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“Are you excited for your discharge?” Kate shut the door to her office behind her as she followed Sean into the room. As always, he took the couch, and she sat in the chair across from him. Though her large desk dominated the room, she felt less approachable sitting behind it, so she used it mostly for doing paperwork. The last thing she wanted was to feel removed from her clients.
“No,” he admitted with a sigh.
“No? Usually patients in your position are practically climbing the walls right now.”
Sean’s forehead crinkled, aging him. He couldn’t have been older than thirty, but the drugs had taken a toll on his body. Yellow teeth, thin hair, haunted eyes—he looked like a stereotypical addict.
Discharge was bittersweet. Hope was there, in the distance, trying to shine bright. But reality was a mean son of a bitch. Only a small fraction of her clients made it in the real world. Most of them came through those doors a second, third, fourth time, having just finished detox—though repeat clients were better than funerals. Kate cared about every client, guided them, and the one thing she wished for at every discharge was never to see them again. That, to her, equaled success.
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“I’m scared.” Sean’s voice quavered.
She glanced at him and felt only compassion. He’d have been easy to give up on. The first month of treatment, he’d given her a hell of a time. Volatile, uncooperative, verbally abusive. Everyone’s recovery process was different, but she’d recognized the signs of his withdrawal, even though he displayed them in a very . . . aggressive way. She’d waited to see who he was, underneath the addiction.
Kate Lambert didn’t give up. Not ever. Sure, other staff whispered about hopeless cases, but she didn’t believe in such a thing. Becoming jaded by the work was all too common, but she refused to let herself go down that path. Slowly, she had won Sean’s trust. She’d showed him she wasn’t giving up on him and, in turn, he hadn’t given up on himself.
“Everybody has something worth fighting for,” she’d told him, during their previous sessions together. “A reason to fight for your life. You just have to find your something.”
Over those next few months, they’d talked several times a week about what that something could be. Many times it was a client’s children. Or a spouse. Sometimes a brother or even a pet. But Sean had nothing. He’d burnt all the bridges with his family a long time ago.
Together they’d worked on finding his place in the world, what he had of value. Helping Sean address his issues was the biggest challenge in her career so far, but in the end she hoped he’d be successful.
She watched his gaze drift to the floor. His hands shook in his lap.
After a deep breath, she said, “Change can be scary. But you’ve got this. We worked out a plan for getting help when you think you need it. You have your friend Jim on speed dial. You have my number. You’re ready. You can do this.”
He smiled slightly. “Do you like John Wayne?”
“Um. I’ve never really given him much thought.”
“I grew up watching his movies.” Sean lifted his gaze and looked at her. “He said once, ‘Courage is being scared to death . . . and saddling up anyway.’”
She nodded. “That’s good. I like that.”
“What do you suppose it means?” He cocked his head to the side. “John Wayne was known for being fearless. Why was he talking about being scared to death?”
“Well,”—she shifted on the couch as she gathered her thoughts—“I think he’s saying everyone experiences fear at one time or another. But it’s what you do with it that matters. He starred in Westerns, right?”
Sean nodded.
“So, even if you’re scared, you get in the saddle anyway and do what you have to do.” She sounded pretty good to her ears; hopefully Sean was getting something from this.
Slowly, his head moved up and down, but he chewed his fingernail, looking lost in thought. A moment later, he peered at her. “Are you afraid of anything?”
“Of course.”
“Like what?”
She felt her eyes widen. Leave it to him to challenge her until his very last day. “You’re not holding back today, are you?” She chuckled. How should she answer that while staying professional and avoiding anything too personal?
“You seem like you have your shit together. I can’t picture you afraid of anything either.” He laughed.
Why didn’t that feel like a compliment? Past boyfriends had called her a hard-ass, cynical workaholic. Being driven to get far in life and not turn out like her parents had caused her to push people away. Or maybe what she really feared was intimacy.
Banner came to mind. His thick, tattooed forearms, heavy brow, the stern line of his mouth. Now, there was something to be afraid of. The party had been three days ago, and she still hadn’t texted him. She didn’t understand why—he’d only offered to help. But texting him felt like plunging into the real thing. Fantasies were safe, removed. Like Sean, she understood reality came with risk.
