My chest clenches at the thought of going back.
“Up to you,” he says gently. “No pressure either way.”
I think it over for a few minutes.
“Mine,” I say finally. “I’m not… I don’t want him to push me out.”
Jared clenches his jaw. “Never going to happen. We’ll work through it, Em. If it’s too much, you can stay with me, and we’ll keep trying until you’re comfortable. Either way works.”
Then he looks down. “I might need to run a few errands. I’d rather do it now than leave you alone. Is that… okay? It might be a little while, but I’ll be as quick as I can.”
My throat suddenly feels as though it’s narrowed again. “Sure. I’ll be fine.”
He studies my face. “I’ll be back soon. I wouldn’t go, but it’s important.”
“Okay.”
I miss him as soon as he’s not in the room.
Oh, Emmy. You’re in trouble.
61
Jared
Imake one final stop before I go back to her.
Following directions on my phone, I head down the street and cross at the sidewalk, approaching a small, two-storey brown brick building tucked slightly away from the main road. My duffle bag is over my shoulder, packed with enough clothes for the next fortnight.
And the communal recycling boxes at my apartment building are crammed to the brim, full of empty glass bottles.
“Are you coming in?” The easy words make me jerk my eyes up. I’m standing in the middle of the path, and people stroll past me, disappearing through the blue door. “No pressure either way.”
My hands are sweating. The guy leaning against the door looks to be a few years older. Friendly-looking, with dark blond hair and a sweatshirt depicting the local college football team logo. “I don’t know yet.”
“Fair enough.” He looks over his shoulder, nodding to someone. “We’ll start soon, but come in at any time. There’s no pressure to speak if you don’t want to. I’m Mike, by the way.”
“Jared.” I slide my hands into my pockets. “Do I need to register? Make it official?”
He shakes his head. “We’re not a formal group, but there’s someone here every day, so just come when you need to. I do a token scheme for anyone who wants one, though. Sometimes it helps.”
I frown. “A token scheme?”
“For sobriety,” Mike says quietly. He pulls a small, round coin from his pocket. “This is my latest. Two years sober.”
It feels like a lifetime. “You quit two years ago?”
“Seven, actually. But this isn’t a magic fix.” He lifts his shoulder. “You’re always working at it. Why are you here?”
He takes a seat on the step as I lean against the railing.
Because my brother died.
Because Emmy doesn’t like alcohol.
Because she deserves better.
But none of that comes out of my mouth.
