by Q. B. Tyler
“When you were a kid?” She winces.
“Childhood, teenage years, adolescence…he was actually late to my college graduation. Showed up forty minutes late in the same clothes he was in the night before, when we’d all gone to dinner to celebrate my degree.” I’m still kneeling in front of Charlotte and before I can think, I’ve placed my head in her lap, seeking the comfort I know alcohol could give me, but wanting to grasp for the higher power I was hoping could pull me out of the darkness that is hovering over me. Her hands find my head instantly and begin to stroke my hair and massage my scalp. Her fingertips quiet the roaring thoughts swirling in my brain as I remember the fact that he didn’t even attend my master’s graduation. Though that fact had more to do with Diana Montgomery. “They missed my grad school graduation.”
She gasps. “They? As in…?”
“Both my parents. Drew came with whatever flavor of the week at the time.”
“How—?”
“They had tickets for a cruise around the Mediterranean.” I hear a sharp intake of air. “And before you empathize with them at all, they weren’t non-refundable tickets.”
“I wasn’t…I was just going to say that’s pretty shitty.”
“The sad part is I was used to it by then.” I sit up, as I look her in the eye, wondering if the breakthrough is on its way. “I’ve never had what felt like any real connection to anyone in my immediate family. My mom was…is the stereotypical Stepford wife, but lacks any real emotion. I couldn’t tell you the last time I felt any real affection from her. My father…” I swallow, wishing this conversation was over so I could go hide out in my office for the rest of the day. “I’m sorry they’ll be your in-laws.” I grimace and she frowns, finding my face.
“I’m sorry they hurt you. I’m sorry they continue to hurt you.” She blinks away her tears. “What about your brother? It seems you two are quite close?”
I roll my eyes. Honestly, that’s more on Drew’s part. I tried to put distance between us; hiding the resentment I have for him is exhausting. “Drew had a different upbringing than I did. It’s almost as if we were born to different parents. He had parents that worshipped him, supported his dreams, encouraged his passions. He was a sports God, perfect at anything that required athleticism—something I lacked. He bonded with my father over that, whereas J.R. couldn’t understand why I lacked the physical ability to keep up. Drew was my mother’s firstborn, her pride and joy. A baby made out of love. J.R. was there for everything in the beginning for Drew—first steps, first words, everything. I came five years later, as my mother struggled to keep my father interested. I came in response to my father’s first affair. The band-aid my mother hoped would fix everything. Instead, it just pushed him into the arms of another woman and my mother was left essentially raising me on her own.” I shake my head as I remember coming to that first realization. “My mother resented me for it. Or maybe she resented her actions of getting pregnant to keep my father. Either way, I’m far from the favorite child.”
I watch as the tears trickle down her cheek, her eyes red and glassy. “Oh Will.” She shakes her head and puts her hands over her eyes, then drops them, and moves to the floor to press her knees against mine, placing her hands on my thighs. “I love you so much. Thank you for sharing that with me. I hate that you felt so alone growing up, but I hope you know you never have to feel that way again.”
I never have to feel alone again. My heart reacts to her words and I have her in my lap kissing her like our lives depend on it before she can say anything else. I don’t speak, I let my mouth do the talking for me as my tongue winds with hers. I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight against me as the pain of talking about my past bubbles inside of me. My mouth waters again thinking about what I planned to do after I left this room, but Charley’s tongue wipes away the feeling just as quickly. I pull away from her when I feel like we both need a breath and rest my forehead against hers. “God, where have you been all my life?”
She doesn’t say anything, because I don’t think she really has the answer. Finally, she speaks, her voice just above a whisper. “I would have wanted you if we met in high school. Or college. I would have made you feel wanted. Special. I would have protected you from them. I’ll protect you from them now. You’re not alone, Will. Not anymore.” My nose rubs against hers, my eyes fixed on hers as they penetrate me.
Seeing me.
Feeling me.
Knowing me.
That’s the thing about meeting your soulmate. They know what you need to hear sometimes before you do. I’d never used the word alone. Or lonely and it’s like she could feel it just by looking in my eyes.
“I love you,” I tell her as my heart pounds so hard I wonder if it’ll fly out of my chest. A part of me wishes it would so she could see my heart only beat for her.
Even if I was keeping a secret from her.
“I love you too. I wish you’d open up to me. Stop hiding from me. Whatever it is you’re holding onto, let it go. You don’t have to carry it all on your own.”
I’d said that so many times, I wonder if she’s just merely telling me to practice what I preach. Share things with your partner. You’re in this together and you need to share the weight of the baggage you bring into your relationship. One person can’t do it alone.
But what happens when the baggage is too much? So heavy it overpowers the relationship and forces it to break creating irreparable damage?
This is why people have secrets.
This is why people feel they have to carry things alone.
It’s why marriages end.
It’s why I have a job.
* * *
THE SMELL OF BAD COFFEE overwhelms my senses as I step foot into the diner across town. The Peachgrove Diner is known for two things—pancakes and sponsor meetings. Alcoholics flocked from all over to the seedy establishment with their sponsors in hopes that a stack of the sweet cakes could make them forget their troubles for just a second.
