She smiled. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.”
“Nope.” He handed Scarlet to her mom (damn, there was no mistaking that they were mother and daughter) and started walking through the other doorway. “Be right back.” Zane felt a rush of gratitude. Their acceptance and love were strong and palpable, exactly what he needed right now.
“Go ahead and sit down, Zane.” Jenna pulled out a chair for herself and sat, holding Scarlet on her lap, but the child would have none of it. She turned and wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck. “Honey, this is daddy’s friend Zane. You remember him, don’t you?” Zane couldn’t see the expression on the child’s face as her head was turned away from him. He knew he had to look like shit warmed over, and that would likely scare the hardiest of children. “He’s in daddy’s band.” Jenna smiled, looking at Zane. “Er, bands.”
Zane forced a smile back and he heard Scarlet say, “Daddy’s bands.”
“Yes.”
Ethan came back in, holding a pint of half-and-half and bowl of sugar and set them on the table before sitting on the other side of Zane. “So what’s up, man?”
Zane hadn’t expected to be thrown immediately into the thick of things, but he didn’t mind. He’d barely slept the night before and it was all his mind had been on. It was time to move forward. He let out a breath and started talking, while Scarlet slid off Jenna’s lap, walked the other way around the table so she could avoid him, and climbed up on her daddy’s lap, while Jenna took the coffees out of the carrier and placed one in front of each adult at the table. “You guys know I’ve been in and out of rehab for the last few years.”
Ethan nodded, clenching his jaw. If anyone understood the struggle, it was this man. “Yeah.” He furrowed his brow. “Not taking?”
Zane shook his head. “Not sticking anyway. I don’t know what to do, but I’ve got to. I can’t keep doing this.” He wanted to add, I’m going to lose the only woman I’ve ever loved, but the words echoed in his head, sounding melodramatic. There was no need to be a pussy about it.
Jenna grabbed the sugar. “Did you bring spoons, honey?”
“Damn.” Ethan scrunched his nose. “Hang on.” He stood, Scarlet in tow, and walked to the kitchen quickly. Zane knew his friend would be able to hear him in there, but he waited until Ethan came back and handed Jenna a spoon while placing one in front of Zane. Jenna scooped a couple of spoonfuls in her coffee, but Ethan pulled the lid off his coffee and drank it straight.
Zane would take some sugar. He needed it and the caffeine to stave off the headache he knew was coming, just one of the lovely cluster of withdrawal symptoms he was likely to start experiencing. He was already overwhelmed with fatigue and tension. Those were the symptoms most health experts and addiction counselors called mild.
Mild, his fucking ass. They were just the beginning of an onslaught, and when they piled on, they were impossible to deal with. Bad enough he had emotional and psychological dependencies to boot. “So...what do you need from us, Zane?” Jenna asked. In her voice, there was no judgment, no accusations nor expectations—just a sincere question begging for an honest answer.
Damn, she was good. When he first met Jenna, Zane hadn’t taken long to understand why Ethan had fallen for her. First of all, her no-nonsense attitude and street-smart feel made her a force to contend with. Val was a strong woman but she was different and not for Ethan. The difference between the two women was like the difference between digital and analog. Both could do the job—the same damn job—but they would take different paths. Their circuitry was not the same. Jenna and Ethan were, as the old saying went, cut from the same cloth, just as Val and Brad were. It was so obvious now, in retrospect, how Val and Ethan were just not meant for each other, in spite of the fact that the two of them had loved each other desperately. But Val had had to grow into her worldliness, whereas Jenna had seemed to have been weaned on the shitty ways of the world. Nothing fazed her.
She was an amazing counselor.
And that was why Zane needed her so desperately. “Guys...the last stint I had in rehab. I dried out, right? Yeah, no problem. After three days, it’s like a piece of cake, you know?” He grabbed the coffee and brought it up to his mouth to take a sip, trying to ignore the shaking in his hand.
Jenna offered, “Staying quit, though...”
