“Regardless of whether you’re depressed or feeling great you’ll crave alcohol. Hell, I could win the fucking lottery, and I’d even want to drink to celebrate.”
I roll over to face him and prop myself up with my elbow. He’s holding his hand up and has it shaped like he’s holding a drink. His salt-and-pepper hair is thinning, and his clothes are too baggy on his malnourished body.
“How do you propose I get rid of these so-called demons?”
“From what you’ve already shared with me, you have more love and support from your family than a lot of us do.
“If you listen to them and to those here in this building who are trying to help you, then you’ll conquer those lies you’ve filled your head with.
“Unlike some of us, you won’t have to work so hard not to drink in the future. You won’t have nothing in that mind of yours to numb or run from. It will be all light and love, Castle. Light and love.”
His smile disappears as he strolls over to me with his hands on his hips. “You have to believe the truth instead of the lies, Travis.”
Leaning over, he grips my shoulder, and I can’t help but tense up. “Boy, forgive yourself. You deserve it as much as anyone else.”
Feeling my eyes getting watery, I look away from him.
“Thanks, Clive. I appreciate that.”
“You’re welcome. Now, come on. Let’s get through this class so we can go to lunch. We might not be able to drink here, but we sure as hell can eat.”
I learned this week that Clive doesn’t take a meal for granted. Maybe he comes in these places so he can have a hot meal, and that thought saddens me.
Becca
Rolling my chair back, I lower my head to my desk. I lift and drop my forehead to it a few times and release a long groan.
OK, so I’m being a touch overdramatic, but if one more job posting says it requires previous experience, I’m going to ask a doctor for a lobotomy and be done with it. Then, I wouldn’t have to think about Travis, either.
I often find myself wondering how he’s doing at rehab, and I’m curious whether he misses me or not. After he had time to think on it, did he agree with my parting words? Because sometimes I regret them.
Needing a break from job searching, I pull up Facebook, and as soon as I see the high number of notifications, I contemplate logging off.
College friends are still sharing photos of Molly and sending me private messages of condolence. It’s so painful to my heart, but then I remind myself that unlike Molly, my heart still gets to beat.
I’m about to log off when a news report on the sidebar catches my eye.
Senator Clay Carlton passes away at the age of sixty-seven after complications from heart surgery.
I fall back in my chair. Oh, his son Clay must be so upset. I click on the link and read the details.
There’s a photo of the two of them, along with another man, who I believe is Clay Jr.’s younger brother. The resemblance of them to their father is uncanny.
Clay was genuinely kind to me at the hospital. Maybe I should reach out to him. My cell phone rings, pulling me out of my deep thought.
“Hello.”
“Becca, did you hear about Senator Carlton?” Reese asks.
“Yes, I just saw a news report about it. I was taking a break from job hunting. I’m having no luck finding something. Hey, do you think I should contact Clay? You know, to tell him I’m sorry about his dad.”
“How would you even do that? I seriously doubt his number is listed.”
“He gave me his business card.”
“Why did he do that?”
“He, uh, said he wanted to take me on a date.”
“You left out that detail when we spoke the day you met him.”
“I didn’t think it was a big deal, and I wasn’t going to call him, but now I think I should.”
“To go out with him or express your condolence?”
“Both maybe.”
“Isn’t he a little old for you?”
“I don’t know. It didn’t seem like it the day we met. He was sweet, and there’s no denying he’s attractive.”
Reese is quiet for a few moments.
“Sis, you do what feels right. Maybe it would be good for you to spend time with someone different, and you both can relate to the other’s grief.”
“You mean someone different than Travis.”
“Yes, I guess I do. You told me you’re ready to move on, so maybe this would be a good move in that direction.”
“I’ll think about it.” I sigh and sit up straight. “I should go. I have to keep looking for a job. I’m going to lose my mind if I don’t get out on my own soon. Mom hovers way too much.”
“Let’s do dinner soon.”
“Sure, but I can’t hear any more stories about your sexy time with Everett. I haven’t had sex for months, and I’m getting bitchy because of it.”
“I know a magic wand you can order that will do the job for ya. It’s even more amazing when you have help with it.”
“Oh, lord, that means you own one already. What did I tell you? No more sexy time stories. I’m not going to be able to look at Ev. I already imagine his jiz floating around in your pool.”
I hear a noise out of my sister before she’s coughing.
“Oh, shit, Becca. My soda just shot out my nose.” We’re both giggling, and it’s nice to have a smile on my face after the day I’ve had.
Chapter Eleven
Becca
My older Chevrolet Cruze Eco stands out against the luxury rides already parked in the packed lot of the funeral home in Atlanta. The noon sun is bright and reflecting off of the shiny hoods.
Maybe this was a bad idea. I shift my car into park and glance down at my long-sleeve black dress. It’s warm in Georgia for late September, but I’m still self-conscious about my scars and wanted to hide them as much as possible.
I decide to brave it and step out of the vehicle. The fabric of my knee-length dress clings to my petite body, so I attempt to straighten and smooth it out.
