Fall to Pieces: A story about addiction and love

by Shari J. Ryan

  “Auggie, don’t get all cute on me,” he says, pointing his fork at me. “I feel guilty that I didn’t say all this sooner. I mean, the paramedics knew what I’d done, but I didn’t feel right trying to sound like a hero after you woke up either.”

  “You saved me,” I tell him. If he, who was more or less a mere acquaintance at that time, hadn’t been concerned enough to follow me, I would have drowned.

  “I helped you,” he corrects me.

  “You saved my life, Chance.”

  He shrugs. “Maybe a little.”

  “You’re my hero.”

  “Anyway,” he says. “What is it about the lake that you love so much. I thought this place might be nice since it’s overlooking the water.”

  “It’s peaceful. I like the white noise of moving water. I can talk to the lake, and it won’t be judgmental.” I snicker because that sounds ridiculous, but everyone needs a place where they feel at peace.

  “That makes perfect sense. It is pretty to look at.” Chance glances out the window. “You think I could talk to the lake too? You know ... without being judged?”

  “The lake doesn’t discriminate,” I tell him.

  “You say that a lot?”

  “I do.” I open the menu I haven’t checked out yet, finding steak to be the focus. “What are you thinking?”

  Chance opens his menu, then closes it right away. “The filet with roasted potatoes and brussels sprouts.”

  “You had this preplanned, didn’t you?”

  “I’m a man who knows what I like.”

  I raise an eyebrow to match the flirtatious glint in his eyes. “Well then ...”

  “Do you fancy filet too?”

  “I haven’t had it in a while, but it’s one of the best cuts of meat, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Okay, then, I’ll get what you’re getting.”

  “All right, then. Now that we have that settled, I have another question for you.”

  “You’re putting me on the spot tonight, aren’t you?”

  “This one is easy,” he says.

  “Phew,” I say with a sigh, wiping away the fake sweat on my head.

  “So, my meeting went well today—”

  “I was afraid to ask because you hadn’t said anything,” I tell him. I was scared something fell through, and I didn’t want to ruin the night.

  “Well, they told me I need to make some renovations to my house before we can move onto the next phase.”

  “Oh no.” I had a feeling that might happen during a home visit before completing the process. Chance’s home is in satisfactory condition, but it could use some updates to make it more suitable for a child. Unfortunately, there will already be a slight stigma since he’s a single man trying to take care of a child on his own. Not everyone is on the same ty page with that yet.

  “Yeah, so this next week is going to consist of a lot of work, but I think I can do it. Would you be willing to give me a little advice on decorating, though? I try to be levelheaded when it comes to taking care of a house and whatnot, but I’m afraid my skills lack in the color coordination department.”

  “What kind of updates do you need to make?”

  “Paint, kitchen floor, and a kid’s bedroom.” I can’t help but rub my hands together.

  “I love to decorate. I would gladly help you do that, and I’m also very handy, in fact, so I am willing to help you with the painting and floors too.”

  Chance looks surprised; his eyebrows arch, and his lips curl upward. “I wasn’t trying to pin you with hard labor, I swear,” he says.

  “Oh, you weren’t, huh?” I tease. “I figured you were looking for any excuse possible to pin me down.”

  “That is a separate discussion, missy. I am not talking about bringing you home, and whatever else is on your dirty little mind.”

  “I wasn’t even referring to us.” He’s fun to poke. Finally, I’ve found a weakness in him because he’s turning a lovely shade of red.

  “I—I didn’t mean to sound like—I’m sorry.”

  “Shut up, Chance Miller. I know what’s on your mind, and it’s not just about paint.”

  He runs his hands over his face. “I swear that was not my intention.”

  “Well, what if it’s mine?”

  Chance throws his head back. “Like I said, you’re going to give me a damn heart attack, Auggie.”

  I bite down on my bottom lip and unroll my napkin before laying it out on my lap. “In all seriousness, I will gladly help you do whatever it takes to make this foster agreement go through.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chance

  When a woman shows up at my door on a Sunday morning in a pair of overalls with two coffees, I feel like I might have found the one. She’s simple, beautiful, and yet, full of compassion and drive. August is amazing.

  “Put me to work,” she says as soon as I open the front door.

  “I told you I was going to paint today,” I remind her. “We can’t decorate until we're done painting, silly.” I didn’t want to waste August’s Sunday with painting chores. The home improvements are my obligation, not hers.

  “Well, I hope you have a spare paintbrush,” she says, walking inside.

  “I do, but you don’t have to do this.”

  “Chance Miller, give me a brush and point me to the paint.”

  I’ve already taped off the trim and prepared the rooms. I figured it might take all day, but with August helping, it will get done quicker.

  “Are you sure?” I ask again. “I mean, you do look the part.” I might have a weakness for women who like to pick out outfits based on the chore at hand.

  “These are my painting pants,” she says, smirking.

  August’s dark hair is in a short ponytail at the base of her neck. It’s the first time I’ve seen her hair up. Her bangs are all over the place, and she has loose strands of hair hanging down over her ears. Everything about her is perfect, even when it’s messy, and I love it.

