Beneath the Stands: An Enemies to Lovers, Best Friend's Brother Romance (Sugarlake Series, Book Two)

by Emily McIntire

  “You must be Alina. Your father’s told me a lot about you.”

  She sucks in a breath. “He has?”

  Mark smiles, nodding. “He has.” He turns to look at me. “Eli, nice to see you again. You two ready for this?”

  “Yep.” My calf muscle burns from how fast my leg is bouncing. “What exactly should we expect?”

  “I won’t lie to you, it won’t be easy. There’s a lot that goes into family therapy, but it’s good that you’re here. It’s important to show your father that you’re willing to put in the work.”

  “And is he?” Lee interrupts. “Puttin’ in the work, that is? So he can get better?”

  “He is.” Mark grins. “But there’s no black and white, Alina. Recovery is one day at a time. Sometimes it’s easy, and other times it leaves you broken and bruised. The important thing is that he wakes up, puts on his armor and fights like hell. He chooses to be the best version of himself, and every second he does is a win. He’ll need your support, which is why your recovery is just as crucial to his success as his own.”

  A chuckle bursts out of me, even though nothing about what he’s saying is funny. “What do you mean our recovery?”

  “Exactly what I said. Addiction is a family disease, Eli. It affects all of you.”

  Why does everyone keep saying that?

  Lee sniffles, and I see her nod from the corner of my eye. My heart wrenches against my ribs at her emotion. At her agreement with what he’s saying.

  “So, how will it all work?” Lee’s hands wring together in her lap.

  “Well, this morning we have a group session for all of the family members. Then this afternoon, you’ll be with your dad during his session.”

  “Just during his session?” I thought we’d get to spend the day with him. Finding out we don’t, makes the ball of anxiety mutate into a stinging irritation that pricks at my skin.

  Mark’s lips pull in a straight line. “It was his request to only see you both in that particular setting.”

  My stomach tangles and twists, worry pouring into every pore of my body over how Lee will handle knowing Pops doesn’t want us here. I’m used to disappointment from him, but I’m not sure what their dynamic is these days.

  “He doesn’t wanna see us?” Lee’s voice breaks, her words slow and thick.

  Mark leans forward in his chair, settling his elbows on the desk. “This isn’t a reflection on you. It’s very common with people in the stage of recovery your father is in. It can be… overwhelming to face the people you love.” He pauses, watching Lee’s face carefully. “I know it’s hard—trust me, I know. But it’s a hell of a thing you’re doing, showing up for him this way. Letting him set his own boundaries and then respecting them is what he needs from you right now.”

  She nods, wiping her tear-stained cheeks with the back of her hands. “Okay.”

  “Okay.” Mark taps his knuckles on the desk. “Group starts in half an hour, I’ll take you to the conference room and you can help yourself to refreshments until it’s time. You two ready?”

  I blow out a breath, the weight of his words settling heavy on my shoulders.

  I thought Pops coming to rehab would cure him. That he’d work on his issues and come home where we could make sure he stays on the straight and narrow.

  I didn’t realize it would be like this.

  But even if I don’t understand it, I’ll try like hell to learn, so I can be here by Lee’s side, and by Pops’s, every step of the way.

  56

  Eli

  The past two hours opened my eyes, and I didn’t even know they had been closed. The group session was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It was so different than what I was expecting—so much more.

  I won’t lie and say I can relate to others who showed up. But I see the same nervous shadow lurking in their eyes, the same anxious movements as I do with Lee. I sense the desperation oozing out of their pores, wanting to do something, anything to help, but not knowing where to start. At least that is something I can relate to. I have no clue how the hell to navigate what’s to come. No clue what to do when Pops comes home. And maybe I haven’t been here for his downward spiral, haven’t felt the soul-crushing feeling of watching someone I love succumb to their weaknesses, but I feel the guilt that comes along with not having been there.

  I feel the weight of responsibility from being here now and having no compass to direct me on the journey.

  Today I learned that alcoholism is a family disease. It affects us all in different ways.