I’m wearing my hair down and curled, trying to appear sophisticated. I feel I’ve lost my identity since my college graduation, but I’m sure sophistication was never part of it.
Approaching the front doors, I begin to slow my pace. There are reporters, policemen, and several men in suits wearing ear mics. Oh, damn. I didn’t think about the security that would be present. I doubt I can even get inside this place.
I push back my shoulders and stand a bit straighter as I make my way up to the door. Confidently, I stare ahead with my chin tipped like I’m supposed to be here, but once I reach the front steps, I’m stopped.
“Are you a family member or close friend to Senator Carlton?”
“Uh, no, but I’ve met his son Clay.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but only family and close friends are allowed inside,” a middle-aged man in a suit replies.
“Then can you give Mr. Carlton this card for me?”
“We’re not allowed to take anything inside.” I glance around and notice I’m not the only one being sent away, but there are also many people entering.
Defeated, I shove the card back inside my purse. Once I’ve passed through the massive crowd, I pull out my phone and Clay’s business card.
I pause at my car door and send him a text, letting him know I couldn’t get in and was sorry for his loss.
Tossing my phone back in my purse, I unlock my car and get inside. In one breath, I feel alone and sad. I understand why I wasn’t allowed to enter the funeral home, but I still feel out of place.
It’s as if I don’t belong anywhere or with anyone. My mom and dad have each other, and Reese now has the Casteel family. Molly and I can no longer tackle this world together, and I’m not that close to my other friends.
My phone rings and causes me to jump. I fish it from my purse and recognize the number as Clay’s.
“Hello.”
“Becca, hi. Are you still here?”
>
“Yes, I’m in my car.”
“Please, come to the door, and I’ll be there to see that you get inside.”
“I’m sure you’re busy talking with family and other important people, so I can go.”
“Becca, please come back. I’d like to see you.”
I exhale and think. “Sure. Of course.”
Repeating the process of exiting my car, I approach the few front steps of the funeral home.
At the moment I reach the top one, the same man glares at me to shoo me away, but Clay shoves past guests just inside the door until he’s outside. He announces to security I’m to be allowed in, and that draws all eyes on us.
He grabs hold of my hand, and I hear the clicking of cameras and see the flashing of lights before we cross the doorway. Great. Mom and Dad are going to freak out all over again.
Clay never releases my hand as he leads me down a hallway. Once we enter a door he’s opened, I see we’re in a small sitting room.
There are two comfy chairs across from a cream and pink floral loveseat. End tables rest at each side of it with dimly lit lamps and boxes of tissues.
I hear Clay puff out a breath behind me.
“This has been my hideaway more than once today, and I still have the funeral to get through tomorrow.”
Turning around, I give him a sympathetic smile.
“Wow, you’re truly stunning,” he says. “I mean, I saw your beauty the day we met, but wow.” His eyes are wide as he absorbs the sight of me.
“Thanks.” Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I glance around at the floral art on the walls. “I’m so sorry about your father.”
“Thank you. We thought he was recovering, but then he took a turn for the worse. His heart had too much damage to keep up any longer.” His eyebrows pulls down, pain evident in his hazel eyes.
“Have a seat.” I admire him as he closes in on me. I want to say wow, too. He’s handsome in his black suit, and before we sit on the loveseat, he removes his jacket. “How have you been?” he asks.
“Better.”
“I was surprised and happy to receive your text message. Did you only reach out to me because of my father?”
“No. I’d already considered calling.”
He boasts the boyish grin I remember from the day we met. “I’m glad you did.”
I shift to face him better, and I’m mindful to keep my knees together in this dress.
“Why are you interested in me, Clay?”
“Why shouldn’t I be?”
“I’m serious. I can’t imagine I’m like anyone you’ve ever dated.”
“Maybe I’m looking for someone different.”
“What drew you to me?”
He shrugs and grips my hand between us as if we’ve known each other for years.
“Of course I noticed you crying first, but as I got closer, I saw how beautiful you were, and your sadness was so … immense.” He says this as if the word isn’t fitting but he doesn’t know what else to call it.
“I felt the need to comfort you.” He shakes his head. “Damn, that was some baring of the soul.”
I smile and squeeze his hand. “Your kindness is safe with me. We wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about politicians.”
He throws his head back and laughs.
“Thank you for coming. That’s the first time I’ve laughed in days. Unfortunately, I should get back out there. My mother and siblings need my support, and I imagine someone is looking for me.”
“Of course.” I go to stand first, but he pulls on my wrist.
“Becca, are you seeing anyone?”
“No.”
“Then please have dinner with me soon.”
I nod. “As soon as you’re ready, call me. You have my number now.”
He smiles and stands, grabbing his suit jacket in the process.
“Thank you. I’ll walk you out.”
“Maybe I should exit alone. I think I already experienced my fifteen minutes of fame the day we met.”
He gives me a knowing smile. “Sorry about that. I’ll wait here for a minute.”
