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Lifting it to my ear, I hover my fingers over the dial pad as I’m greeted by a long dial-tone.
One second passes, then another, and another.
Squeezing my eyes, I brace myself.
It’s just a phone call…
Just get it over with.
I shake my head, blow out a harsh breath, and press the 1 button, unable to shake the feeling that everything’s about to change.
The line clicks, and I hear shuffling.
Then, a giggle.
And just like that, my entire earth crumbles into a million pieces with two syllables, spoken by the most precious sound to ever grace my ears.
“Da-da!”
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
SKYLER
Nolan doesn’t show.
Twenty minutes go by before I finally give up on waiting for him, and abandon our table for somebody else to use. Not that it’s insanely busy tonight, seeing as most of the other patients just prefer to get their food made to go. At least that’s been my experience in the relatively short time I’ve been here. I’m sure it varies depending on the types of people that come in.
Fine dining’s never really been my thing anyway. Growing up, there was always this tense sort of pressure that would hang over the table anytime my parents dragged me out. As if I was a loose cannon that could go off at any moment, and break all the expensive dinnerware.
For once, though, I was looking forward to it. When Nolan asked me earlier, the first thing that ran through my head was that this is a date.
Of course I quickly squashed that notion.
We’re inrehab.Something I’m forgetting more and more each day.
Not that I need to be in rehab, but when Dr. Maddock realized as much, and told me she’d see about getting me transferred into the mental health program to better fit my needs, I immediately shot her down. Nearly sent myself into a meltdown over it.
After she helped me work myself down, she dropped the subject and never brought it up again. She didn’t askwhyI was so insistent on staying in this program, and I couldn’t very well tell her I didn’t want to be separated from Nolan. But she respected my decision all the same.
Sure, if Ididtransfer over, we’d still be in the same vicinity. But we’d no longer share group, and while I’m more or less a fish out of water there, I’ve learned to sort of…adapt. Relate their experiences to my own, but approach it through the lens of someone who isn’t an addict.
Rehab is so much more than getting clean after all. It’s about recovery. Recovering who you were, unearthing the person you were meant to be, and fighting to keep that version—your best version—in the driver’s seat going forward.
There’s nothing I’m not getting there that I’d be missing if I changed programs. My one-on-one therapy sessions make up for anything lacking, as far as I’m concerned. Plus, at this point, with only two more weeks to go, it’d be silly to basically have to start from scratch.
Shaking off my thoughts, I make my way outside, and head straight for Nolan’s bungalow.
It’s cloudy today, and with the sun falling, there’s a weird sort of purplish glow streaked with orange over the island. It’s not raining yet, but you can feel the moisture gathering in the air—taste the impending showers on your tongue.
Maybe he fell asleep,I consider inwardly, not too worried, though I do hasten my steps, hoping to get inside before the skies open up. It’s not like he could’ve gone far, nor would he have stood me up like that unless it was for a good reason.
How I know this with utmost certainty, I’m not sure. But Nolan hasn’t failed me yet. Why would he start now?
Unless he changed his mind…
I shake away the thought.
No. Nope. I refuse to even consider that. Because even if he did, he wouldn’t just ghost me. He learned his lesson from that already. And now more than ever after our talk the other day, he knows how triggering it can be for me to be caught off guard or not explained what’s going on when thingsdochange.