  Codependency being one of the most common symptoms. Denial being another. That’s a sledgehammer to my psyche because fuck if I haven’t been denying Pops’s addiction for years. And I damn well know Lee’s been codependent, adapting her life to fit his alcoholism, obsessively worrying about what was going to happen to him at the expense of her own self-care.

  I’m not sure how to come to terms with the fact Pops’s addiction has affected me more than I originally thought. Chase’s invitation whispers in the back of my mind, and I file it away to bring up later, after I’ve processed the rest of my emotions from today.

  They said a lot of things in the session. A dump of information, assisted by pamphlets and packets, showing us all the ways to support, and all the ways we shouldn’t. It’s a miracle I retained any of it. But one line stuck with me, and now, while Lee and I sit outside at a circular table waiting on Pops and Mark, I find myself repeating it over and over in my head.

  You can’t cure it. You didn’t cause it. You can’t control it.

  I wonder if Lee’s thinking the same thing. My gaze floats to her and I search for the right thing to say. She’s right next to me but she feels so far away, and at this moment, I wish more than anything I could dive across the chasm and grab on to her—somehow heal the divide between us so we could truly support each other in the fragile moments.

  “So… that was intense,” I say.

  Lee looks up at me from where she’s reading one of the pamphlets they passed out. “Yeah,” she sighs. “It makes a lotta sense though. I’ve been enablin’ Daddy for years.”

  “And not taking care of yourself?” I phrase it as a question, not wanting to rile up her already frayed emotions, but by the way her eyes narrow I think I struck the nerve anyway.

  “How do you know that, Eli? You ain’t even been here to know whether I was takin’ care of myself or not. Too busy livin’ your fancy life with your fancy people and their fancy dreams to give a damn.”

  My insides burn as her accusations sear into my skin. “Is that what you think? Really? That I was off living my best life?”

  She shrugs, her arms crossing over her chest.

  The restraint holding my anger snaps, my pent-up emotion barreling out of me, the taste bitter on my tongue. “Let me tell you somethin’, Lee. Ma died and I lost the only family member who gave a damn about me beyond basketball. And then… I lost basketball too.” I breathe deeply through my nose to keep the tears at bay, and ignore how my accent drips on the end of my words. “And I know I should have been around more. Should have made more of an effort. But you didn’t even stop for one second and check in on me. You just sat here, wallowin’ in your doom and gloom, not givin’ a damn. Makin’ assumptions about what you think of my life without takin’ the time to see for yourself.”

  “I—”

  “Well, guess what. You don’t know. You have no clue what it was like for me.”

  “You never told me,” she hisses.

  “You never asked!” My arms shoot up, palms raised to the sky.

  This isn’t where I wanted to have this conversation. Not when we’re here for Pops—when it’s already an emotional day. But sometimes you don’t control when things happen, and finally voicing it makes me feel better. Lighter.

  Resentment sticks to your insides. Scraping it off may hurt, but at least it cleans the residue.

  I tap the table with my fingers. “I wasn’t here for you. I didn’t listen
when you needed me to, and I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for the part I played in all the ways we’ve failed each other. But for once in your goddamn life will you just take a look in the mirror and accept some of the blame? Christ.” I huff out a breath, tugging on the ends of my hair.

  Lee’s staring at me, mouth flopping like a fish. “Eli, I—”

  “You wanna know what my fancy life was like, Alina?” I cut her off again. “It was lonely. It was full of guilt that rotted me from the inside out because I didn’t make time to come home. To hold on to Ma while I still had the chance.” My voice breaks and I run my hand over my mouth, watching as Lee’s eyes glaze over. “My fancy life was filled with people who loved to stand in my spotlight and run away from my darkness. My fancy life was tortured by the nightmare of livin’ out your dream and then havin’ it stolen away in front of millions of people.” My fist pounds against my chest. “Thousands of moments were spent starin’ at my fancy phone when it didn’t ring from the only two people in my life who should have cared.”