I find his greeting card in my purse and hand it to him before I stretch up to reach his tall frame. My lips land on his warm cheek, and I give it a peck.
“I’m sorry again for your loss, and I’m here if you need a listening ear.”
“Thank you, Becca.” His fingers lightly grip my chin, and he eyes my lips. “God, I want to kiss you, but our first kiss isn’t happening in a funeral home. I’ll be in touch soon.”
Giving him one last smile, I hurry from the room. My stomach feels funny, and my heart is racing. I haven’t felt excitement like this since I met Travis, and I’m unsure whether I’m ready for another man to incite it.
Travis
My foot taps as I sit in the small waiting room. If I ever wanted a drink, it’s right now, but I will admit I’m thinking about alcohol less often.
I’m supposed to have a private session with a therapist every week, and this is my second one.
We were just getting to know each other in the first session, so I managed to keep the conversation superficial, but we’re delving deeper today, and I don’t want any part of it.
Another patient exits the room, so I stand and run a hand over my blond hair that could use a trim.
“Travis, please come in,” the male therapist says. I think his name is Tom. He’s in a black and grey plaid sweater I’d never wear and black dress pants.
I’m guessing he’s in his late thirties, and he has hair that reminds me of Link’s. It’s a sandy color, sort of a mixture of blond and light brown.
Franklin … I miss the guy. I was taking his friendship for granted, and I guess he’s one of the many I’ll be apologizing to once I’m out of this place. It’s one of the steps of AA.
“Have a seat. How is your second week going so far?”
“Good, I guess.”
“If you could have one thing right at this moment, what would it be?”
I grin. “Is this a trick question?”
“Was your first thought of alcohol?”
“Yeah, it was, but I think only because I knew you expected it to be.”
“Hmm … what else would you like to have at this moment?”
“It’s a someone.”
“Want to talk about this person?”
“No.”
“Is there anyone else you care about who you can’t see anymore?” He flips through the papers in a manila folder. “You mentioned in our first session that your father passed away five years ago. You also mentioned he was an alcoholic.”
“He was, but he got sober while I was pretty young, so I only remember him that way.”
“Sometimes when we lose someone we care for deeply, we feel regret. For example, there might be something we wish we’d said to them or perhaps not said. Do you think of regret when you picture your father?”
My gaze strays from his brown eyes to the window of the small room. I shift in the chair I’m in across from his. Is he a fucking mind reader?
The silence becomes uncomfortable and feels like a contest. I have a hunch his patience is greater than mine. Shit.
“Yeah. I wish I had said and done some things differently before his death.”
“Care to share?”
“Not particularly, but I’ve learned this place is all about sharing.”
“What was your father’s name?”
“Sam. My oldest brother is named after him, but we call him Sarge. He’s bossy, but I think my brother Everett is moving in on his title. He likes to bark orders and give his opinion more.”
“I think you’re trying to redirect the subject.”
“That’s because no one knows this secret I’ve been carrying all these years.”
“I imagine that’s been hard on you.”
“I rarely thought about it anymore, but something stirred it back up this summer.”
It’s quiet again, so I turn back to look a
t him.
“My dad and I were fishing the day before he died. Out of nowhere, he leaned over and gripped his chest. He specifically told me he was having chest pains.
“I asked him if I should call for help, and he refused. After a few minutes, he said the pain had eased up. I told him it was probably heartburn from the greasy lunch we’d eaten beforehand.
“He agreed and then made me promise not to tell Mom or my brothers. I assured him I wouldn’t and told him it was probably nothin’ to worry about.
“You know why I did that? Because I was convincing myself it was nothing. Then, his heart gave out the very next day. Dead–gone forever.”
“You feel responsible.”
I point at my chest. “I am responsible. If I’d been more mature, I would’ve insisted he get checked out at the hospital, or I would’ve told someone. My brothers would’ve handled it the right way. They’re always cautious.”
“You compare yourself a lot to your brothers. I think we should discuss that next week. But for now, I want to tell you that you responded to your father in an appropriate manner for someone of your age. How old were you? Sixteen, seventeen? He also led you to believe it was nothing.”
“Yeah, but after thinking about it, he’d been different for several days. He was tired and not doing much. I should’ve recognized the warning signs.”
“We can put puzzles together once we have all the pieces. After his heart attack, you had all the pieces to look back on. Unless you were a physician, you likely wouldn’t have pieced it together beforehand, especially at your age.”
The room is quiet as I think about his words.
“I guess that makes sense. I still think my brothers would’ve forced him to get help.”
He shifts in his seat and exhales a lengthy breath.
“Your brothers are all older, correct?”
“Yes.”
“They’re always going to have more life experience than you. It’s something that will not change, but it doesn’t make you inferior to them.”
To get the topic off of my brothers, I begin sharing fond memories of my dad. After a short while, he glances at his watch.
“Our time is up, but I hope you’ll think about all we discussed today. Your father’s death was not your fault, Travis. I hope you’ll soon be able to acknowledge that.”
Fail to Trust (The Casteel Trust Series Book 2) Page 7