“Yeah. That’s a bitch.” He sighed, placing the paper cup back down on the table. Scarlet slid off Ethan’s lap again and toddled over to her mommy. Zane noticed that this time, though, the child walked behind his chair. She was starting to thaw a little to his presence. Maybe the coffee running through his veins helped him look a little less scary. “I know it’s ‘cause I’ve been avoiding the talking part.”
“Counseling?”
“Yeah. Is that why?”
“Well,” Jenna started, helping Scarlet up on her lap, “it could be. Talking about your triggers and what brought you here in the first place is often a good way to figure yourself out, to help arm yourself against the onslaught of temptations that will come to you in the future. They will come—you have to know that. But you can overcome them if you’re prepared. And that’s really where the strength in counseling lies.” She kissed her child on top of her head. “It also sometimes helps just to have someone who’ll listen to you.”
Zane resisted rolling his eyes. “Eh...I’m not really big on that.”
Jenna smiled, her green eyes twinkling. “A lot of folks aren’t. But trust me. It helps.”
He felt his leg bouncing under the table and he willed himself to relax as much as possible, but even the idea caused him to tense up. “You still on hiatus?”
Jenna laughed. “You band guys and your lingo. I still do the weekly group, Soaring Free, but yeah. I’m not counseling full time anymore. I’m enjoying staying home being a mom.”
“I know it’s weird, but would you consider counseling an old friend?”
Jenna reached out and touched Zane’s hand, something he hadn’t expected. His first reaction had been to pull away, but he instead let her do it. He could see Ethan out of the corner of his eye but he couldn’t read the man’s expression. “Zane, I really don’t think I’d be the best therapist for you. I know you...and that would stop me from being neutral. I learned a lot from working with Ethan. I know it seems cold, but it’s really a lot better if you start with someone who doesn’t know you.”
“But...I don’t even want to do this shit in the first place. I think the only way I can even start is with someone I know.”
He heard Ethan clear his throat. “Would it help if you had a friend with you?”
Zane was ready to start laughing—and he might have if he wasn’t so near to emotional collapse. That was a riot, though. He remembered getting some kind of booster shots as a kid, and his mom practically shoving him at the nurse, telling him he had to be brave and that she’d be in the lobby waiting. The fucking lobby...when he needed her. But she’d been busy flirting with the window washer guy. Seriously sick. And now, as an adult, he had his friend offering to hold his hand so he could go talk to someone about his problems?
It was actually fucking tempting.
“If you don’t mind a little advice, Zane, I think you might consider inpatient again. I know it’s tough being away from home and the friends you love, but it really does remove you from all the temptations and triggers—”
“—that I need to learn to deal with on a daily basis, right?” Jenna blinked and nodded. “Inpatient’s not all it’s cracked up to be. No offense, Jenna. I know it’s not bad...but the physical shit’s not the issue. I can fucking lick that, no problem. I have hundreds of times before. It sucks, but I know what to expect and I know how to take it. It’s the...it’s the shit after that kills me. It’s the day-to-day living. That’s what I need to deal with.”
“I’m always here to talk, man. I got your back. And I get where you’re coming from.”
Zane looked over at his friend. “I know you do.”
He turned aga
in when he heard Jenna’s voice. “Then maybe I need to refer you to someone, right? Would you be more comfortable with a male or female counselor, or does that matter?”
Zane didn’t care...he just wanted her to point him in the direction of a fucking miracle worker—because that was what he needed. Desperately.
Chapter Eighteen
“HOLY CRAP, ZANE. There are big families who don’t live in places half this nice.”
“I know. I knew you’d appreciate it. This is luxury on wheels, babe. This is how I know we’re in the big leagues.”
“Geez...I can’t believe these bunks...and the bathroom.”
“Mmm...I need to break my bed in before we go on tour. Can you help me out there?”
“Zane! No way. Val and Ethan could walk in any minute!”
