soft tangle of emotions.
Her life had gone from a boring, peaceful prediction to a supernova of light, feelings and crazy.
She had been so sure that things with Mike were over. Her heart had hurt from it. Serge's words had seemed to solidify it.
But then she had walked into that hospital and seen him standing at the window, lost. And she knew, she would never be over him. He was a part of her now. It had been swift and illogical, but he was in her life.
And when he had wrapped his arms around her and begun to cry, she knew that she was in him just as deep as he was in her.
The biggest realization for her that night was that she understood. She got it. She got him. He spoke right into her soul and he didn't need to explain. She had no idea when it had happened, that they had become two halves of a whole, but there it was. They were together. Even when they were apart.
The house was unbearably quiet. She used to enjoy the sound of solitude, but right now she really missed the sounds of movement, conversation. Life.
Mike was gone. She was hesitantly hopeful that his absence was temporary, even though he had made no promises. At least he hadn't voiced them. She would be a fool if she didn't admit to seeing the promise in his eyes.
That's how it had been with them from the beginning. The words were nice, but only a repetition of what they already knew. What they already felt. Denying it would be like denying the tide.
He'd be back. While her head was unsure, her heart was certain.
She stripped out of her clothes and crawled into her bed in just her bra and panties. She pulled the covers up to her chin as she rolled onto her side and closed her eyes. Walter joined her, his loud purring feeding her exhaustion. She distantly felt his paws knead the blankets around her shoulder before he curled up close to her. The heat of his furry body pressed into her, and she began to dream of a future that hadn't happened yet.
But might.
***
Greta knew she was supposed to wait until Clarke called before going over to see her. But she never was one for being patient.
Instead, she got in the shower while Shane made her coffee. He didn't even try to talk her out of it. He knew her well enough by now to know that when she got an idea in her head, she was going to focus on it until she was satisfied.
When she was dressed and had braided her dark hair, she dialed her brother on her cell.
“Little G, I am so tired right now,” he answered after three rings.
“Tell me what the heck is going on right now or I'm coming over to shave your head,” she said flatly.
He sighed, exasperated by her threat. Then he started talking, because he knew she would do it. “Ilsa crashed her roommate's car into the side of our condo last night after overdosing on booze and pills. She's fine. We've all been at the hospital all night long. Mike left. I'm not sure where. I got back and his stuff was gone. I dropped Clarke off at home a couple hours ago. Now can I go back to sleep?”
Greta wanted more information, but knew she wasn't going to get much more than that out of him. “Thank you.” She hung up. Shane made eye contact with her as he raised his coffee cup to his lips.
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I'll know when I get there.”
Greta drained her coffee and left, driving over to Clarke's swanky neighborhood as fast as she dared. She let herself into the house they had once shared, thankful she had nev
er returned her key.
Finding Clarke asleep in her bed upstairs, Greta pulled the shades to block out the sun. She crawled onto the bed on top of the covers, Walter making room for her with minimal protest.
Greta stroked his kitty head softly and he meowed. “How's she doing, buddy?”
“Meow.”
“Greta?” Clarke asked sleepily, not raising her head.
“Yeah.” Greta moved closer to her friend's back and put an arm around her waist.
“Mike's gone,” Clarke mumbled.
“I know.”
“I love him.”
Greta closed her eyes and hugged her best friend tighter. She had nothing to say to that. Clarke's heart was one of the most beautiful and selfless that Greta had ever encountered. She consistently put others' needs ahead of her own, hating when people fussed over her. She required nothing from her friends, but they would all gladly give up whatever she needed. Unconditionally. She probably didn't even realize it.
Which is why Greta was here. Clarke would never ask for help. And no matter how strong a person was, sometimes they just needed to be held.
So Greta held on.
***
“No, it's going good,” Mike nodded into the phone, realizing that he had drifted off in his thoughts for a moment.
“How long are you gonna do this?” Luke asked, with no small amount of impatience in his voice.
Mike chuckled softly into the phone. “Go ahead and plan the album. Get started. I already told Trent to expect your call.”
“I don't want Trent on the record,” Luke protested.
“Trent is an excellent drummer, better than me. He won't disappoint you.”
“That's not the point,” Luke argued for the twenty-fifth time this week. Which was a lot, considering Mike kept his phone turned off most of the time and only turned it on for an hour every morning so people wouldn't worry about him.
A fat lot of good that did. It seemed they were forming support groups in missing him.
“We've never had a DBS record without all of us on it. It's that thing we're known for. We make all of our own music.” Luke was using his big-brother voice to try and persuade Mike into listening to him. It wasn't working.
“So maybe it'll be different this time. Luke, you're gonna be fine. Trent is fantastic. The music is solid. You don't need me there.”
“What about the tour?”
Mike sighed audibly and closed his eyes. “Plan the tour. Do what you have to do. And I'll do what I have to do.”
Luke was silent for several minutes. Mike could already hear the thoughts his friend was too afraid to vocalize. It had been eating up the pauses in their conversations throughout the week. Mike couldn't believe it had already been a week. It felt so much shorter.
“Promise me you're being smart,” Luke said finally.
Mike's lips twitched with an almost-smile. “I promise.”
Luke sighed, trying to be content with his answer even though Mike knew he'd be calling again in less than twenty-four hours.
“I have to go, I've got a run on the beach calling my name,” Mike said, concluding their phone call. Luke didn't have to embrace his decisions, but he did have to accept them.
Besides, it was working.
Mike looked through his texts and emails quickly before powering down the phone and setting it on the dresser.
