Brett's thoughts snapped back to all the conversations he’d had with his sister, Cameron, over the past few years. He remembered the disappointment on her face. How she’d refused to answer his calls for weeks and months at a time. How when they finally had talked in person, she’d looked like Penny in that moment. Tense. Wary.
He had a good idea as to why Penny would be averse to getting into a relationship with somebody who struggled with addiction after going through that once.
“Were you his person?” Brett asked.
Penny looked up. “His person?”
“Yeah, the one he would call when things were bad.”
“Do addicts only have one person?”
Brett shrugged. “I don't think there's one formula, but the people that are available and try to be there for them typically get the most phone calls.”
Penny considered this. “I don't know if he had other people besides me. But yeah, I was his person.”
Cameron’s voice echoed in his head. “You sucked all the air out of my life, Brett. It's going to take some time before I can breathe again.”
She'd been his person, too. It had always felt easier to call her than to admit to his parents over and over again that he was in trouble. His friendships came and went over those eight years or so. Roommates, girlfriends, acquaintances. They were always willing to help to a point, and he didn't blame them for backing out when shit got deep. What person in their right mind would stick around with someone who had zero capacity to contribute anything to the relationship?
Addiction was selfish. Not that he was selfish to fall into it, but selfishness was the natural result. All he could think about was what he needed—what he wanted. Nothing was ever his fault until he got sober enough to realize that all of it was.
And that was too painful a truth to bear sober.
“I just don't think I could ever trust anyone with that history, you know?” Penny shook her head. “I know that sounds awful, but Lucas said so many things. He promised me so many things, and none of them were ever real. Sometimes he'd keep his commitments for a while, and those times were honestly the hardest. It gave me just enough time to feel safe before he tore the rug out from under me again.”
“Did you ever go to any support groups?”
Penny shook her head. “I didn't know that was a thing.”
That didn't surprise Brett. There weren't enough resources as it was, but the ones that existed were sometimes difficult to find. The best programs were run by people in recovery, but they didn't always have the best organizational skills. He'd found his program through word of mouth.
“How's he doing now?” Brett asked. Based on the fact that Penny said he hadn't kept any of his promises, Brett assumed the answer would be one of three things. Either he was still using, he was in rehab, or he was dead.
He hoped for one of the former two, but when Penny's eyes grew glassy, he knew.
“I'm so sorry, Penny.”
She swiped at her eyes and drew a ragged breath, trying to swallow down her emotion. “It's been four years. You'd think I wouldn't get so emotional talking about it.”
“Four years isn't very long.” Brett stood and rounded the island, not thinking twice before pulling Penny into his chest. She stiffened at first, then relaxed into him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I'm so sorry,” he whispered into her hair as Penny rested her head against his chest and cried.
They stood there in silence. Long enough for every word that had left Penny's mouth to etch itself over the fears Brett already repeated to himself on a daily basis.
You're not strong enough.
You can't trust yourself.
You'll never be whole.
Wasn't that what Penny had just said? She couldn't ever trust anyone who had been an addict? He couldn’t argue with her. He'd seen so many friends end up exactly like her brother or who ended up hovering between life and death, destroying anyone who got tangled up in their web.
He'd also seen people recover. People like Tony. People like him. But their stories weren't over yet. The way he'd been feeling the last month had zapped any confidence he'd previously held, and now every day felt like a battle with the voices in his head telling him that with one purchase, one drink, he could make all of this pain go away.
It hurt so damn much to feel everything. When he had hockey, when he had his morning workouts, when he had good food and music and conversations at work, it was manageable. But he didn't know if he would always have those things, and he didn't know if he could be successful without them.
He’d left every woman who had come into his life worse than when he’d found them. Even if the variables had changed, how could he, in good conscience, start a new relationship with someone he cared about when he wasn’t sure if he was better? How could he tie himself to someone else when he couldn't be certain he was strong or stable? When that person’s happiness depended on his ability to keep ahead of those demons?
He slowly rubbed his hand over Penny's back.How could he ever do that to another woman again?He couldn't, which was exactly why he'd kept to himself the past few years. Yes, he was sober. Yes, he was functional. Yes, he was beginning to believe he might be a good person.