  Lee’s hand jumps to cover her mouth. “Eli, I didn’t—”

  “No,” I snap. “You didn’t.” I take a deep breath, trying to regain some composure. “Do you know what it feels like to lose your purpose, Lee?”

  “No,” she whispers, her head shaking.

  I suck on my teeth, choosing my words carefully. “It feels like… like you’re floatin’ in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by land. You can see your end game, but you can’t get there.” I break our stare, looking at the table, remembering how lost I felt before I went to Florida and coached those kids. Before I found Becca. “Eventually, your limbs get so damn tired you surrender to the pull of gravity.” I frown. “You let the salty water fill your lungs and you accept your new reality. Dyin’ a slow death, alone in the middle of the sea… all because you can’t do the one thing that’s expected.” My voice breaks. “You can’t fuckin’ swim.”

  “I didn’t think…” Lee trails off.

  “When I lost ball, I lost my reason. My entire life was spent strivin’ for greatness, and at the end of the day, none of it mattered. Every second was wasted.”

  Lee looks to the side, a tear streaking down her face and dripping off her chin. My heart twists at her sadness.

  “I didn’t tell you that to make you sad. Or to make you feel guilty. I just need you to understand. I stayed away because I couldn’t come home. Couldn’t face bein’ the town disappointment. But none of that shit matters anymore. You can’t go back and change the past—”

  “But you can start where you are and change the endin’,” Lee finishes, smiling through her tears. “That’s my favorite quote.”

  My chest warms. “Mine too.” I reach out, grabbing her fingers across the table. “I forgive you. Do you forgive me?”

  She stares at our hands, sniffling. Finally, she nods and a fissure in my heart heals.

  “Good, because we need to be a team to support Pops. And each other.” I puff out a breath. “You ready for this?”

  “No.” She laughs. “But I’m as ready as I’m gonna be. Nice accent, by the way. Guess I just have to rile you up to make you sound like yourself again, huh.” She smiles.

  I look behind her and see Pops following Mark outside, his shoulders slumped and his head hanging down. Even from a distance, I can tell he’s gained weight. It looks good on him. And when he looks up, for the first time since coming back home, a little bit of my long lost faith gets restored.

  His eyes are clear and alert. And although he isn’t smiling, there’s an aura that isn’t quite as dark around him. Like the grief he wore as a cloak has been stripped off his back.

  Pops and Mark sit down in the two chairs opposite us. It’s a circular table, but somehow Pops seems the farthest away, the feeling of how our relationships have eroded over the years manifesting in the space between us.

  “Hi again, you two,” Mark greets.

  I attempt a smile, but it’s all I can force, the heaviness of the day starting to wear on my shoulders until I feel the throbbing low in my spine.

  “Today isn’t going to be a ‘session’ per se,” Mark continues. “Just a visit for everyone to catch up. I’m only here to moderate in case things veer into topics Craig doesn’t feel comfortable handling.”

  “So, Pops,” I start. “How ya doing? You look good.”

  Pops nods, resting his elbows on the table, causing it to shift slightly. “I’m doin’ alright. But I won’t lie, the urge to bust outta here and grab a drink is mighty strong today, knowin’ I’d have to see y’all.”

  Lee scoffs. “Are you really blamin’ us?”

  Mark leans forward, cutting in. “Lee, Craig is just expressing his struggle today and that’s something we should honor. It isn’t easy facing the people you’ve hurt with your addiction.”

  My stomach squeezes. I don’t understand much about what Pops is going through and what this process entails, but that feeling of facing people you feel like you’ve let down? That’s a feeling I understand well.

  “I’m not—I’m not blamin’ you, Alina. I’m just bein’ honest. Facin’ you is hard. It was hard when I was two bottles of whiskey deep, and it’s hard now that the shame is showin’ its face. I look at you and I see your mama. It hurts.” His palm rests over his heart, his gaze bouncing between us. “I look at both of you and see all the ways I failed you.”

  My heart stutters, waiting—needing—him to elaborate.

