“Thegirlfriends or the dealers?”
He letout a mirthless laugh and took a quick sip of water. “Both.”
“Didyou try to stop?” Her voice was gentle. No judgment, no accusation.
“I madea few lame attempts. I told myself, ‘You’re young, your body’s strong, you cantake it.’ Until I wasn’t. Then my favorite lie became, ‘You can stop anytimeyou want.’ After that, I told myself I couldn’t help being hooked. It wasn’t myfault. Trouble is, if it wasn’t my fault, then who the hell’s was it?”
Whythe fuck am I telling her this?
“But thecompulsion’s still there?”
He madea hoarse, wordless sort of sound. “With painkillers and ecstasy, not so much.But with cocaine, the euphoria, feeling invincible—that’s addictive. Not beingaround it, I don’t think about it. Seeing people use, watching them have a goodtime lures me in. It’s easy to see the fun and ignore the flip side. That wasone nugget I took away from the counseling sessions, so I guess they weren’tall wasted.”
“Andthat strategy’s working?”
“Ah.Mostly. With the exception of a few times, I’ve been clean since Minneapolis.”
“Whathappened those few times?”
“Yamila.Yamila happened,” he confessed, regret adding weight to the undigested steak inhis stomach. “She showed up a couple times when I was at a low point. Goodbooze, good coke, and a good time. Like the old days. It’s a toxic mix, mykryptonite, and she knows it.”
“You’rea grown-up who’s free to make his own choices, Beck.” Was that a “Mom”inflection in her voice?
“I’mnot so sure about the grown-up part, pixie. Honestly, those few times withYamila scared the shit out of me. Falling back into the habit would be tooeasy. I let it destroy everything I worked for once already, and I’m not doingit again.”
Andiepaused a moment. “Do you still see her?”
Heswirled the inch of water in his bottle. “No. Last I spoke to her, which wasthe last time I partied, was before I met you at Marty and Claudia’shousewarming.”
Troublewas, Yamila still hounded him. Though he’d blocked her on his phone, it hadn’tstopped her sending sicko emails. But why rehash this drama with Andie? He’donly give her more reason to be disgusted by his old lifestyle and send herrunning for the hills. Or out of my life.
Hecleared his throat. “Hey, I want you to know I’m not going back to that life.Never. The only coke I’ll have again will come with a burger and fries. I’vechanged a lot of habits since meeting you, pixie.”
Anotherpause. “Oh. Um, leaving LA had to help.”
“Nah. Ipartied a lot in Denver and on the road.” Time to steer the conversation ina different direction. “Besides, LA wasn’t all bad. I got to audition for Dancingwith the Stars. Wouldn’t have done that in Ottawa or Buffalo.”
“Ididn’t know you could dance!” she squealed.
“Ican’t, which is why I didn’t get picked. But it was a good time. You know, achance to dance with scantily clad women and all.” He grinned. “Enough of allthis serious talk.”
“Talkingabout scantily clad women is serious?”
“Stopdodging. Are you watching with me tomorrow night or not?”
“Wouldn’tmiss it, Beck.”
Exactlywhat he wanted to hear
.
CHAPTER 14
Rolling in the Deep
Clutching her purse to her chest, Paige gingerly let herselfthrough a door stenciled with the name “Clay Cavanagh, MFT.” She winced as abell chimed, then jolted at a familiar voice. Adrian rose from a black leatherchair and stood awkwardly in the reception area, as though he couldn’t decideif he should hug her, shake her hand, or do nothing. He stuffed his hands inhis pockets.
“Howhave you been, Paige?”
Before shecould answer, a man with curly gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses poked his headout of a different door. “Hello. You must be my four o’clock?”
“Ah,hello. I’m Adrian Paulson, and this is my … this is Paige. Paulson.”
The manoffered a warm smile and his hand. “I’m Clay Cavanagh. Call me Clay. Come in,please, and make yourselves comfortable.”
Paigefollowed Adrian into an office decorated in soothing grays and sat at the roundtable Clay indicated. He handed them each water, and she surveyed his framed credentials.Once she’d agreed to try counseling, Adrian had selected the therapist. Paigehad been skeptical anything could be salvaged from the tatters of theirmarriage, but in the end she’d caved, daunted by the disembowelment of sharedassets a divorce would force. If trust could be repaired and their union putback on track, wouldn’t it be simpler? She’d loved Adrian once. What if theycould skirt the unholy mess of a split? It was worth a few counseling sessionsto find out.
“Let’sget some details out of the way,” Clay said. After noting their individualinformation and explaining about the sessions, he spread his fingers on thetable. “People don’t come to me because they’re satisfied with theirrelationships and each other. They come to me to help them work through theirissues. Since you’re both here, I assume you’re invested in rebuilding yourmarriage. I ask you to trust in my process. In exchange, I ask you for yourhonesty—with me and with each other. Transparency is the only way this will work.”
Paigeblinked. Transparency. She hadn’t considered being subjected to all the dirtydetails of Adrian’s affair. Her stomach clenched. Maybe reconciliation wasn’tpossible. In addition to the wounds, his infidelity had opened her eyes toflaws she’d previously blocked out—his myopia, his inability to laugh athimself, his lack of spontaneity in and out of bed. Could she stuff thegenie back in its bottle?
Shepushed her thoughts aside, determined she wouldn’t be the one to declaretheir union irreparable. Grandma hadn’t raised a quitter. Admitting failuredistressed her more than slogging through their marital debris, and as long asan ember of a chance to reconcile flickered, she had to give it her all.
Clayand Adrian looked at her, and she realized she’d missed a question. “Oh. Mydesired outcome?” What did she want? “I want my trust restored.” Shedarted her eyes to Adrian. “I need to believe there won’t be another affair. Imean, I don’t even know if you’ve ended
