My pulse ratchets up. "Jax wouldn't let me work out. So I ended up at the racetrack. There were 40 to 1 odds." The admission tastes like acid.
Her lips part, but no words come out. She swallows hard. In an almost inaudible tone, she asks, "How much did you lose?"
"I was going to try to win back everything I owed you. I could have. I had enough cash."
Her face pales, and her lips quiver.
I continue, "I had the cash out, Willow. I was seconds away."
Her mouth opens, closes, then opens again. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I didn't do it, but I have a problem," I choke out. My throat burns like I swallowed glass.
She turns her head slightly, furrowing her forehead.
I admit, "I was about to place the bet. But all I saw was your face and the emotions flashing across it. Anger. Sadness. Disgust. It was all directed at me."
Her eyes widen.
"Then I saw my father's drunk, worthless face. And I knew I was just like him. That I'd become exactly what I swore I'd never be."
She takes a slow step back, but instead of running, she sinks onto the sofa.
I sit next to her, unable to not get all of it out. "I left the track. I drove around, not knowing where to go. So I pulled over. Decided I have to change. And I know I'm going to lose you over this. But I can't just change for you. I have to change for myself. So I searched for a Gamblers Anonymous meeting online. I drove back to town to the church and went inside. I… I stood in front of a dozen strangers, and I told them…" I wrinkle my nose, breathing like a bull.
She puts her hand on mine. "What did you tell them?"
I blink several times before croaking, "My name is Wyatt, and I'm an addict."
Her breathing goes shallow.
I look away in disgrace.
She orders, "Wyatt, look at me."
I take a few ragged breaths and then slowly meet her eyes.
She asks, "You did that?"
I nod, shame flooding every inch of me. "I'm so goddamn sorry. I'm not the man I want to be. I'm not even sure if I'm fixable. But you needed to know the truth."
The tension turns so heavy, I can barely swallow. The clock ticks on. The fridge hums. A branch rattles in the wind, tapping against the window.
She doesn't scream. She doesn't bolt. Instead, she stares at me like she's seeing me for the first time. Her chest heaves with quiet, broken breaths. "You really didn't place the bet?"
I shake my head. "No. I swear on my life."
A single tear slides down her cheek. She doesn't wipe it away. She reaches out a trembling hand and sets it on my shoulder, fingers curling into my shirt.
"You're not your father. You never were," she says softly, voice cracking.
I close my eyes, fighting the tears stinging my lids. I argue, "I sure as hell do a lot of the same things."
She scoots closer, sliding her arm around my shoulders. "No. Only a few. And if you admit you have a problem, then you're one hundred steps ahead of where he ever was."
I open my eyes, and she's looking at me like there might be something in me worth saving.
For the first time in years, I let myself believe there might be. But then I remember what I'm losing. I choke out, "I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I shouldn't have come back here. I shouldn't have tried to win you back."
