Every time I caught myself laughing or connecting with someone new, it was bittersweet. I imagined Nova by my side—who she would’ve struck up conversations with and what she would’ve said, which songs and foods she would’ve loved most.
But as an addict, I had to live life on life’s terms. It was the only way I could survive. No matter what Will or Sienna or my other friends said, I saw what I deserved clearly.
I’d lost the privilege of romantic love when I let Kallie down and she took her own life because of it.
I really believed differently, ever so briefly, when I viewed myself reflected in Nova’s eyes—the man she saw before she knew who I really was. I believed I might have been worthy of Nova’s love, of her sitting in the chair next to me at holidays, of a future with her that transcended the sins of my past.
I looked around at the smiling, animated faces as they discussed art and politics and the best Polish food in the neighborhood.
I remembered the truth now. I couldn’t have it all. I had to be grateful for my small slice. It needed to be enough.
Because I deserved nothing more after everything I’d done.
Chatting with Will at the diner, I rolled my tense neck and rubbed my bloodshot eyes. I hadn’t slept well since I lost Nova, but it had gotten even worse the past week. The nagging feeling hadn’t relented, and no matter how much I dug through my memories and tried to connect the dots between the tarot reading and what had happened in The Circle, nothing was making sense. I knew Roman was up to something—something even bigger and more sinister than our one-sided feud. He wasn’t the only ultra-wealthy psychopath at those parties, after all. But I didn’t know how to put an end to any of it without endangering Nova. Or endangeringmyself—my sobriety—by becoming consumed by my resentments again.
“A world without redemption is a dangerous place, Wes,” Will said. He crossed his arms and leaned back in the booth, considering me in that unnerving, wise way he did.
“What do you think your mother would say about all of this?”
I put down my coffee. “Don’t,” I warned. I stared out the window, weighed down by my exhaustion and still strung out from Nova withdrawals.
God, I fucking missed her so badly, it physically hurt.
“Why not, Wes?”
Will knew how to push me the way I needed to be pushed, even if I fought him the whole damn time.
“Because I can’t stand the idea that she saw me hurt myself and others for over a decade after she passed. That she saw me consumed by my own hatred.” I shook my head. “Not after everything I watched her go through. With my dad. With cancer. I said I was getting revenge forher, but it was only for me. I dishonored her, and I still can’t forgive myself for that.”
I’d been having nightmares of mazes and predators cloaked in dark fabric and golden masks. Nightmares in which I could stop something from happening, if only I justremembered.
But perhaps because alcohol had damaged my amygdala, my past remained a blurry labyrinth I couldn’t escape.
“I don’t think that’s why,” Will said boldly. “That’s a useful framing to justify your addiction to self-punishment.”
I slowly met his dark eyes.
He leaned forward. “You don’t want to ask what your mother would think because you know she wouldforgive you for all of it in aheartbeat.”
My eyes and throat burned, my fingers tapping rapidly on my knee under the table. An ugly, frightening feeling arose, one I didn’t want to face.
Repenting and denying myself was comfortable. It protected me from ever experiencing the pain of my mom or Kallie’s deaths ever again.
“What if your stories were swapped? Yours and Nova’s? What if she was the addict, five years sober, who believed as strongly as you do that she wasn’t deserving of absolution?”
I came to this damn diner to talk about service opportunities and the Big Book and how to give as much of myself as possible to AA and my community, not to have this same conversationagain.
But Will wasn’t going to let up. It was why I’d chosen him to be my sponsor in the first place. I was too stubborn to be helped by anyone I could easily out-maneuver.
“What if, Wes?” he asked, leaning over the table. “What would you say to her?”
I gave in. I imagined it. Nova as the addict, Nova as the one who let someone down and spent years repenting for a crime she didn’t commit. Imagining her feeling the way I felt about myselfwas too much to bear. I blinked out of the mental exercise, loathing my next words as they left my lips.
“I would tell her she’d suffered enough,” I said, nearly inaudible. “I would tell her the self-hatred wouldn’t bring them back, that it wouldn’t protect her from future grief or pain. But itwouldkeep her from the love she deserved.” I shook my head slowly. “And that would be such a fucking waste.”
Imagining Nova going her whole life without allowing herself love broke my heart. It reminded me of what Roman had said about every sub falling in love with their first Dom. I remembered the way Nova’s cheeks had flushed, how she couldn’t look at me the rest of the night.
I’d taken something that had never belonged to me. But she would find love again. I was certain of it. Even if the thought of her with someone else drove me insane.
