So that was it. She was afraid of making more bad choices. “You think I’d be one?” I asked.
“No. But I think I don’t know how to make smart choices. So it’s not about you, I promise. It’s me.”
That I understood far too well. Self-doubt. Self-blame. I got where it came from. Choices have consequences. Every single one. I’d made some terrible choices when I was younger, and even though those days were far in the rearview mirror, I understood where she was coming from. “Listen, I get it. I’ve done things I’m not proud of. I’ve made the wrong choices too. When my dad was killed, and then my mom went to prison for it, I was lost, so damn lost.”
Her eyes edged with sadness. “Of course you were.”
“And I turned to liquor for comfort. I was thirteen, and I made some dumb-ass choices.”
“You were thirteen, just a kid,” she said sympathetically.
I shook my head, a small laugh escaping. “Nope. I’m giving you the straight talk now, Ms. Community Center Director. And the straight talk is this. We all mess up. And I messed up big time. I fell into the wrong crowd. I had friends who were Royal Sinners,” I said, disgust on my tongue. “A guy named Danny Nelson was my best friend at the time, and his older brother TJ was in the gang. He got alcohol for us, and we’d get wasted. Then painkillers. Then speed. And here’s the thing. I was friends with those guys before my dad was killed,” I said, swallowing past memories.
A familiar pang of guilt washed over me as I remembered those friendships. The wrong crowd. The crowd that had played a part in my father’s murder. Maybe not directly, but I wondered again and again if my friendship with guys connected to the gang had led to my mom reaching out to a shooter who was part of the Sinners.
The thought made my gut churn. Made me feel like my blood was tar. Was I responsible? Had I played a role?
I focused on my breathing, on tricks I’d learned through meditation, letting go of those ideas. And I focused on Elle.
But she was focusing on me. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“And it’s not your fault. What you went through with Sam,” I said. “It’s life. It happened. But it’s not your fault.”
She gave me a soft smile, then whispered, “Thank you.”
I wished she’d forgive herself.
Not because I longed for her.
But because she was a friend.
I lifted a hand, tucked a strand of hair over her ear, and leaned in to wrap her in a hug.
When we separated, she was smiling. “You’re a good one, Scotty Sloan.”
I hoped so. Hell, did I ever hope so.
14
Elle
Fun.
That was good, plain fun.
That was basically the best night I’d had in ages.
I shook my head in amazement as I slowed my car at a red light on my way to pick up Alex. He’d texted that he’d gone to a friend’s house near ours, so I was picking him up there.
“Fun,” I said out loud, as if the word was a new concept.
In many ways, it was to me. I hadn’t had that sort of evening in . . . well, many years. Sure, I always had a blast doing roller derby, but that was more of a necessary outlet, my own therapy to handle living with an addict. And, yes, my son and I had gobs of fun playing zombie games, going bowling, and challenging each other in Pac-Man at the roller rink after my matches.
But adult fun?
That had been eons ago. Like maybe the Paleolithic period. Getting knocked up as a teenager didn’t give you many opportunities for fun.
The last several nights, though, from the game of poker to the zip line to the museum visit . . . every single second was lovely, and a small part of me already longed for more like it.
I never thought I’d have a bad time with Colin, but I hadn’t imagined we’d have such a good one. It made perfect sense that we’d jell, I reasoned, as the light changed and I hit the gas. The two of us had clicked from day one.
We’d chatted easily when we first met, sharing a similar view on the value of community service, the importance of being role models for youth, and the benefit of giving kids a chance to have fun too. But tonight I’d learned we had even more in common, little things like our shared affection for mob movies and our fondness for the history of Las Vegas.
But there was something else too.
That moment by my car.
When he seemed to simply get me.
When he understood my walls.
My boundaries.
Could I forgive myself for having loved an addict? But Sam was more than an addict, and the time with him had been more than destructive.
It had nearly shattered my family.
Forgiveness wasn’t the issue.
It was choice.
How to live now.
How to protect the ones I loved.
Because I didn’t trust myself.
So I was better off alone.
Yet Colin seemed to sense that. I’d never told him all the details, but he gleaned where I was at, what I allowed, what I didn’t allow.
And he didn’t judge one way or the other.
Then there were the little moments. The way he tucked my hair behind my ear, the tender words, the playful touches.
They made me . . . zing.
Like the zip line had.
As I turned onto the next street, my chest tingled at the memories of the last few nights, and of that almost kiss.
The man was direct and patient, and he seemed to embrace that I needed time.
But how much time? How long would he wait? Would I ever be ready?
I didn’t know.
Admittedly, a quiet part of me wanted more of him. A part I rarely acknowledged. Try as I might to keep him in the friend zone, being friends with him only made him more appealing. But I had to stay strong.
I pulled into the driveway, cut the engine, and walked to the door. My girlfriend Janine answered, since our kids were buddies. “Hey, girl. You look happy.”
I smiled. “I had a nice night with a friend.”
She arched a brow. “A male friend?”
I shrugged playfully.
“Details.”
I shook my head. “Nothing happened. We’re truly just friends.”
She leaned in closer. “But you want to be something more. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Who has time for that?” I asked, dodging the issue.
“Make time for that. If he’s a good one. Is he a good one?”
“He’s great,” I said, but that already felt like too much talk about men, so I shifted to roller derby chatter, discussing the Fishnet Brigade’s game plan for our match next Friday. “And I will be on fire, blocking for my Cool Hand Bette,” I said, using Janine’s skate name.
“Excellent. I’ll pick you up and drive?”
“It’s a plan.”
She leaned in closer. “And you ought to think about plans with the good ones.” She leaned back, shooting me a saucy look. “The great ones.”
I laughed it off, focusing on Alex as I drove him home. “How was the volunteer reading program?”
“Super cool,” he said, then proceeded to tell me about a second-grader he worked with, and the whole time, all I could think was the sound of my son’s voice was magic.
It was moonlight.