“Nah. She’s already been in here. They’re just on the bus humoring us.”
“You, you mean.”
“No, us. You’re impressed, aren’t you?”
“Yeah...but it’s just a bus.”
“Oh...what do I have to do to impress my girlfriend? If this big bus doesn’t impress her...”
“I—we’re boyfriend and girlfriend again?”
“Don’t you want to be?”
“I guess I hadn’t thought about it, but...yeah.”
It had been almost a week, but Jennifer remembered the last words Zane had said to her on the phone. “Don’t call, okay? I’m, uh...going to be going through withdrawal. Again. And, um...it’s not pretty. I don’t want you to hear me like that. But I love you, Jen—and anything for you.”
God, she wanted to believe that, but how many times did she have to be humiliated, betrayed, and hurt before she refused to come back for more?
She’d told him one more time. She’d give him one last chance...and that was it. She steeled herself for the very real possibility that Zane would still have his leopard’s spots when he emerged from the other side of whatever treatment he was getting. She knew he’d been through rehab a ridiculous amount of times. How good could the process be if it didn’t work?
She had to admit to herself that she didn’t know much about it. Jennifer had never been addicted to anything and prayed she never would, so the concept was foreign to her.
She shook her head and started typing again. It had been easy getting lost in thought over the past week, and she had to focus to stay concentrated, especially at work. It was hard when she gazed upon her child too, but with fewer distractions on the job, she caught herself thinking way too much about Zane when she should have been working.
Today, though, was a little different, because Constance was on a tear. She’d been ranting and raving all morning, first about her boyfriend and how inconsiderate he was around their apartment, leaving his dirty socks everywhere and not rinsing out his cereal bowl. Then she’d begun bitching about how the front desk wasn’t properly screening visitors. Jennifer kept her mouth shut, because she wondered why Constance even gave a crap. The front desk had nothing to do with their department, where they had no direct client contact. So why the hell did she even care?
Jennifer knew when Constance said her next sentence. “God, can’t anyone around here do anything right?” The woman whose cubicle was across from Constance said something Jennifer couldn’t hear from where she sat. That was good. She didn’t need to. She moved her mouse, pointing to the little speaker icon so she could turn the music up a little more. She had to tune Cunt-stance out. She’d never get all her work done if she couldn’t.
It was quiet for a while, but after lunch, the bitching began again. Part of Jennifer was glad that she was no longer one of Constance’s targets, but it was just a matter of time. The woman was never happy, and if something or someone wasn’t under her radar, she’d eventually throw a dart at them.
“Oh, my God, Carly. I can’t believe it. I swear to God, they hire the stupidest people to work in the mailroom.”
“What do you mean?”
“They aren’t properly date stamping the mail. None of what they brought up here today is right.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
Jennifer turned up the music on her computer speakers again—just a couple of notches, but she hoped it would be enough to help her tune out the BS.
No such luck.
“First off, it’s sloppy. But that’s not the problem. The real problem is the date. They forgot to move it forward. It says June twenty-second, not June twenty-third. And what if I need to sort my mail and make sure I respond to things timely? I’m already a day behind!”
“You can mark over it with a pen, right?”
“I could, but what if I’m accused of fudging the dates so I don’t look like I’m slacking?”
The other woman said, “I’d vouch for you. I’m right here.”
“But there is a reason why we have date stamps in the first place. It’s to keep us professional and doing things properly. If we screw up the procedure, then we all look like idiots. This makes me look stupid.”
Jennifer couldn’t stand it anymore—just could not stand it anymore. Constance had spent her entire tenure in their department ranting about procedures and professionalism instead of doing her best to learn her job and be a solid team player. Like right now. Instead of taking their coworker’s advice or even calling the mail department to ask them what was up, she chose to complain loudly and let everyone in their area know of her displeasure, trying to get everyone to agree with her that the mailroom was “unprofessional.”
Jennifer wasn’t going to take it any longer.