For a second, they traded one vice for another because, make no mistake, the pancakes were addictive.
A man with an unlit cigarette tucked between his lips stares at me with a snide grin.
“You can’t cover it up with a fancy suit, rich boy.”
My eyes narrow into slits. “Excuse me?”
“You think your fancy threads make you better than anyone? You think it hides your problem? I can spot an addict a mile away.” His eyes sweep me from top to bottom and I do the same making note of his Falcons hat that seems to cover up quite a bit of white hair. A worn brown leather jacket covers his torso followed by dark jeans with more than a few holes.
“Then you know better than to call them out on it,” I snap, wondering who the hell allowed this man loose on any alcoholic. Putting an addict down in any way rarely worked. Especially a recovering one like myself, who’d used alcohol as a way of escaping all the people in life who did put me down.
“I only call out the ones that are so obviously in denial.”
“You’re a seriously shitty sponsor, you know that?” I growl as I scan the restaurant looking for Tuck. I frown, not seeing him in our usual booth, but knowing that in the ten years I’d known him, he was never late.
“I ain’t a sponsor, which means I can say that you wear your addiction all over your face. You’re not hiding it from anyone.” He pulls his cigarette from his mouth and points it at me, waving it in a circle.
Rage blooms in my chest hearing this man speak so casually about the demons threatening to break out of me.
I knew I shouldn’t have had that drink this morning.
“Joe, don’t you have someone else to harass?” I feel a familiar hand on my shoulder and relief floods me as I sense Tuck has come to my rescue—for the millionth time. They share a look and I watch as the smile tugs at Tuck’s lips; I wonder if it’s at my expense. My nostrils flare, feeling as if I’m left out of some inside joke.
“He one of yours? You always did have a soft
spot for the uppity drunks,” Joe chuckles as if this is all one big joke.
I shoot a look at Tuck daring him to laugh. “I am not uppity…” It’s not lost on me that uppity was the word that stuck out to me first. “I’m not a drunk,” I add for good measure. “So, you can fuck off.”
I feel a hand on my chest keeping me from taking a step forward. “Send Cass our way, will ya?” Tuck says as he leads me towards a different table in the opposite corner.
“Who the fuck is that guy?”
“He’s harmless, Will. Calm down,” he says as we take our seats in the booth.
“He’s rude as hell.”
“What, can’t handle the truth?”
I ignore his comment. “Is he drunk?”
“He better not be. He works here as a condition of his charge.”
“Charge?”
“DUI. Like four of them,” he says not looking up from his menu.
“You’re not supposed to tell me that.”
Tuck’s eyes meet mine. “You can’t keep a secret now?” He gives me a pointed look and sets his menu down just as who I assume to be Cass approaches our table.
“Hi, Mitch! It’s so good to see you!” She’s young, very young. Probably younger than Charley. Her jet black hair is pulled into a messy bun on the top of her head and her face is completely void of makeup with the exception of a pink balm on her lips. Her white tee shirt has the name of the diner scrawled across her chest and an apron is wrapped around her waist covering what I assume to be very short shorts. She was young enough to be his daughter. I shoot him a look instantly, raising an eyebrow at him. He pretends not to notice it.
“Always good to see you, Cassie, how’s school?”
Her powder blue eyes roll in a circle. “A pain in the ass. I’m taking twenty-six credits this semester.”
“If anyone can do it, it’s you.” A pink blush coats her cheeks hiding the freckles that dot her face.
“And what about you? How is everything.” Her eyes dart to mine as if she hadn’t realized there was another person at the table. “How are you today, sir?”
“No need for sirs. I’m younger than him.” I point, taking note at her formality with me versus my older mentor.
“I was raised to say sir and ma’am unless instructed otherwise. And you’re older than me.”
I shoot another look at Tuck wondering just how close he’s gotten with this girl before turning back to her. “You can call me Will.”
“Will.” She turns to look at Tuck again. “The usual?”
“Please. And a side of scrambled eggs.”
She raises an eyebrow at him. “Is that really good for your cholesterol?”
“You been talking to my doctor now?”
“I’m just sayin’.” She shrugs as she gives him a toothy grin and sashays away.
“She knows about your cholesterol, huh?” I say, taking a look at the menu despite the fact that he’d already put in his usual which happened to be my usual as well.
“Don’t deflect.”
“What’s going on with you and that girl who’s young enough to be your granddaughter?”
He scoffs. “Don’t be an asshole. She’s twenty-three. Daughter at best.”
“Sure, Tuck.”
“And nothing. She sees me as a father figure.”
I snort. “Yeah, I’ll bet she does.”
“Nothing even mildly inappropriate has happened between us. So just get your mind out of the gutter.”
I raise my hands in defeat, knowing that now isn’t the time to interrogate him about his friend even though there is so clearly a story there. “Fine.”
“So, tell me why we’re here.”
“You know why we’re here.”
“You didn’t say explicitly.”
“I’ve been thinking about drinking.”
“Just thinking?”
