He nods and holds his head a little higher as he leads me into the room.
We sit and listen to several members speak their truth. This is my first AA meeting with Gabe, but I’m surprised that he holds up his hand when the support leader asks who would like to share. I think the group leader is too because his brow knits together in shock before he can school his features.
“Gabe,” he says. “Why don’t you share with us?”
“Hey, I’m Gabe, and my last drink was two months ago.”
“Hi, Gabe,” the group echoes.
“I ... er ... I’d been sober five years, and I had kind of a rough night. It’s no excuse. I know—we all know—that. I just ... I’ve been in love with my best friend since the day I met her, and she’s everything. I married her, had a kid with her—and he’s just like his mom—he’s everything.” He scratches his stubbled jaw and briefly meets my gaze before looking away.
“Anyway, my drinking caused the desolation of our relationship. It wasn’t sudden. I drank for years, smoked too much pot. I was in denial. I wasn’t ready to admit I had a problem.” He shakes his head. “I drank because I thought I could escape. I knew I wasn’t the man she’d married. I wasn’t the man she deserved. I was no longer her best friend, her partner against the world.”
Gabe’s eyes meet mine, and I’ve known him a long time, I’ve seen every side of him there is to see, but I’ve never seen him this tormented over telling the truth. “I was her ruin. I threw everything away. Her, my kid, the chance to prove myself worthy of them both.”
He glances at the group leader and then down at his hands, as if he hadn’t realized he was wringing them. “I thought I was doing okay. I hadn’t touched a drop in seven years, and I didn’t need one, but my wife moved on. She’s dating this guy who has his shit together. He’s older than us. He’s good for her, and he’s good for my kid, and I hate him for that. I hate that he’s a man who deserves her. So, I did what all alcoholics do when their life is imploding. I fucked shit up some more.” Gabe gives me a sly smile, but his eyes are devoid of his usual cheekiness. “Just to add to the chaos.”
Several people around the room titter humorlessly, but my heart is sinking. It’s sitting in the pit of my stomach, scratching and clawing to rise above, because I know what’s coming next, and I’m not sure I’m ready to hear it, to learn after all of this time what made him turn back to the bottle, what led him to almostkilling himself. I wish I could close my ears, cover them, and shut out his next words. But I can’t, because part of knowing this truth, is maybe accepting the part I played in it.
“I ... er ... I took a client home, trying to fill the void.” His gaze holds mine, and I want so desperately to look away, to wipe away the tears that have formed in both our eyes, take his hand and leave, but it wouldn’t do either of us any good.
Gabe clears his throat and continues, “I thought I wanted to have sex with her, but I just wanted my wife back, and when I realized I couldn’t have that, I bought a bottle of tequila, and drank it. Then I got behind the wheel of my car and drove—completely shitfaced—back to the liquor store and bought two six packs of whatever the hell else I could get my hands on. I drank them all with a bottle of sleeping pills. Or I tried to. I think I was too fucked up to actually get more than a couple in my mouth. Anyway, that first taste was both heaven and hell, and just like it did seven years ago, it cost me everything.”
I can’t breathe. I’ve never suffered panic attacks, but I think this heaviness on my chest, this need to get out, to push away the thing that’s hurting me is not just panic, it’s survival. I don’t know how to deal with anything he just said. I don’t know how to deal with the way he’s looking at me, like I’m his absolution, but a strangled cry escapes me, and I get up out of my seat and I run from the room. I push out of the community center doors onto the street and heading for home even though we’re miles away.
“Lo, wait.”
I shake my head. I can’t see him now. I can’t look at him after that and be okay.
“Lo?” He grabs my elbow and spins me toward him. “Will you just talk to me?”
“I can’t.” Tears spill from my lashes, snot runs from my nose, and I swipe them both away with the back of my shaky hand. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He pulls me into his arms, and I find I can breathe a little easier, just a little. I lean my head against his broad chest and hold on for dear life, not that I think he’s going anywhere.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“Because my happiness came at the cost of yours.”
“Ah, shit, Freckles.” He rests his cheek on my crown and exhales heavily. “You deserve to be happy. And I know now that I’m not the best thing for you, for Axl.”
“You’re his father. No one can ever replace you, Gabe. That’s not what Arturo and I are trying to do.”
He stiffens, and says through his teeth, “I hate him.”
“I know.”
“I hate him because he’s the man you deserve. He’s the kind of man you deserved to marry, not a drunk, selfish, narcissistic asshole who can’t get out of his own fucking way.”
I look up and wipe away the tears that are trailing down his cheeks. “For the record, I loved every second I spent with that drunk, selfish, narcissistic asshole. I still do. Whether you and I are best friends or whether we’re making one another’s lives miserable, I’m always going to love you, Dash. We’re always going to be Gabe and Lo.”
He leans in and presses a kiss to my forehead, and for half a second, I forget everything that led us here, I forget all of the pain and torment, all of the worry and tears, and I just close my eyes and revel in his lips on my skin.
“I don’t know how to do this without you.”
I squeeze him tightly. “You don’t have to, but you do have to do it. We both grew up with alcoholic fathers, you can’t let Axl suffer the same fate.”
“I know.”