“Knee replacement surgery isn’t one it once was, Dalton,” the doctor said. “Of course since you need to have both knees done, that will add to the recovery time, but-”
“How would I manage the pain, post-surgery, if I don’t want pills?” Dalton interjected.
Since the orthopedic surgeon hadn’t been prescribing the OxyContin he would have no way of knowing about Dalton’s problem. “Why wouldn’t you want a prescription for pain relief?” the middle aged doctor asked. Understanding dawned and he shook his head, looking grim. “How long have you been dependent?”
“A long time.” He hated to admit it, but he knew the first step in his recovery would be acknowledging his problem to those with the power to help him. “The pain was unbearable the last couple of years I was playing. I had no choice but to take it.”
“I understand.” The doctor removed his silver-framed glasses with a heavy sigh. “I’ve worked with a lot of athletes, Dalton. It happens more often than you’d think.”
It was little consolation to Dalton to be reminded he wasn’t alone, especially since he’d never felt more alone.
“Have you gone to re-hab?”
“No.”
“That’s the first step.”
“No.” Dalton had already decided how he intended to handle this and he wouldn’t let some doctor dissuade him. “I want the surgery. The sooner, the better. I’m determined to stay off the pills, so I just need you to tell me about alternative methods of pain relief.”
Now that he’d promised to reveal all to Sophie after the wedding, he had the motivation he needed to stay clean. By the time he told her, he wanted to be able to assure that he had a handle on it and the worst was behind them. Even if he had to suffer through the gut-wrenching pain that kept him awake nights, he’d vowed he was finished with the pills.
“Tell me how many pills we’re talking about,” the doctor said. “How many milligrams?”
Dalton was embarrassed to admit how many pills he routinely consumed on a bad day, especially while he’d been playing. “It was 40 mils,” he said, wiping his damp palms down the front of his gray dress pants. This was the first time he’d had to admit it aloud. “It’s up to 80 now. Sometimes a dozen a day, depending on the day.”
The doctor’s eyes widened before shaking his head. “You’re saying it can be more?”
He understood the specialist’s disgust, but until he’d lived a day in his body, enduring the excruciating pain, he had no right to judge. “Sometimes.”
“I can’t imagine your doctor prescribing 150 pills a month for years on end without surgical intervention to deal with the source of the pain. That would be the epitome of negligence.”
Dalton didn’t want to get his doctor in trouble or make it seem like he’d been an innocent victim who didn’t understand the dangerous game he’d been playing. “You said you deal with a lot of professional athletes. If that’s true, you know ours are atypical cases. They hand out the Oxy and Percs as a means of survival. You try getting tackled by 300 pound guys who’re out for blood day after day. Tell me if you need something to take the edge off.”
“I get it,” Dr. Wright said. “I do, but you aren’t playing anymore, Dalton. I understand you’re still dealing with the pain from injuries you sustained, but that doesn’t mean responsible medical personnel should be-”
“I have more than one source,” he admitted, hanging his head.
Just saying it aloud left a bitter taste in his mouth. He was no better than the junkies he passed every day on his way to work. He may drive the fancy cars, live in the gated community, wear the expensive watch and designer clothes, but beneath it all, he was no better than the homeless drug addicts begging for money so they could get their next fix.
“I don’t think I want to know,” the doctor said, looking toward the ceiling. “And I’m sure you have no intention of telling me.”
“You’re right about that,” Dalton confirmed. “Let’s just say I’m ready to move on. I don’t want to use those pills anymore. I want to book the surgery, now, today. And I’m hoping you can help me figure out other options for pain management?”
“I assume physiotherapy doesn’t help much anymore?”
“No.”
“It will after the surgery. You’ll start working with your therapist again right away. They’ll set you up with an exercise regime between sessions.” The doctor offered a slight smile when he said, “Some people find deep breathing and meditation helps. I don’t suppose you’ve tried it?”
Dalton rolled his eyes. He could just imagine his former teammate’s reaction if they heard he’d started meditating. Then he thought of Sophie and realized he didn’t care what they thought of him anymore. He only cared what she thought. “No. But I’m willing to try just about anything to get this monkey off my back.”
“Massage may help reduce stress. Exercise that doesn’t put additional strain on your knees may help as well.” He regarded Dalton’s physique before smiling. “But it looks like you still spend your fair share of time in the gym.”
“Yeah. Upper body work, mostly.”
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but judging by what you’ve told me, I’d be remiss if I didn’t recommend de-tox followed by in-patient re-hab before we schedule the surgery.”
“You’re right, I don’t want to hear it.” He gestured to the doctor’s computer. “Just tell me what dates you have available and I’ll make it work.”
“You don’t understand the potential danger of unsupervised-”
“Weren’t you listening?” Dalton asked, raising his voice. “I said I don’t want to hear it!”
“Well, you’re going to hear it whether you want to or not.”
Dalton had to hand it to the guy. Most men would shrink in fear when he issued a warning. Not the good doctor. He must take his job seriously if he was willing to test his luck with a former football who was in desperate need of his fix.