My brain blanks for a moment. I had a monologue prepared about how I’d been thinking about having a drink. How I’d gone to the store and bought a bottle of Macallan 18 but I hadn’t drunk it.
I clear my throat. “It’s consuming my thoughts.”
“But you haven’t drunk anything. This is good. It’s smart that you’re getting in front of this.” His voice is even, not giving anything away and a part of me deep in the crevices of my mind believes that Tuck knows the truth.
Cassie returns with our mugs and the putrid liquid they call coffee. I watch as she pours both of our cups before retreating without another glance at me. My eyes follow her away from the table and then back to Tuck still not convinced about his story. “I have to come clean about what I did.”
“And that is why you’re thinking about alcohol?”
I nod. There was some truth to it. The idea of throwing myself at the mercy of our ethics board has me wanting to drain the contents of every bottle in a two-mile radius. He just didn’t know that I’d already started. “Charlotte doesn’t know.”
“Doesn’t know…”
“About my past with alcohol.”
“You mean that you let things get so out of control?”
“Yes.”
“Almost ruined your future?”
“Yes.”
“Almost killed yourself?”
I grit my teeth. “You’re not helping.”
“Frankly, neither are you.” He leans forward, taking a sip of his coffee and not even making a face as it slides down his throat.
His words are like an electric shock to my insides. “I’m afraid to tell her.”
“Because of her stepfather?”
“How do you—“
He cocks his head at me. “Come on now, you weren’t giving me any information. I wanted to see who had my boy so smitten.” My heart thuds in my chest as I think about how differently he phrases things in comparison to my own father. Tuck truly was the father I wanted. The one I needed.
“I don’t know how she’ll take it.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“That she’ll leave me.”
“For being honest with her?”
“For lying to her.”
“What have you lied about? You have a past with alcohol. Why would she leave you over that?” He steeples his hands under his chin and gives me a look that says unless there’s something you’re not telling me.
“I just…”
“Unless you’re drinking now and not being honest with her about how serious it is.”
I shake my head, not having the words to say aloud. I lift the coffee just as a tremor moves through me. Tuck’s eyes find my hands instantly as I try and still their shaking before his eyes dart back to mine. “Will.”
“What, Tuck?” I can’t face him. My eyes are staring out the window watching as a man and his sponsor embrace and the sponsor hands his sponsee a chip. The chip that sat in my drawer but didn’t mean all that much now.
“Look at me.”
I finally do, and when I meet his eyes they’re not laced with judgment or scolding like I expected, but with understanding, acceptance, and perhaps a hint of something else. Love maybe?
“Are you drinking again?”
“No. I’m good, Tuck. I swear.”
He purses his lips and I know he wants to say something further but, in that moment, Cassie returns with a tray full of pancakes effectively ending the conversation.
No one discussed their problems over Peachgrove Diner pancakes.
It’s why everyone got the bottomless.
* * *
FEELINGS OF GUILT WRACK MY brain as I pull into my townhouse later that evening. I’d had a session that afternoon that I had basically coasted through. I nodded in the right places, asked the cliché questions, and at the stroke of one hour, I told them I would see them next week without another glance towards them as they walked out of my office.
I was distracted, unfocused, and stressed beyond belief.
Harboring a secret is exhausting.
I scrub a hand down my face as I walk
into my townhouse wondering where I’d find Charlotte—her car is parked out front. I wish she’d just park in the garage. For so long it was just me, and a one car garage was all I needed. But now I need something to accommodate a black Audi Q3 as well.
I make my way through my house, climbing the stairs to my bedroom, pulling my jacket off. I make my way into the bedroom and I’m instantly calmed knowing where she is as I hear the water running.
She’s naked and wet.
I toe off my shoes and begin to loosen the tie from around my neck as I make my way into the ensuite bathroom. I watch in fascination through the glass as the soap trickles down her body, turning my cock to granite. Her eyes are shut, her lips slightly parted as she works the suds from her hair. I grab at my cock, desperate to relieve the ache when she must feel my predatory gaze because her eyes fly open. She doesn’t say anything, she just summons me towards her with one finger.
Before I’ve even closed the shower door behind me, I feel hands on my stomach moving up towards my chest and then back down, grazing my dick with her hand. I lean my head back, the water beating down on me as I feel her luscious breasts pressed into my back. Her tongue darts out and she licks the skin at my neck and it’s as if all of the stress from the day just melts away. Her hand moves down my body and strokes my cock gently causing it to harden further in her hand. I feel her lips again, this time on my back and she hums, sending vibrations through my body. “You are perfect.” Her words are breathy and more than likely fueled by her raging libido, although I wouldn’t be surprised if Charley actually thought I was perfect.
Because she doesn’t know everything about you.
You need to tell her the truth.
I turn in her arms wanting to see her perfect face, and as usual she takes my breath away. God, she is so fucking beautiful. I scan down her body and I almost come at the sight of her slick body waiting for me to kiss, to lick, to fuck. Her nipples harden completely under my gaze and I can practically see her sex glistening—and not from the water. Fuck I need her. My mouth finds her neck instantly and I feel her knees buckle so I wrap an arm around her keeping her upright.