“Yeah, I was thinking you looked like a hot mess.” I prided myself on welcoming everyone who was brave enough to walk into a meeting room, but the rules didn’t apply to him. He was the first guy who’d ever made me cry and my heart wouldn’t let me forget it.
He tugged on the plain black t-shirt hanging outside his black jeans. It looked like he still worked out, and he’d added some ink to his powerful biceps. Decent work, but I could have done better.
“Do I look that bad?”
No, he looked that good, but I had too much pride to admit it. In high school he’d always complained about not being able to grow a full beard until senior year, but the dark scruff peppering his jaw now only looked a few days old.
“Bad, good, it’s all relative, isn’t it?” I fastened my seatbelt, hoping he’d take a hint and leave me alone.
“What are you doing now, Codie?”
I sighed, curling my hand around the steering wheel. “Why do you care?”
“I never stopped caring about you.”
If there hadn’t been a car parked in front of me, I would have gunned the engine by now. I was getting too old and too tired for his B.S.
“Whatever. That may work on your groupies, but I’m not that gullible.”
“Then you know about my music?” He smiled. “Still a country music fan?”
I shook my head, not even trying to hide my disgust. “We both grew up in Nashville. You have to ask?”
“I guess not.” He paused before asking, “How’s your mama and sister?”
Maverick spent a lot of time at my house when we were dating because his house had been a house of horrors, with his abusive father and alcoholic mother. We never could have imagined then we would both be afflicted by the same disease she had.
“They’re good. My sister’s getting her master’s degree in counselling. She graduates next month and mama retired from the grocery store last month. Her arthritis was getting too bad for her to go on working. Fortunately, I can help her out now.” I didn’t know why I was telling him all this. He’d forfeited the right to know anything about me or my family when he turned his back on me, without an explanation.
“How the hell did you end up here?” he asked, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “In high school, drinking was always my thing, not yours.”
“College happened. I partied a little too much.”Trying to forget about you, asshole.“Before I knew it, I was drinking every day. I didn’t want that to be my life, so my second year I went to my first meeting and have been going ever since.”
“Good for you.” His smile was faint when he said, “That must have taken a lot of courage, especially in college, not to drink anymore when your friends were.”
“I dropped out, focused on my healing for a long while. I had to. I knew if I didn’t my life wouldn’t be worth shit, and I had my mother and sister counting on me. I couldn’t do that to them.”
He nodded. “Maybe if I’d had someone counting on me, I would’ve gotten sober sooner.”
“You have to get sober for yourself. It won’t work if you’re doing it for someone else.”
I didn’t know why I was still talking to him. Maybe it was because I remembered how lost and alone I’d felt at the start of my recovery. I’d sponsored many recovering alcoholics over the years and they all had one thing in common: they just wanted someone to listen. Apparently, Maverick was no different.
“So, what are you doing now?”
“I’m a tattoo artist. I have a shop downtown.”
His jaw dropped. “Seriously?” I was wearing a black tank top and faded jeans with flip flops and his eyes travelled all over my exposed ink. “You were always a crazy-talented artist, but I never expected you to make skin your canvas.”
“I like it. It pays the bills, and then some.” I’d helped my mama pay off her little house, put my sister through school and bought the building that housed my tattoo shop and apartment, so I couldn’t complain.
“Tattoo artists are usually covered in ink,” he said, smiling. “Where’s yours?”
“In places you’ll never see.”
His straight white teeth sunk into his lower lip as his gaze dipped to my cleavage. “I have to hit the road tomorrow, but I promised Trey I’d go to a meeting every day.”
“Good luck with that.” I meant it. I knew better than most how hard the early days of recovery were and while Mav wasn’t my favorite person, I still hoped he would finally beat his battle with the bottle, for the sake of everyone who still cared about him.
