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There’s no dress code to attend an AA meeting. It’s a come-as-you-are gig.
It’s also an open meeting. Everyone is welcome. That’s the only saving grace. It redeems me of the feeling that I’m crashing a party where I don’t belong. Although after listening to their personal hardships and stories, you develop a sort of kinship.
“Hi, my name is Darrell, and I’m an alcoholic,” the man at the podium says, clearing his throat while staring down at the mic. “Growing up, my dad and I had a good relationship. He took me fishing. We’d go to baseball games. It was good. Until…” He pauses to extract the crack in his voice. “Until my mom died. That’s when my dad started drinking. I was ten. He lost his job, and things went downhill from there. He’d get this look in his eyes. Like a switch would flip and he’d turn into the meanest motherfucker. I think I was twelve when we had our first fistfight. I was barely a hundred pounds, so you can imagine how that went.” He chuckles, glancing around the silent and respectful room.
“That’s when I had my first drink, experimenting with friends like most kids do. After my dad would beat the shit out of me, I’d hit his liquor to kill the pain.” His eyes lower to the mic. “You know, I’d tell myself when I got old enough, I’d leave him, leave and never look back.” He clears his throat. “But I ended up just like him—a drunk. And I never left. I blamed him for the way my life was as I watched him drink himself to death.” His eyes lift to the crowd again.
“Then I met Gina,” he says with newfound strength. “She made me want to be a better man for her. Hell, when I looked into her eyes, she made me want it for myself. That’s when my road to sobriety began. It wasn’t easy, and I fell off the wagon a few times, but I’ve been sober for six years now. I married Gina, and we have a healthy little girl.” He smiles. “I’m going to be honest with you. It’s a daily struggle, and it ain’t easy. I’m an alcoholic. I don’t blame my dad anymore. I forgave him a long time ago. I try to concentrate on the good times we shared. Just like him, my life is what I make of it. He doesn’t have any control over it. So if I fuck up, it’s on me.”
Listening to Darrell’s story reminds me of my father. Unlike my brothers, my father and I had a decent relationship. He’d take me to the store and taught me how to hit a baseball. I hated baseball. I always felt bad for my brothers, but I figured everyone else was safe if he was with me.
He had that switch, Darrell mentioned. You’d see it in my dad’s eyes. He’d change. Mom was always the receiver.
One day, due to our “special relationship,” I took liberties and yelled at my father to stop being mean to my mom.
Those angry eyes flashed at me. I realized my mistake when his fists clenched and his lip curled. My brothers had sheltered me from the abuse, so I rarely saw it firsthand. I didn’t realize how much or how bad he hurt Mom.
But that day, time stood still as he took his first step toward me.
Brett walked into the room. After a quick assessment, he glanced at me and yelled, “Run!” just before he rushed my father. My father swiped Brett with the back of his hand, sending him across the room.
Out of nowhere, Cole dove onto my father’s legs. Brett jumped up and charged my father again.
Arms wrapped around my father’s tree-trunk leg, Cole’s bright gray eyes flashed to mine. “Run, Felix! Run!”
My father grabbed Cole’s hair and yanked him off, tossing his tiny body to the side like a used baseball bat. Brett threw a punch at my father’s gut. Brett’s eyes got wide with fear right before my father punched Brett in the face.
I felt that hit all through my body.
Cole hauled his ten-year-old body up from the floor, his arms bowed and eyes lowered. He appeared huge and fearless. “Felix!” He headed toward Dad. “Run, Felix!”
And… I ran! I moved my heavy guilt-ridden legs out of the house. Fueled by anger and shame, I ran to the abandoned shed on the next-door property. It was our safe place. It’s where my brothers would take me when my father got that “look” in his eyes.
They protected me like it was their job.
That was the first time my father ever hit one of us.
And it was my fault.
When Cole and Brett showed up a few hours later, bruised and broken, I swore it would never happen again.
But it did…
I need to fix this shit with Chosen. I need to make this right. My brothers, Mom, and Willa are counting on me.
Remembering Brett and Cole that day, I can’t fuck this up.
Not again.
Chapter 16
I walk into the bar. I can’t believe it’s been three weeks since I met Lix Daxon, and I’m no closer to uncovering the truth about my uncle.
Selina knows about my past and how I lost my uncle. She knew about Lix’s connection. So when she ran into him during a police interview, she called me. I was working on an article exposing the cover-up of sexual assaults at Westside University and couldn’t abandon the story. Couldn’t leave those strong young women.
After a couple more encounters with Lix, Selina called me again. Thankfully, I’d just finished up the story, so I packed my shit, which isn’t much due to all my traveling, and I got on the first flight to Florida.
I was ready to jump in with my investigation of the Daxons’ escort service. I needed ammunition when I confronted Lix.I needed to do my research.I wasn’t ready to take him on.