“Some of the symptoms you may already be experiencing,” he said, clasping his hands on the desk in front of him. “Depending when you took the last dose. They can range from anxiety to insomnia and profuse sweating in the beginning, followed by abdominal cramping, nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea in the later stages. None of these things alone are dangerous, but problems such as dehydration can easily occur, which is why it’s best to be supervised during this initial phase. The urge to take a pill, just to take the edge off, will be strong,” the doctor warned. “Which is why most people need help in the beginning.”
Dalton could sense there was more the specialist wasn’t telling him. “Go on.”
“The biggest risk is if you resume taking the pills after some time without them.”
“Why?” Dalton asked, feeling the anxiety the doctor mentioned hitting him full force as beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.
“The withdrawal process reduces your tolerance for the drug so you can overdose on a much smaller dosage than you were used to taking. In fact, most overdose deaths occur in people who have recently detoxed or withdrawn from the drug.”
Overdose? What the hell was this guy talking about? Did he think Dalton was that stupid? “I appreciate your concern,” Dalton said, unable to hide his amusement. “But you don’t have to worry about that. I’ll find a way to get through the next few days on my own and believe me, once I’m off this stuff, I have no intention of going back to it.”
Chapter Twelve
“Congratulations,” Shy said, handing Sophie a keychain with a crystal prism. “You are now the proud owner of your very own lakeside cottage.” She giggled. “Or should I say dilapidated shack?”
“That would probably be more accurate,” Sophie said, looking down at the broken floorboards as she wondered what she’d signed on for.
“Come on,” Shy said, putting her arm around her friend. “This is going to be fun.”
With Dalton it would have been fun, without him it was just sad and overwhelming.
“Y
ou’re thinking about Dalton, aren’t you?” Shy asked, sighing. “Don’t worry, you’re allowed. You guys had planned to buy this place together. It’s only natural you’d be thinking about him now that it’s a done deal.”
Sophie watched the sun dipping lower in the sky wondering if she and Dalton would ever be able to sit on their little deck and appreciate a sunset together. “I guess.”
“I assume you haven’t talked to him since you confronted him about keeping things from you?”
“No.” And Sophie was miserable. It had been two weeks and she hadn’t heard a word from him, not even a text. “I know I’ll be seeing him at the rehearsal dinner tonight though. I’m a little nervous about it, to tell you the truth.”
“Why?” Shy asked, planting her bottom on a sketchy looking window seat with little regard for her long white skirt. “You guys didn’t end things on bad terms, did you?”
“We didn’t end things,” Sophie said, feeling panicked at the prospect of losing the man she loved. “I think he’s just going through something and needed some time to sort it out. If anyone can understand that, I can.”
“I hate to say this,” Shy said, looking apprehensive. “But it sounds like you’re making excuses for him. If he’s keeping things from you now, how can you be sure you’ll ever be able to trust him?”
Sophie knew her friend was looking out for her, but her heart told her Dalton would never intentionally hurt her. Maybe she was being naïve, seeing what she wanted to see, believing in something they’d never had, but something told her not to give up on him.
“I know this isn’t what you want to hear,” Shy said when Sophie retreated to the window instead of facing her. “But I feel like it’s my job as your friend to force you to face facts, even when you don’t want to.”
“You don’t know him like I do, Shy.” That statement rang of every rationalization she’d ever heard a woman use to defend a relationship that was going nowhere. Was she being naïve, hoping Dalton would finally decide to come clean with her when the time was right? “He’s a good guy.” Although she believed her claim, it sounded hollow. “I’ve known him for years. I know his family. He’s not the kind of guy who’d string me along if he wasn’t serious about a future with me.”
“Really?” Shy asked, looking skeptical. “Then he has a history of healthy, long-term relationships?”
“Well, no.” Sophie could argue she didn’t have the best track record either, but she had made more of an effort than Dalton. “But that doesn’t mean he can’t change. Maybe he just hasn’t met the right person. I want to believe I’m that woman, the one he’s been waiting for.”
“Oh, honey,” Shy said, her expression sad. “Listen to yourself. You’re too smart to believe you can change any man. He is who he is and he’s not likely to change for you or anyone. It’s not that I don’t like Dalton, I do. I just question whether he’s right for you.”
“Maybe I’m just not ready for a relationship,” Sophie said. If she couldn’t have Dalton, she didn’t want anyone. “Maybe I should just focus on my career for now and not worry about my love life.”
“You’re going to wait around for a man who doesn’t have the guts to be honest with you?” Shy rolled her eyes. “That’s not you, girl. You’re better than that.”
Sophie had always valued Shy’s opinion and she didn’t like the reflection of herself she saw in her friend’s eyes. She’d never been the gullible girl who sought out bad boys believing she could fix them. So why was she wasting her time believing Dalton would wake up and decide she was more important than his secrets?
“I hear what you’re saying. I do. But-”
“You love him,” Shy supplied. “I can understand that. For what it’s worth, I believe he loves you too, but sometimes that’s not enough. You can’t have a solid relationship without trust and honesty and it seems to me those two elements are sorely lacking between you two.”