The girl named Carly started to respond. “Maybe you can talk to Mr.—”
Jennifer stood, but she knew no one could see her over the cubicle walls. Still, her voice would carry until she could get around them to be seen. “Maybe you can shut the hell up, Constance.”
As Jennifer walked around the carpeted wall, she was stunned by the eerie silence. She had expected Constance to immediately direct her attention to her, yelling and screaming and carrying on, spitting venom. Instead, the room grew quiet. Too quiet. And she still had so much more to say.
She came around the corner, wondering if maybe instead Constance would punch her or scratch her. Neither would have surprised her. Jennifer had been bullied by this woman for so long that she had failed to understand the dynamics. She’d gone along, being quiet, keeping her nose low, simply focusing on her own thing, trying to stay away from Constance’s toxicity for fear of getting any on herself. But she was done. Enough was enough. She was so worried about Zane and possibly having to let him go for good that she no longer had anything to lose. If she lost this job due to finally speaking up, she could apply for unemployment benefits. If Constance punched her, then she’d have a few days of sick leave—time home with her daughter. If she got moved to another department, all the better.
She hadn’t expected silence, though.
Constance’s face was white, and Jennifer could see her mental grappling, trying to come up with something to say. Before she could, though, Jennifer had to finish her thoughts. “Constance, every damn day I come in here, you have something or someone to complain about. No one can do a good enough job, if we’re to believe you. You seem to forget that no one is perfect, that we all have a learning curve...and guess what? Even then, we all sometimes make mistakes. Yeah, all of us. If you think you’re so freaking perfect, then why don’t you apply for the jobs no one else can do right? Or maybe just shut the hell up and appreciate what other people do, even when they screw up on occasion. We’re a team, not enemies, and I’m tired of hearing you complaining all the time.”
She stood for several long seconds, expecting Constance to say something. Instead, the woman just continued staring at Jennifer until Jennifer got tired of standing and walked away, back to her own cubicle. It wasn’t until she almost sat down that she heard someone in a cubicle several yards away start clapping tentatively...followed by another and another and another, until the room was a sea of cheers.
But that also meant she needed to confess to the boss before someone tattled on her. Yelling at a coworker, whether she was in the right or not, would be frowned upon. She took a deep breath and stepped out of her cubicle so she could visit the boss in his office. She realized on her way there that she’d actually forgotten about Zane in those few emotional minutes, which officially made her speech a win-win.
Chapter Nineteen
WITHDRAWAL WAS NEVER a piece of cake, but it was something Zane could do. He’d practically spent the entire week in bed, nursing himself with pain relievers and sipping water. It was an ugly thing and maybe—if he dared hope—maybe it would be the last time.
Monday morning, he emerged from the cave of his bedroom, formerly a haven of sorts, but now a den of yuck. He’d asked his cleaning lady to take a week off and she was going to hate his ass when she came back to work today...although it wouldn’t be her first time cleaning up his nasty messes. Ah, but she made better money than a lot of people with college educations simply by putting up with Zane’s bullshit and filthiness—and she knew it. Not only did she do a good job, but she never complained about it. She rarely smiled but she wasn’t a grouch, either. She was quiet and efficient and a hell of a workhorse.
And today she’d earn her paycheck.
He’d make things a little easier on her, though. He pulled the sheets and comforter off the bed and made his way downstairs to the laundry room, pouring in what he hoped would be enough detergent to wash away all his sins. Then, after a cup of coffee, he took a long, cleansing shower and emerged feeling better than he had in ages. It was almost like the time a few years ago when he got the flu. He’d spent a couple of days in bed feeling like he was going to die and then, all of a sudden, he felt like a new man—spent but happy to be alive and feeling wonderful.
He was trying not to think about the afternoon...when he was going to meet his new therapist for the first time—a guy named Dr. Eugene Harvey, a man Jenna highly recommended. She’d told him, “I know a lot of people who have gone to him out of desperation. Like he’s their last hope.”
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