Page 16 of Rush

My eyes widen. “What did you just call me?”

“You heard exactly what I called you, so why are you asking me to repeat it?”

“Because I can’t believe you would call me…Jailbird. I haven’t been to jail!” I can feel myself starting to tremble from his barb.

His expression narrows. “Yeah, well, you should’ve after what you did. Climbing into that car, drunk off your face.” He shakes his head with disgust. “You could’ve killed somebody.”

Shame covers me like winter frost. I don’t say anything because…what can I say? He’s right.

“I know drunks, and I know you can’t trust them. The only thing they’re loyal to is the bottle.”

I want to argue with that. Tell him that he’s generalizing. But he’s not wrong either.

In most cases, it’s true that alcoholics only care about where their next drink is coming from. When I was going through detox, I realized that had been true of me, too. There were moments back then when I would have literally done anything for a drink.

But that’s not who I am now.

Are you sure? the voice in the back of my mind whispers.

“That’s not me,” I say, and I don’t know if I’m talking to him or myself in this moment. “I’m sober, and I intend to stay that way.”

His shoulders lift. “I hope that works out for you. Statistically, it doesn’t look good. But I hope you do stay sober, for your dad’s sake. He’s a good man, and he doesn’t need you putting him through the kind of shit you put him through earlier this year.”

Has my dad said something to him?

“And there’s no reason for you and me to get along. We both know that Coach made up this job for you because he wants to make sure you don’t relapse. I get that, and so does the rest of the team. But you must know that we don’t actually need anything from you. Everything is covered by the staff already here. And some of the guys have their assistants. You’re only getting jobs from some of the guys because we respect Coach, and he asked us to make you feel useful. And, as much as I like Coach, I’m choosing not to do that, for my own reason. We don’t need to communicate. So, there’s no reason for us to get along. There’s no reason for anything. I suggest we just stay out of each other’s way for the foreseeable future. Okay.”

Shit.

My heart is racing. Mouth dry. My face is burning. My eyes stinging.

I can’t speak because, if I do, I’ll burst into tears.

The door opens, and a barrage of voices comes into the room as it starts to fill with players.

I turn away, moving back to the laptop.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

I hit select on the video my dad wanted, and then, using my hair as a curtain to shield my face, I quietly slip out the door.

I walk quickly to the restroom. Into a stall.

And burst into tears.

I leave my yoga class, waving good-bye to the instructor, Martin, and step outside into the warm air. The sidewalk is bustling with people. The day has such a positive vibe about it. I’m calm and relaxed after my class, and I don’t want to lose this feeling.

There’s a farmers market a block over. I think I’ll take a walk over there before heading home and buy some cheese and fresh bread. Then, I can spend the rest of the day gorging myself silly on it.

Sounds perfect.

Well, okay, not perfect. It sounds lonely. But it’s not like I have many other options.

I hitch my bag up my shoulder and start walking.

As I approach the market, the aromas of fresh food invade my senses, and my stomach rumbles.

When I used to drink, my appetite wasn’t very big. The alcohol suppressed my desire for food. Now that I’m sober, I’ve been discovering a big love for food. It took a while to get to this point. When I first detoxed, the thought of eating made me want to throw up. But, now that I’m over the worst of it, I’m able to enjoy food.