I pull the orange juice out of the fridge and notice a bottle of champagne in there. It brings back bitter memories. “Are you celebrating something soon? You have champagne in the fridge.”
She shakes her head and smiles. “Shoot! I forgot that was in there. My friend Mitch brought a couple bottles over the last time I had him and Aspen over for brunch. He says if there aren’t mimosas, it isn’t really brunch.”
“Yeah, I used to think it wasn’t breakfast if there wasn’t booze, so I get that,” I say, trying to sound flippant, but the serious look settling across her face says it sounded bitter.
“Does it bother you? Make it harder for you, when you see alcohol?” Chloe asks, her voice gentle. “Because I’m not actually a drinker. I might have one when Mitch is around but that’s it. I don’t have a personal problem with drinking, but it’s never brought any good to my life.”
There’s a heaviness to her statement and stare that makes me think she’s been hurt by an alcoholic. I think of all the people who look like that because of me. Every single member of my family, including Bethany, has had that same heaviness in their gaze. Thank God River was too young to look like that because of me. It would ruin me if he ever looked at me like that.
I put the OJ and glasses down on the table as I shake my head. “I can be around booze. I promise. When I first got back from rehab, my parents closed the bar in the restaurant and my entire family pulled the booze out of their houses. It didn’t help. It made me feel weak and like I was still ruining their lives. I appreciate the gesture now, but I don’t need the people I love to abstain. I have enough of a handle on it that I can watch someone else drink. And I am not afraid to tell someone when I’m feeling weak.”
“When did you become an alcoholic, if you don’t mind me asking?” Chloe says softly. “I mean, I cannotask, too. Shut up and fill my nosy mouth with French toast.”
“Nosy, sexy mouth,” I remind her as I fill the glasses with orange juice. “I think I’ve just always been predisposed to being one. When all the other guys would sneak a beer or two in high school, I would drain my dad’s long neglected liquor cabinet and refill the bottles with iced tea or water. I didn’t drink morning, noon, and night. I hid my alcohol abuse around parties and events and guys’ trips and nights out. There was always a reason to drink, and because I stayed in school and even got into med school, my parents and family just thought I was living the college boy life to the fullest and would eventually grow out of it and calm down. No need to worry. I was the textbook definition of the functioning alcoholic.”
She finishes her French toast and rests her elbows on the counter between us. “But you needed help.”
“Oh yeah. And…”I can’t tell her. I can’t. I want to but I can’t. My family sacrificed everything to create this secret. They did it for me, and I need to keep it.“And luckily my family was there for me and put me in rehab when I finally asked for it and supported me when I came back. And I have worked every day since to make sure I don’t let them down.”
“Oh…” She sips some orange juice as she takes in my words. “I think that’s incredible that you were self-aware enough to see your problem, strong enough to do something about it before you hurt anyone.”
“Oh, I hurt plenty of people,” I say and try to keep the guilt bubbling up in my gut from tainting the expression on my face. “I had to reach rock bottom before I gave it up, so not really all that strong, just not stupid enough to start digging.”
“Yeah, but a lot of people do start digging when they hit rock bottom and end up destroying way more than just their own lives,” she says quietly, and the last bite of French toast feels like cardboard suddenly in my mouth. She stands up and takes both our empty plates. “So I stand by my praise.”
Her praise makes me uncomfortable, like I’m wearing an itchy sweater or something. Because I was involved in something that did cost people way more than it cost me. I was involved in ruining people’s lives. She heads to the sink so she doesn’t notice the guilty look I’m sure is on my face. I try to push away the thoughts of waking up in that hospital bed and finding out people were dead and try to remember Terra’s words—I wasn’t driving. Even the police don’t blame me. Giving my head a shake, I walk up behind her and let my fingers skim the hem of the shirt, ghosting the curve of her ass while I do it. She lets out a little gasp and then takes a tiny step back, into me. My arms wrap around her waist.
After I press a kiss to the shell of her ear I whisper, “You don’t have to worry about me. I could work at a distillery bottling Jack Daniels all day and I would still never drink again.”
“I believe you.” The words are so simple and honest it takes my breath away like it did the night I was caring for her. It feels intimate to me now when someone says they believe me and trust me because I know how breaking that can destroy someone.
She turns in my arms and presses her lips to mine. The kiss is soft but I can’t keep it that way. I deepen it. I want her that badly, and it’s almost scary because she makes me feel like I did when I was drunk—happy, confidently reckless, and invincible.
“You make me crazy,” I say and she smiles into the kiss. I lift her up, drop her ass on the island counter, and push myself between her legs. She hooks her ankles behind me, holding me to her, and moves her lips to my ear.
And then my goddamn phone rings. I hate myself for it, but I pull it out of my back pocket. I swear I will silence it if it’s anyone other than Bethany because she’d be calling about River. I glance at the screen.
Or Manuel at child social services.
“I have to take this,” I say. “It’s about River.”
Chloe unhooks her ankles behind me and drops her arms from my neck instantly. I step away, lean against the sink, and say hello into the phone. Manuel says he is very happy to report that I’ve been approved for overnight visits with River up to forty-eight hours at a time. I feel like I’ve won the lottery.
“Thank you so much, Manuel,” I say. “I’m…there are no words.”
“Don’t thank me. You have earned this one hundred percent, Mr. Hawkins,” he says. “We’ve informed Ms. Bard, and you can have River this weekend.”
I hang up the phone and turn to Chloe with a smile so wide it hurts. “River’s allowed to stay over at my place for entire weekends.”
“Logan, that’s amazing!” She bounds off the counter and wraps me in a bear hug. I can feel her joy for me radiating through the embrace.
“I can’t wait for you to meet him!” I gush without even thinking about it and my brain freezes. Is that too much too soon? I mean, hell, I have no idea if she even likes kids. But when I pull back and look at her again, she’s wearing her perfect, easy smile.
“I’d love to meet him. I bet he’s adorable,” she says.
“You want to do something with us Friday night?” I ask spontaneously. “I was thinking I’d take him for pizza and to the arcade in Old Orchard Beach.”
“You’ll always get a yes from me when it comes to pizza,” she replies, and I kiss her.