  “I picked up your favorite scones, too,” she adds in.

  “Are you going for sainthood?” I ask her.

  Last night could have gone in a remarkably different direction if either of us had been a tad bit weaker. The heat was turned all the way up, but when I dropped August off at her apartment, she told me I was welcome to come upstairs, and I painfully told her it was our first real date, and the night needed to be just that.

  I don’t know what her intentions were after inviting me inside. She may have just wanted some company so she wouldn’t have to be alone, but I didn’t trust myself to go upstairs and fight off the urge to claim more of her.

  “When I moved into my apartment, years ago, I was eager to paint every room, decorate in themes, and make the place my own. It turns out not all apartments allow tenants to paint, so I had to opt for simple decorations instead.”

  “What you’re saying is, you just need to paint something?”

  “Exactly,” she says with that smile—the one that’s weakening me to the bone.

  I pry open the first can of paint and pour some into a small container and the rest into a tray for the roller. “Which one do you want?”

  “I can do the edging,” she says.

  “All right then.”

  While we layer coats of paint on the wall, August becomes quiet, and I can’t figure out if she’s lost in thought or concentrating on what she’s doing.

  “What’s going on in that head of yours?” I ask her.

  She places her brush down on the side of the canister and dips her fingers into her back pockets. “I had two drinks last night so I could fall asleep,” she admits.

  Two drinks aren’t a big deal, but it’s making me wonder where August’s issue lies. I don’t think a person can become addicted to alcohol in a matter of a couple of weeks, but I suppose someone could get addicted to the relief it offers. t I assumed drinking would be easy for her to give up, but after what she’s been through, the pain obv
iously runs too deep.

  “Was that the only way you could get to sleep?” I ask her.

  Now, I feel guilty for not joining her upstairs.

  She shrugs. “It was the easiest way.”

  “I thought you cleaned all the alcohol out of your apartment yesterday?”

  “I might have kept a bottle,” she admits.

  “How can I help you with this? I don’t want you to fall deeper into a hole that you can’t find your way out of.”

  “I’m not sure. I just felt like I needed to be honest with you.”

  I place the paint roller down on the tray and hold my arms out to August.

  She looks ashamed and guilty. It’s heartbreaking. “It seems to me like you need to find a new way to break this habit of yours.”

  August slips into my embrace and rests the side of her head on my chest. “You’ve been a nice distraction,” she says.

  “No, I will not sleep with you to get rid of your whiskey drinking habit,” I tell her, making a joke out of her response.

  She slaps my chest. “Chance Miller, I did not suggest such a thing.”

  “Okay, then, just making sure.”

  “It could work, though,” she says.

  Dear God, give me strength right now.

  “Are you using me?” I continue to joke, knowing I’m about to throw her over my shoulder and bring her into my bedroom.

  “Just testing the waters,” she says softly.

  I place my hands on her shoulders and press her away so I can look into her eyes. “I don’t want to confuse what’s going on with us for a genuine issue you have going on,” I tell her, being serious. I don’t want whatever we have going on here to be under false pretenses or a way to bandage something up.

  “Would you rather me tell you what I did in the shower last night before I had a drink? Because I was only thinking about you during that part.”

  I can’t fight this anymore.

  I wrap my arm around her and scoop my other arm beneath her butt to lift her. I accidentally walk her into the freshly painted wall, but I don’t care. I kiss her with the adrenaline pumping through my veins, enjoying the sounds of her heavy breaths, the quiet moans.

  The next thing I know, I’m walking us into my bedroom, I kick the door closed behind us and toss her onto the bed, forgetting about the fact that she has wet paint all over her backside.

  She certainly doesn’t care either. Those doll-like eyes are staring up at me as I pull off my white tee.

  “Wow,” she says. “I didn’t know what you were hiding.”

  I was hiding the ink I covered myself in fifteen years ago when I was trying to find myself. Everything else August might be looking at is from daily bouts of hard labor.

  She unhinges the buckles of her overalls, revealing a see-through white tank top, and I can already see there isn’t a bra I’ll have to fight. “You came here with an agenda, didn’t you?”

  Her lip curls in response. “Thinking of you takes all the bad away,” she says.

  With little effort, I slide her pants down until they fall to the ground. I remove mine in response.

  “I’m afraid you’re getting wet paint all over my sheets,” I tell her.

  In response, she crosses her arms and tugs at the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head.

  Her skin is fair but smooth and pure, contrasting the lace-black panties she’s wearing.

  I climb over her, pulling the sheets up over us, and stare down at her for another minute. “I don’t know how I got this lucky,” I tell her.

  “You haven’t gotten lucky yet, Chance.”

  My eyes are uncontrollably rolling into the back of my head. I reach out to my nightstand and into the top drawer. “God, I need you,” I tell her.

  “Don’t make me wait any longer,” she says.

  I slip on the condom faster than I’ve done anything in my life. And before it’s even in place, I crash my lips into hers.

