His chest tight, and feeling like his legs were made of jelly, Ranger stood. The journey around the table felt like a marathon, but finally he was only a foot or so in front of her. Tears were already running down her cheeks as she stared up at him.
Ranger didn’t remember much about the day he’d relapsed, but he did know that Becks was the one who found him in his bathtub. Dressed, dry, and a needle in his arm. He hated himself for putting her through that. Colby surmised that a subconscious part of him wanted to get caught, so rather than shooting up in the back alley where he’d purchased the heroin, he’d brought it home. Ranger wasn’t sure he believed or trusted that assessment, but it didn’t change the fact that he’d brought drugs into his pregnant sister’s home.
He tried to smile down at her, but his lips seemed to have forgotten how. Instead, he forced himself to reach for her. A part of him knew it was a possibility that she might step back, might look at him in disgust for trying to touch her. He would have accepted that. His addiction and withdrawal had taken precedence over his sexual assault, but he was well aware that therapy was coming soon, too. As shameful as that knowledge was, though, he would not fault Becks for not wanting to touch him.
He was dirty. The poison might be out of his system, but it had altered him, changed who he was. He wouldneverbe the same man he was, and after his relapse inside her own home, he would understand her hatred of him.
But of course, she proved him wrong. Rather than pulling away, Becks rushed him. It was a good thing that Ghost was holding the gift basket, or she likely would have tossed it overher shoulder in her haste. The second she saw him reach for her, Becks leapt forward. Even in her heels, she was still several inches shorter than him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her feet dangling above the ground, Becks buried her face into the crook of his shoulder, shaking and sobbing.
Ranger caught her, of course. His thirty day chip falling to the tiled floor at his feet. Wrapping his own arms around her waist, he pulled her just as tightly against him. He struggled to breathe, knowing there was no power on this earth strong enough to tear her from his arms.
He wasn’t whole, not by a long shot. But having Becks here, feeling her love for him and her relief that he was alive, it helped. It was enough to make this day worth it.
* * *
90 Days Sober
“This is our last session before your release tomorrow. I’d like to use our time today to talk about what you’re taking with you when you walk out those doors.”
Dr. James Sutton was in his late forties-early fifties. Though he’d been retired from the Army for many years, from his straight posture to his haircut, he still held himself like the soldier he’d once been. In many ways, having a therapist who understood the nuances of military life was good because it meant Dr. Sutton understood things without Ranger having to explain the why of them, but in other ways, it was extremely annoying. Dr. Sutton did not let Ranger deflect or push things aside, and calling Ranger out for his, as Dr. Sutton referred to it, “macho bullshit”.
Nothing like a six-five, two-hundred and fifty pound man of pure muscle telling you it was okay to cry in front of him.
Ranger nodded stiffly. The anxiety coursing through him felt very much like the night before his first mission as an Army Ranger. No matter how much prep work, how much training he’d gone through, there was still an element of the unknown.
“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” Dr. Sutton made a point not to write down notes during his sessions. He wanted to be in the now with his patients, not making their worries spike for fear of what he was writing down in front of them. Was he saying one thing while writing down another? Additionally, he didn’t sit behind his desk while they sat in front of it. Two large, comfy chairs were set by a bay window.
“Fine. Good. I’m ready to get out of here.”
Dr. Sutton, though, shook his head. “That’s the answer you prepared on your way in here. What’s the real answer?”
Shit. After ninety days with this man, Ranger should know by now that he wasn’t going to get an answer like that past him.
He squirmed in his chair like a student facing the principal. “I’m nervous as hell. I’ve thrown up twice. I go from being excited about leaving to begging Colby to let me stay. And I fear leaving here, wondering if it’s only a matter of time before I’m forced back—either by my own merit or my family’s.”
“Those are all valid emotions, Liam. What would it mean if you did have to come back?”
Ranger’s stomach twisted at the thought. “It means I failed again, to which you’re going to say that I didn’t fail. Ifell. And falling just means I have to pick myself back up again.”
Dr. Sutton’s deep chuckle echoed around the room. “I was unaware I was becoming predictable in my responses. So, what would I say next?”
Ranger wrinkled his nose. “That I have the means and the support not to fear falling. You’ll tell me that I will trip and I willstumble, and then add something sentimental about knowing who to call and what to do.”
“How about ‘there will be good days and bad days, and it’s okay to have good and bad days. The trick is not to let the bad days influence your good days.’”
Ranger nodded. “Seems like something you’d say.”
“I’ve been told I’m quite smart.”
Ranger snorted at the doctor’s dry sense of humor.
“You mentioned your club is coming tomorrow to pick you up. All of them, if I understand correctly.”
Nerves clawed at his stomach at the thought. Ranger eyed the trash can in the corner, wondering if he was going to need it. “I told them not to, but I know better. They’ll all come. Like a fucking parade.”
Which honestly served him right. He’d been on the other end of such a parade numerous times, and took great joy in the displeasure on his club brothers’ faces when he had. Now, he supposed, it was his turn.
“I’ve met a number of your club. They seem like good men, good people. Why does it bother you that they want to be here to support you, to celebrate your success?”
