There, on the cold concrete floor of the club, is Bailey, wiping away the remnants of coke. The white residue is striking against the black floors. She shouldn’t have to clean this. But that’s not what has me so enraged. It’s the way her shoulders shake.
Lowering my body until I’m eye level with her, I place my hand over hers, stopping the erratic scrubbing.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I need to clean it,” she says absently, as though she’s lost in thought.
“No, you don’t.” When she doesn’t stop, I reach my hand out and turn that haunting face toward me. “Stop. I got this.”
She looks up into my eyes but doesn’t speak. So many feelings flood through me, and I don’t know which one is most potent. Our gazes lock for what feels like an eternity as her pain bleeds out of her. My own demons reflect in her eyes, making it hard to be near her, but I don’t move. I won’t. Not until she breaks the connection and looks away.
I take that opportunity to stand and extend my arm out to her. When she places her delicate hand in mine, I help pull her to her feet, all the while focusing on how her hand feels so small engulfed in mine. It feels familiar. It transports me back in time to another place, one that feels like a lifetime ago.
“Thank you,” she whispers, drawing me back to the here and now.
I let out the breath I was holding. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” I spit, just a bit too harshly. She recoils slightly, and I feel like an ass.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she says, turning before I can say something else. But what more can I say?
I’m sorry for hiring you? I’m sorry for wanting the property and putting that above what’s best for you? I won’t say any of that because she wouldn’t understand. I hardly do. This woman is a stranger. I gave her the job because she needed it, and I needed to play nice with Cal. That’s all. Keep telling yourself that, asshole.
The similarities between Alexa and Bailey are startling. So many things about each of these women’s lives are parallel, and having her here is only another reminder of all the ways I failed Alexa. I couldn’t help her, but maybe I can Bailey. Perhaps this job is the very thing that gives her purpose and keeps her clean.
Right now, she looks broken.
And it’s my fault.
It’s always my fault.
6
Bailey
After what just happened at work, Carter is my saving grace. His witty banter gets me through the difficulties of trying to forget the event.
“You going to tell me what finally made you decide to sober up?” he asks out of nowhere as he wipes down the bar.
I look in every direction to verify that nobody heard him. “Jeez, Carter. Can you air any more of my secrets? Keep it down,” I hiss.
“Sorry, I’ve just been thinking about it.”
I sigh. Peering once more around the bar, I find that everyone is deep in conversation and currently good on drinks, so I decide to go for it. Maybe he just needs to know that everyone has a rock bottom, and the bottom is ugly. It may just be the ticket to getting Carter on the fast track to sobriety.
“One morning, I found myself walking through a very bad part of town. I was drunk off my ass, stumbling around on way too many pills. I must have looked like easy prey,” I say, swiping at a piece of dust with my rag. “A dirty man, I think he might have been homeless, cornered me in an alley.” I shudder at the memory.
His fingernails were caked in dirt, hair so greasy an egg would’ve fried on his head under direct sunlight. His clothes tattered and stained. “He had a knife and started to close me in. I was so scared.” I pause, summoning up the courage to tell him the worst part. “He pushed me to the ground and held my hands above my head. I spit in his face, and he punched me in the eye. I thought he . . . I thought he was going to rape me,” I admit, goose bumps forming on my arms as I speak the words.
Carter’s eyes go wide. “I—shit, Bailey. I don’t know what to say. What happened after that?” he asks tentatively.
“While I wriggled in pain, screaming from the blow, he grabbed my purse and ran off with all my money.” I gulp. “That morning, I went to my first NA meeting.” Tears well up in my eyes at the memory. “I came so close to being badly hurt that night . . . It was the push I needed to get help, and I’ve been sober ever since.”
Carter takes my hand in his and gently strokes it, lifting me out of the fog of my memory. He pulls me into a brotherly embrace that lets me know that I have a support system here in New York. “I can’t imagine how scared you must have been,” he says in my ear.
“I was, but I’d put myself in that position because of my addiction.”
“Nobody should ever put their hands on another person like that, especially a woman,” Carter sneers. “I would’ve killed him with my bare hands.”
“It was traumatic, but I have to tell you, I’ve been through worse. I lost a friend once. Watched her die. That should’ve been my wake-up call, but it wasn’t. It took my own life being in jeopardy to finally see the writing on the wall. Don’t let that be yours, Carter. You matter. This world needs you.”
“I want to get better. Will you help me one day?” Carter asks shyly.
I nod adamantly. My heart breaks for Carter, my new friend. No matter how difficult it is to remain sober, it’s so much harder to get clean. The battle he has before him is one that I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
The next night is here before I know it, and I’m finally starting to get in the groove of things.
As each hour passes, the club continues to get increasingly busier. I’m waiting at the bar for a rum and Coke when I see Carter reach under the cabinet and pull something from his bag. I don’t have to see it to know what it is. I’m disappointed for my friend. He can’t even go a few hours without a bump. I see Carter jump up and frantically start looking around for something or someone.
“What’s got you trippin’, Carter?” I wince at my use of words. Brilliant, Bailey.
“Boss man’s here. We better get to work.” He shuffles to put the contents of his fist back into the bag. I shake my head at his obviousness. Anyone paying attention would know he’s acting suspiciously paranoid.
“Carter,” I say. Leaning over the bar, I try to get closer to him so nobody will hear what I’m about to say.
His eyes meet mine, and I see the trepidation. He knows full well I’m onto him, and he’s right to fear me at this moment. After everything I’ve shared with him, I didn’t expect Carter to quit cold turkey, but I had hoped.
“I’m not judging you, Carter. Never. But as your friend, I’m going to make you try harder. I won’t allow you to self-sabotage. You need this job, and if Drew is here, your risky behavior is going to get you canned.”
His head lowers, and for a split second, I feel bad for scolding him. Then I remember all the times that I enabled people I considered friends and vice versa . . . and where did that leave any of us?
Nowhere.