  I skate my hands over every inch of her bare skin, trying to memorize the feeling of her soft silkiness. She seems frail in my hold, and I’m scared of hurting her, but the thought melts away when her fingernails bite down into my shoulders. Her head tilts back, and her waist arches from the bed; she’s begging without words. I scoot down and kiss her hips, the flesh above her panty line, and yank at the material with my teeth, tearing them down to her ankles.

  I place my hands on her wrists, holding them above her head, and plunge myself into her warmth. My body becomes heavy and weak as I rock into her, moving to the sound of her moans and pleas. I watch her body move in a wave, taking me in, keeping me where she wants.

  “More,” she begs.

  I move faster, harder, obeying her demands. Her moans grow into screams, and I think about the windows being open to air out the fumes. The thought of someone hearing us adds to the excitement. I release my grip around her wrists and lower my mouth to her breasts.

  “Don’t stop,” she cries out.

  Sweat is beading up over my body, dripping down onto hers, but it isn’t until one single drop falls to her rose-bud nipple that I lose all control. I release and unravel. I fall to the side of her body, curling her into me. I touch the drop of sweat that landed on her nipple and drag my fingers down her breast. August's body jerks against mine; her cries sound tired and weak as she falls against my chest in a mass of erratic breaths.

  I can see why this might be better than a glass of whiskey.

  “No more whiskey,” she says. “Just this.”

  “I might be able to help you with that,” I tell her.

  “Good because right now, I have the urge for another drink.”

  The painting took a little longer than I expected, even with August’s “help.” At least it's done now. We’re both still covered from head to toe, even after the shower we just took.

  “I’m starving,” August says. “We should go get a dry, dark burger.”

  “It is far too soon to tell you how perfect you are, isn’t it?” I ask her.

  “It’s never too soon to hear that,” she says with a flirty little smile.

  Sometimes when life is perfect, everything just falls into place. That’s where I feel like I am right now. I don’t want this Sunday to end.

  Hunger spoke louder than our desire to scrape paint off our bodies, and we still look more presentable than half the others at Kenny’s.

  The place is empty tonight. “What in the hell happened to you two? Did you go paintball shooting today?” Luke asks.

  “Nah, man, I’ve been sprucing up my house because that call came in,” I tell him.

  Luke looks shocked. He slaps his hand down on the bar top and lets out a choked laugh. “What?”

  “The call came in,” I tell him again.

  Luke shakes his head with a look of disbelief, and he jumps over the bar top and throws his arms around me. “You’re getting a kid?” he screams.

  Knots tighten in my chest as I try to answer him. “Yeah, man. It’s happening. At least I think it is. I’m praying nothing goes wrong.”

  Luke screws up my already messy hair. “This could not be happening to a better person.”

  “Guys, Chance is getting a kid!” Luke screams out. I’d be worried if anyone knew me outside of this bar, but I think the news is safe in here. Even though most of them could care less, a round of applause echoes between the walls. “Dude, we have to celebrate.”

  “Yeah, man, I’m still in shock.”

  “What do you think about all this?” Luke asks August.

  She’s beaming when she answers him. “He deserves this, and I’m over the moon for him.”

  “Damn straight,” Luke shouts. “Annabelle!” I didn’t realize Luke’s wife was here tonight, but she walks out of the kitchen.

  “What’s all the commotion out here?” she asks. “Oh, hey, Chancey.”

  “Chance got the call, baby.”

  Annabelle’s hand’s cup over her mouth, and her eyes fill with tears. “You
serious?”

  I give a quick nod because the emotions are starting to run high, and I need to keep my act together. “Yeah, anything could still happen, but it’s a nine-year-old boy.”

  Annabelle climbs under the bar top door and throws her arms around me, squeezing the air out of my lungs. “You are going to be the best dad in the entire world, Chance,” she says. “I just know it.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see August swatting a falling tear as she continues smiling at me. Maybe she didn’t know how much I’ve wanted this or how important it is to me, but if she was guessing before, she knows for sure now.

  When the excitement dies down, August pulls her stool over a little closer. “I knew this meant a lot to you, but now I see who you truly are, Chance,” she whispers in my ear.

  While I’ve been trying to keep myself in check these last few days, this hour brings back my memories of the last time I felt this way.

  After running away from the last foster home and getting caught, I was off to another group home. I figured it would be worse than where I had come. However, hardly a week passed before the social worker at the group home told me to join her in the office for a discussion.

  “Chance,” the woman began. I don’t remember a lot about her except for a head of red, tight curls that looked like she just got a tight perm and a bad dye job. “This rarely happens, but we have a couple who would like to adopt an older child, and they chose you, Chance.”

  In all the years I had been shuttled around, tossed back and forth to houses, I had never shed a tear. Not one, but hearing the words, ‘they chose you,’ ... changed my entire life.

  I cried hard tears for a straight hour. I kept asking why. I couldn’t understand why someone finally wanted me. They did, though. God, they wanted me so badly. When they came to pick me up, they both stood there with smiles as I had never seen. They had tears in their eyes too. They looked like they already loved me.

  I couldn’t understand why they wanted to hug me, but they stood there with their arms wide open like I had been theirs all along, and they missed me after being gone for a long time.