He laced up his shoes, didn't bother with a shirt, and went out onto the covered wraparound lanai of his rented cottage.
He'd started a routine the first morning there and planned on sticking with it. Pull-ups from the sturdy overhang, followed by push-ups, then a jog down the beach where he'd take off his shoes and go for a swim.
The cottage was too big for just him, but it was exactly what he needed. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, casual décor with a view of the Coconut Coast. It was thirty feet from the door to the beach.
The thing he loved the most was the clarity in his thoughts. Getting away from everyone and everything made it easier to see the right and wrong. Distinguish the black from the white and have no suspicions of the gray. Some things were just gray.
He'd kept his word to Ilsa and had set up—through her agent—the funds necessary to get treatment. She had picked a good facility and had committed to completing the process. He was proud of her, and he would tell her that someday. But for right now, it was best if they didn't have any contact.
For her, and for him.
He'd gotten so sidetracked. The weighty significance of Clarke entering his life unexpectedly shouldn't have been ignored. He should have told someone. He should have told her. Carrying around the intimate details of her brother's final moments on earth were a big deal. Pretending like he was smart enough and well enough to take care of that information was plain foolish.
Add to that Ilsa's reemergence, and he had been set up for failure months ago. He wanted so badly to make up for what had happened to Paul. To make up for the choices he himself had made years ago. He never understood how it would backfire.
The guys' confrontation in the bathroom at Greta and Shane's reception had started the chain reaction that would have led him to finally making the right decisions. But by then it was too late, things were in motion that couldn't be stopped. Whether Ilsa would have taken the amount she did that night was too hard to tell, but it was inevitable. She had set herself on that path, with or without him. If he hadn't been so hell-bent on seeing what he wanted to see, he would have noticed the warning signs.
But again, he had been more concerned about how it made him feel. To have a second chance, to have a fresh start. He knew better than most that his past shouldn't be ignored. If you couldn't learn from your failures, then you had well and truly failed.
So, it was time to learn again.
The first thing he had done when he landed on the tiny island was seek out a NA/AA group for meetings. He'd found one close to his rental that met in a church basement once a week. He'd been going to meetings in California, but hadn't been holding to the guidelines as strictly as he knew he should.
While he had distanced himself for the time being from his inner circle, he was getting closer to God. Praying daily again, focusing on recovery, listening to the struggles and triumphs of those in his small group, and making headway.
The sweat began to trickle down his face from his hairline and a small smile crept across his face. The physical activity made it easier to sort out his thoughts. Things became clear, made sense. Maybe it would make him sound crazy if he admitted it out loud, but he thought he could communicate with God better here. He'd gotten sucked into the very human flaw that he might not need God's help on a daily basis anymore. But that just wasn't true. He needed Him. He really couldn't do this alone. He wasn't strong enough.
One of the reasons he had to get away, especially from Clarke, was because he had to figure out what was real and what he was fabricating.
That moment in the hospital waiting room was intense, even for someone like Mike who thrived off of intensity. He was a drummer, for crying out loud. Intensity was a way of life.
But he wasn't going to misplace his desire for mercy as belief in unconditional love.
Because that's what that moment felt like. To have Clarke's forgiveness, her grace, her kiss. It was a powerful blow to the cruelty of his conscience.
He knew he had to leave. Otherwise he'd corrupt that feeling, turn it about until he'd made her responsible for whether or not he felt pardoned.
And she didn't have that kind of power.
Only he did. Well, him and God.
Hence, the open-ended hiatus from life at the moment.
He had to get to a point where he forgave himself. Where he no longer blamed himself for Paul's death. Where he was able to forgive himself for the things he had done, the people he'd hurt and the lives he had ruined.
Mostly, he had to accept that God had forgiven him, and then he'd be able to forgive himself.
He had no idea how long th
at would take.
But he was determined this time. More than ever before.
Because that kiss in the hospital had tasted like hope. The understanding in her eyes when he said he had to leave looked like championing. It was that peacefulness that she always brought with her. The steady thrum of a pulse that never gave up. The beat of a heart whose rhythm matched his own.
***
Clarke checked her mirrors, latched her seat belt and reversed from her parking spot at her therapist's office.
As far as first visits went, it hadn't been too bad. They had agreed to meet weekly for the time being, though the good doctor was positive that they wouldn't need to continue for as long as Clarke thought they would. Apparently, Clarke had a very strong will, and it was unlikely that she would have difficulty processing her “issues” and then moving forward with her life.
Whatever that meant.
All Clarke really knew was that she was already feeling better. She wanted to deal with her thoughts and feelings surrounding her brother's death and Mike's involvement with it. It felt too big for her to process alone, and she wanted to make sure it was done correctly.
She liked to work. She liked things that worked. She wanted to know she was working on making things work.
Mike had been gone a week. With no contact. Not really.
The band was stopping by the office individually and collectively every day. Between Luke's big-brother routine (like she needed more big brothers in her life) and Sway's text updates, she knew exactly where Mike was.
He was in Hawaii.
And he was also working on stuff.
Clarke wished she could be the kind of person who, when left to her own devices, could naturally make the kind of choices that would benefit her mentally, emotionally and physically. But she needed a doctor to help show her the steps. Even though it would be pretty awesome to disappear on a tropical island and call it a “mental health vacation.”
She knew what Mike was doing before the rest of them had it figured out. It was his resolve to fix that thing inside of him that had helped push her into fixing this thing inside of her.
Deepest Blues Page 24