Why he should pop into my thoughts—again—irritated me. Being here irritated me. I stood up and headed for the door, feeling as if I were being chased by the ghosts of everything I was trying not to be anymore.
Outside, Max still hadn’t shaken his frown.
“I take it you were not impressed with my debut?” I said, trying to keep my tone light.
“You sounded like you were reading a grocery list,” he said.
“What you mean? I told my story.”
“That was more of a plot summary. Point one: I did drugs. Point two: I got caught. Point three: I did more drugs.”
“Yeah? And?” I snapped. “Look, to be honest, I don’t really feel as if there’s much more to tell. I got clean and have been clean for a long time.” I squared my shoulders to him. “I’m never going back. I hit my rock bottom and I came out the other side. End of story.”
“You hit rock bottom?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Weren’t you listening? When I OD’d at a New Year’s party a year and a half ago.”
“You said that happened but you didn’t talk about what rock bottom meant for you. Or what it felt like.”
“How do you think it felt? It sucked! But right now I feel good. Why should I talk about all the bad crap when I’ve gotten past all that?”
Max crossed his arms over his broad chest. “So you’re just here because the court has ordered you to be?”
I sighed. “I’m not going to fail, Max. That’s what my family is expecting. But I’m better than I have been. I have my massage license, a good job, a fresh start. I have to hope my worst days are behind me, right?” I grinned weakly and slugged him in the shoulder. “I’m going to prove my parents wrong, you’ll see.”
Max’s expression softened. “I can’t tell you how to recover, Dar. That’s a long dark road that each addict takes on their own. As your sponsor, all I can do is point out the road signs you don’t want to miss, ones that I’ve passed myself.”
“And?”
“And from my pseudo-professional opinion, I don’t think you’ve passed as many as you think you have.”
I started to argue, but then snapped my mouth shut. That’s what addicts do. They talk about how they’re not addicts anymore. But I was recovered. Actions mattered more than words.
“Then I’ll prove you wrong, too.”
Sawyer
“Let me get this straight,” Jackson said, pressing the bar up and holding it. Sweat ran down his temples to the bench beneath him. I stood over him as a spotter.
“This new neighbor of yours…” He eased the bar down to his chest. “She’s hot, funny, great with Olivia, so—naturally,”—he grimaced and pushed the weight up—“you kicked her out.”
I helped him set the bar on the rack, and he sat up, sucking in air.
“It wasn’t quite like that,” I said.
My best friend fixed me a look. Hastings gym was never crowded this early in the morning on a Monday, he had nearly the entire place to himself in which to lecture me uninterrupted.
“I love you, bro, but you have lost your ever-loving mind.”
“Come on, Jax, you know my deal.” I went to the tricep rope machine. “What the hell was I supposed to do?”
“Is this a trick question?” Jackson moved to a rack of hand weights. He hefted a forty-pounder in each hand and faced the wall mirror. “Forget your deal, and ask her out. Or take her to bed. Or take her out and then take her to bed.”
Take Darlene to bed.