  He doesn’t.

  Lee sucks in a breath through her teeth. “Okay, I’m sorry, Daddy. It’s good you’re here. I’m happy to see you.”

  Pops’s lips lift just a smidge.

  Mark clears his throat. “Craig, why don’t you tell them about group two days ago.”

  At this, Pops does smile, reaching in his pocket and pulling out a coin, laying in on the table. I lean in to see.

  “What’s that?” Lee asks.

  “That’s my sobriety token. Thirty days.” Pops’s chest puffs, and my own chest swells at seeing a bit of the man who raised me filter through the cracks.

  “That’s incredible, Pops. Congratulations.”

  “Yeah, Daddy, thirty days is amazin’.” Lee’s eyes sparkle with unshed tears and she blinks them away. “I’m so dang proud.” She looks down at the table, fingering the pile of pamphlets. “Mama would be proud, too.”

  Her words lodge themselves in my throat and my heart thumps out in pain at the mention of Ma.

  Pops’s face twists—the sorrow painting itself on his features—grief swirling through his irises. His hand snaps out and picks up the coin, his thumb rubbing one side, his fingers white-knuckling the other.

  “You get one of those every month?” I change the subject back to something lighter, my eyes flickering to Mark who nods in encouragement.

  The rest of our time is light. Surface level. But it’s a nice visit, and it relieves some of the worry that was ruminating low in my gut at not knowing whether Pops was taking this seriously.

  We’ll have time to talk about the heavy. Time to figure out where we go from here, once he comes home and faces his recovery, and his punishment. He still has court for the accident, after all.

  But for now, seeing that Pops is healing, that he’s putting in the work… it’s enough.

  57

  Becca

  I think I’ll keep Doc. Virtually, of course. I’m not ready to meet face to face, not sure if I ever will be, but over the phone, talking is easier than expected. It’s nice to vent my fears and frustrations. To word vomit everything and have no fear of retribution. No fear of being judged.

  Doc actually listened. He told me my emotions were valid.

  And then he gave me homework.

  Write down three things I wish I could be, then say it on repeat until I believe them.

  So here I am on a Wednesday afternoon, in the parking lot of church, repeating my newly formed affirmations.

  I want to catch my folks before Wednesday evening servi
ce, and this is my best chance to corner them in a place where I know they can’t leave. I have some things to say, and it’s high time they listen.

  I am strong. I am bold. I own my power.

  With a deep breath, I stretch my legs out of my car and slam the door behind me, hoping the slight tremor in my hands doesn’t show anywhere else on my body as I walk inside.

  The office door is cracked, so I push it open the rest of the way and go in. My heart beats so fast I feel it slamming against the bones in my chest. Momma is hunched over the desk, Papa next to her, both of their attention on papers strewn across the desk.

  “Hi, y’all.”

  Papa’s head snaps up, his eyes narrowing as they land on me. “Rebecca, where’ve you been, young lady?”

  My stomach jolts. How dare he act like they care. “It’s not like I’ve been hidin’, Papa. I just haven’t been here.”

  His arms cross, his green stare slicing through me. “And why exactly is that?”

  My eyes bounce to Momma. She’s peering at me from where she’s still bent at the edge of the desk.

  “Momma didn’t tell you?”

  His eyes flicker toward her, his posture stiffening. “Tell me what?”

  At this, Momma stands straight, her pearls bouncing slightly as they rest around her neck, the perfect accent to the facade she projects to the world. I wonder if I rip them off, would it strip her bare and show the world her ugliness?

  She clears her throat. “We had a heart-to-heart the other night and she didn’t take what I had to say very well. You wouldn’t be interested, darlin’, it’s woman stuff.”

  There’s a glint in her eyes as she levels her gaze at me. I’m not sure if it’s a warning or a threat, but I don’t care either way. I’m done subjecting myself to what she wants at the expense of what I need.

  Doc says people won’t give you power. You have to take it.

  “No, Papa. It’s not woman stuff. She told me how y’all lied for years.”