Sophie wanted to defend Dalton but she couldn’t. He’d admitted to her there were things he wasn’t ready to share with her. She’d been patient, hoping he would change his mind, but she had no reason to believe he was any more willing to confide in her now than he’d been when she walked out on him.
“So you think I should just put this whole thing with Dalton behind me and move on?” Sophie asked. Even the thought of letting go of the hope of a future with him pained her, but she was a realist. If he couldn’t trust her enough to be honest with her, they had no future.
“You’re the only one who can answer that,” Shy said. “I can only tell you what I would do in your position.”
“You’d move on.”
“I would.”
***
Dalton was sitting on his deck imagining what he would say to Sophie when he saw her at the rehearsal dinner that night. He hadn’t called or texted her because he knew they had to have this out face-to-face. Getting through every day was torture, not only because he missed her but because he was waging an internal battle. His body still craved the drugs, but he was trying to remain strong, to fight the good fight.
“Hey,” Dylan said, rounding the corner. “I thought I might find you back here when you didn’t answer the door. Your truck was in the drive, so I knew you were kickin’ around here somewhere.”
“Did my sister send you to check up on me?” Dalton asked, gesturing to the chair next to him.
Sabrina admitted she’d told Dylan about his problem. She claimed she couldn’t keep secrets from her husband. Given how terrible he felt keeping the truth from Sophie, Dalton could understand his sister’s dilemma.
“No, I just thought I’d stop by on my way home from work. I haven’t seen you in a while and wanted to see how you were holding up.”
Dylan was one of the few people who might understand what he was going through. He’d been a professional football player too. They’d been teammates. They’d both lived that life, dealt with ravaged bodies and broken spirits in the name of the game they loved.
“I’m okay, I guess,” Dalton said, reaching for his bottled water. “You want anything to drink?”
Dylan shook his head. “You can’t be okay, man. I know how tough this has got to be. I’ve seen other guys go through it.”
“Yeah, well I’ve got the surgery scheduled for three weeks from now. After that, things should get better.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“I have to.” The alternative was unthinkable. He couldn’t imagine feeling this way for the rest of his life. Believing the surgery was the answer to his prayers was the only thing getting him through the long days and longer nights without Sophie.
“There is help, you know. Lots of the other guys have gone into treatment programs and found a way to cope.”
“I don’t need a treatment program,” Dalton said, clenching his fist around the plastic bottle. “I need surgery, which I’m going to get soon enough.”
“We both know the physical pain is only part of the problem,” Dylan said. “The addiction is going to haunt you forever, especially if you don’t deal with it.”
That was the last thing Dalton wanted to hear, but he couldn’t deny he’d been thinking the same thing, telling himself he was a coward for trying to deny he had a problem. “Pride is a sonofabitch, isn’t it?” He knew if anyone would understand what he meant, Dylan would. Leaving the game because of an injury hadn’t been any easier for Dylan than it had been for Dalton.
“It sure is.” Dylan smirked. “We’re trained to be tough, mentally and physically. We’re taught to believe that we’re invincible, that nothing and no one can hurt us. Hell, we’re not even men anymore by the end of it. We’re more like machines.”
“Yeah, broken down machines,” Dalton said, thinking of the aches and pains that made him feel like a man twice his age when he got out of bed most mornings.
“But it doesn’t have to be that way,” Dylan said. “You can have a good life after football, Mitch. I know you haven’t been out of the game
that long, but look at me. I feel better now than I ever did when I was playing. I hit the gym five days a week, eat right-”
“You were a quarterback,” Dalton reminded him. “Your body wasn’t battered the way mine was.” He hated feeling sorry for himself, but he couldn’t help feeling his body and mind had both betrayed him, leaving him a shell of his former self.
“Maybe not,” Dylan conceded. “But you can rebuild your body. Hell, you can even re-build your mind, man. They trained us to think a certain way, to act a certain way. In a lot of ways, they owned us. But now you get to decide for yourself. Who do you want to be?”
Dalton had to laugh at the question. He hadn’t asked himself that question since he’d decided decades ago he was going to be a professional football player. That’s who he was, the title he’d always identify with, even though he no longer played the game.
“You’re in a unique position to help the younger guys coming up avoid the trap you fell into, buddy.”
“What do you mean?” Dalton asked before draining his water bottle.
“Sabrina told me how much your clients look up to you, especially the football players. You had the kind of career they all hope to have.”
Dalton had developed some close bonds with their clients but he didn’t think he was in a position to serve as anyone’s mentor in his condition. “Yeah, so?”
“I just thought that might give you a new purpose,” Dylan said, shifting in his seat to face his friend. “Think about it, man. You lick this problem and you could serve as an inspiration to other guys who think drugs are the only way deal with the physical pain or who may not even understand the ramifications of becoming dependent. When everyone else around you is doing it, you don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. Hell, I did it myself a few times throughout my career. Thankfully I was never on the stuff long enough to form a habit, but I could see how easy it would be for that to happen.”
That’s why Dalton loved his friends. They went way back, had known each other since they were teenagers with the same dream and they’d managed to help each other through every major life trial since then, without judgement.
Possession (Texas Titans #8) Page 14