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Bishop stays silent, then places a hand on my leg. He knows my history better than anyone. "You're not the same man you used to be. I've seen it for myself. You're working hard. Focused on getting your life back on track. You'vechanged."
Have I, though?
Everything Bishop's saying is true. I amdoing the work, as my therapist in rehab was fond of saying.
And it's a lot of work, and it's never going to stop. I'm fully aware that recovery is a lifelong commitment, and I plan on sticking to it. I won't let anything derail me.
Except…
HaveIactually changed? The person beneath the addiction and all the mistakes.
Sure, I've got a job, and whenever I'm not working, I'm helping out at the shelter. Saving every penny and paying Bishop back in monthly installments. Completely eliminating booze and drugs from my life.
But that's juststuffI'm doing differently, does it meanI'ma different person? Or do I still have the same impulses, the same tendencies, the same recklessness that created so much havoc in my life before?
Because while I may be able to rein some things in, when it comes to watching the people I care about get fucked over, I will crack. Been that way my whole life, don't think I'll change now.
My throat's gone dry. I take a swig of lemonade. "Gonna have to ask you for a favor."
Bishop eyes me cautiously. "Go on."
"You can't ask for any details, but I'd like Locky to move in with me."
I currently live in the house that's at the animal shelter, Bishop's old place, since he moved out to live with Fulton and their six thousand cats.
"Why?"
Because I'm a sucker for punishment who should heed the warning bells sounding off in my head and just walk the fuck away from Locky.
Except I can't.
And it's not just because I've got his luggage in the trunk of my car. It's because, despite barely knowing the guy, he's triggered every protective instinct I have.
How?
Yeah. Wish I fucking knew.
I'm just going by gut feeling, which, in the past, has been a recipe for my biggest disasters. Don't know what I did wrong in a previous life, but my instincts are all messed up. Because when it comes to protecting my loved ones, I don't have the same safety switch that normal people have. The one that says,Calm down. Walk away. Don't do something stupid you'll regret later.
There'snothingI won't do to help or protect someone I love. Even though it’s landed my dumb ass in jail. Twice.
"Why do you want Locky to move in?" Bishop repeats.
"Said you can't ask for details," I answer back lamely.
Bishop shifts on his stool, his gaze flicking between me and Locky. "Is he in trouble? That why you wanted us to nix the T-shirts tonight?"
"You're not very good at not asking for details." I rotate around, my eyes instantly finding Locky again. "But yeah, some shit's gone down, and he's going to need a place to stay."
"When did he ask you?"
"He hasn't." I let out a big breath, keeping my gaze glued on Locky. "Is it okay?"
"Yeah. Of course."
"Thank you."
We get up and walk over to the group, but my gaze remains fixed on one man. I slide into the end of the booth and half listen as Chase and Fischer regale me about something funny their twins, Imogen and Ellie, did at kindergarten today. Technically, they're Fischer's girls, but they've started the adoption process, and it's clear as day Chase is all in. Must be nice to be a kid and have someone who wants to be your parent so badly they're willing to fight for you. Can't imagine how good that would feel.
