Page 14 of Addiction

CHAPTER FOUR

Asher

I’ve been back three days, and after the reconnection with Mom, Nora, and Grayson, I need to see Theo. I need to attend a meeting because the emotions I’ve felt since leaving St Brides have been tough and I don’t want to fall to temptation. I needed to regroup. I needed to talk it out with someone who isn’t connected to my situation yet knows everything about my life. And that person for me is Theo. He’s been my sponsor since day one and is my lifeline who works twenty-four-seven.

He will no doubt be on speed dial after what I’m about to face today.

Running my hand through my hair, I swallow the thick lump in my throat, my eyes stinging with tears as my heart weighs heavy.

I’ve made amends with the people I’ve wronged—that’s part of everyone’s recovery—but the biggest amendment I have to make is with the one person who will never hear my words.

And that’s a fucking hard pill to swallow.

I haven't visited my father's memorial until now. I did the morning of the accident, but I don't remember. All I can remember from that day is the thud of Nora’s body on impact and the scream from Makenna. According to Grayson, I’d argued and stormed out of Hot Tuna intoxicated. But before he’d been able to stop me, it was too late.

Life was a massive blur back then, and even in the days when I was focusing on getting sober, I hadn’t wanted to risk coming here and have it set me back. Too many wrongs were made, and my bad decisions cost me everything.

I’d had a choice—the perfect opportunity to stay in Virginia and be with my family—but I purposefully chose the other option and was soon on a plane to California.

I’d been selfish.

And I had been afraid.

Now, as I stand at the foot of my father’s grave, I feel defenseless.

“Hey, Pop,” I murmur. Closing my eyes, I grip the nape of my neck as anxiety ripples my stomach. “I… God this is harder than I thought. I bet you’re loving this aren’t you? Seeing me struggle with words.” I release a chuckle. Looking around the burial ground, I watch others visiting the memorials of their loved ones. They make it look so damn easy.

“Nora and Mom picked a good spot for you here by the tree. You get both sunshine and shade. That’s got to be good, right?”

Fuck, what am I doing?

In the minutes I’ve been here, it’s brought home to me that I’ve lost all ability to talk with my dad, even when he’s not in front of me. I’d told him I was fine multiple times when it had been clear I wasn’t. I’d brushed off that vital conversation that runs deep within me because I’d been terrified of where it would lead. Now, in his absence, I need him more than ever.

I wasn’t destined to be the son he wanted. I’m not the kind of man who wants the big house with a white picket fence. I don’t even know what kind of fucking man I am.

“I’m so ashamed, Pop—of the things I’ve done. I should have been here. I should have been the man you raised me to be, but I know I’ve failed you in more ways than you can imagine. I know you’re looking down at me now disgusted because I’ve brought nothing but disgrace on our family. But if you all knew of the thoughts that race my mind when I’m alone at night…”

The pressure in my chest is unbearable as I try to keep it together. I’ve kept it locked away inside for too long and too many years.

My obsession with fucking women had only been to mask the man I am underneath. The flashbacks of what happened in Iraq haunted me like I’ve been living a death sentence, and, over time, I’d become lost. Life had suddenly become a fight for survival, but instead of reaching out to those I loved, I’d turned to drinking myself into the void I wanted to fall in. At the time, the alcohol had numbed my pain and given me an ego that told me everything I wanted to hear. I’d wanted respect. I’d wanted power. I’d wanted that adrenaline rush all over again. The world had revolved around me when I had a drink in my hand. But my drunken ego had never informed me of the comedown.

When I was sober, my self-esteem had told me I was an imposter—that I was nothing more than worthless—and I’d believed every word. So to medicate everything that was growing inside like a cancer, I’d drunk more.

When I learned of my father’s death, I had been paralyzed with alcohol, slumped in a seat at another Californian bar wearing the same clothes I’d worn for Lord knows how long. The words had rung in my head, but my twisted response had been to raise my glass.

I’d raised a fucking glass to losing my father.

Who the fuck does that?

I don’t remember much in the days after, but as my mood spiraled so had my world. I’d wanted the devil to take me. I’d wanted to be the one who had died because I was dying inside. I’d been numb, broken, pained and far from the son my father last saw.

I hadn’t been there for him, and even though I’m sober now, my life is far from fixed, and I don’t know which way to turn to make it stable.

I need him.

I need his smile and his laughter.

I need his advice and wisdom.