Kai’s brows rose at that.
“We haven’t fucked.” I winced at the crudeness in my own words. “I’m taking care of her, of course, because she’s pregnant and needy and damn, she’s fucking sexy as hell carrying that baby.” I was rambling now. “But I just don’t know if I’m ready, man. Maybe I was addicted to sex, too? I don’t know. I just don’t wanna fuck this up. I haven’t even fuckingkissedher since a fewdays after I came home. Nope. Just get her off with my hands and my tongue and?—”
“I get the picture.”
I chuckled. “Right. I get it. Definitely wouldn’t want to hear aboutyoursexy times.Shudder.”
That earned me a smirk from my baby sister’s stoic boyfriend.
“Look, Chase,” he said. Then he took a deep breath and did a very Kai thing—strung together more words than normal to make his point crystal fucking clear. He’d done it for me after the accident, and here he was, again, proving that he was the best fucking sponsor I could have asked for.
“We can all see how well you’re doing. You’re putting in the work. You’re making the right choices. But this is a marathon, not a sprint. You’re never going to be magicallycured. This is something you will live with for the rest of your life. It’s a daily struggle. Don’t get me wrong, itdoesget easier. But this is a part of who you are. You need to stop punishing yourself for what happened in the past and let yourself move forward. Let yourself heal. It seems to me you may never be fully healed until you truly get your girl back. And I get it. Believe me, I do. Just don’t lose yourself in the process. Remember what’s important. Remember what you almost lost and the work you put in to get to the other side. But enjoy your life, man. You’ve done the hardest part. You can reward yourself a little bit now. Just not with booze.”
“Well, shit.” A sudden weight lifted off my chest. It felt damn good to know that, from the outside looking in, I was doing okay. Hell, I was doing better than okay. I was crushing this sobriety thing. “When you put it that way…”
My hands wereclammy as fuck.
The last time I remembered feeling this way, I was praying to the porcelain gods—purging the sins of my past in the first few weeks of rehab.
Tonight’s sweat wasn’t from booze, drugs, or withdrawal.
Nope.
Tonight, it was nerves.
Because at midnight on New Year’s Eve, I was going to kiss my girl.
I had Kai drop me off at Harbor Pantry after our meeting. With a plan brewing, I skipped the usual staples and zeroed in on the essentials I’d need for tonight.
Sparkling grape juice. A champagne-scented candle. Cheesy party hats and noisemakers. A bouquet of flowers.
She didn’t own a tablecloth, so I made do with a white bedsheet draped over the kitchen table like I knew what I was doing. The candle was lit. The flowers sat in a clear drinking glass. And front and center? My makeshift charcuterie board of beef jerky—Elena’s pregnancy craving—Cheetos, and M&Ms.
I stepped back, surveyed my work, and grinned.
Fucking nailed it.
Headlights flared in my periphery as Elena pulled into the driveway. Despite salting the hell out of it, the snow from earlier in the week had left it slick as shit. I flung open the front door and bounded down the porch steps—sock-footed and grinning—to meet my girl as she climbed out of her SUV.
“Oh! Hi!” She giggled, reaching for my hand. “Well, this is a nice welcome.”
“Didn’t want you to slip, Sweetness. You’re carrying precious cargo.”
“Chase, where are your shoes?”
“Inside.”
She tried to play the hard-ass, rolling her eyes, but I caught the smile tugging at her perfect, plush pink lips. God, I couldn’t wait to kiss her.
We moseyed up to the still-open front door, slowly and carefully. Elena stepped inside—and froze.
“What is this?”
“It’s New Year’s Eve, baby,” I said, grinning. “We’re partying.”
She didn’t move, just stood there blinking at the flickering candlelight and beef jerky charcuterie like I’d performed a goddamn miracle. I jogged over to the coffee table and grabbed one of the stupid party hats. But when I turned to crown her with it, I stopped cold.
Tears streamed down her face.
