He takes a seat on the plastic chair, crosses his leg, and taps the sole of his boot with his index finger. “Well, that’s debatable. I was surveying the place when I saw you two going at it. I’m sure no one else would’ve caught you.”
“Well, if you can keep his secret—”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s none of my business what he does with his life. You, on the other hand, are now my pet project.”
Instead of glaring at him because he’s making no sense, I close my eyes and ask, “I’m your what?”
“Listen. We’re indirectly part of this dysfunctional, fun family called the Deckers,” he states. “I’m here for you. I know of a kick-ass rehab center that’s not only for addiction but mental health. It could be beneficial to you. This is a place where you can stay in a long-term program, not just for the typical thirty or ninety-day stint that doesn’t work for people like you.”
“Like me?”
“You’ve fallen more than a few times. That means that there’s a lot more underneath that needs to be addressed. It’ll be safer for you to work on all that before you step outside into the real world.”
He’s right. With my history and the media, I might need a more structured home environment while I stabilize my long-term sobriety. Beacon is five years younger than me, but he knows more about sobriety than I do. He also sounds like a wise old soul, like Hannah.
“You need to think about your sober living environment. You can live in one of the cabins they provide at the center once you’re ready, and you can stay there until you feel like you’re in control of your life,” he concludes. “I’m not an expert, but I understand that the use of drugs sometimes is more than just an addiction. It’s masking a deeper problem.”
Several of my counselors have told me that. I recognize all the traumas I’ve carried since I was a kid, but I have never worked through them. If I hadn’t quit my first therapist, my life might be different. Instead, I chose to use weed with Rocco and give zero fucks.
I can’t change the past, but I can create a better future for myself.
Isn’t that what people who get a second chance do? They look ahead after learning from their mistakes.
“Sign me up for that,” I agree. “You can ask Kaden Hades to pay for it. He handles my finances.”
Beacon nods. “I’ll make the necessary arrangements. We’ll be around until we fly you to the facility.”
“We?” I ask, wondering if Ethan is still around.
“Like you, I don’t fly solo. I have my brothers.” He pauses. “Well, my bandmates. San, Byron, Mane, and Fish,” he says, listing all the members of Too Far from Grace.
He doesn’t know that the Sinners stopped being close years ago. We’re great at pretending that we are one.
What I wouldn’t give to go back to the beginning when we didn’t have so many problems. Okay, we did, but they didn’t matter as much. We confronted them as a family.
“Thank you for giving me a hand,” I say, relieved that there’s someone that’ll be holding my hand until I’m in a safe place. “You’re okay.”
“I’m fucking awesome, but ‘okay’ works too.”
I stay four more days in the hospital. Afterward, I fly with Beacon on a private jet to Seattle. I’m not sure if this is a good idea. They are shoving me close to the place I avoid. Luna Recovery & Restoration is in the heart of Silverthorne Bay, a town right next to Luna Harbor. I’m close to home, not that I have a home. I was kicked out of the place where I lived.
What a mess. I lived in disarray for years.
When we board the ferry toward Luna Harbor, I wonder why no one thought about shoving me in here and shipping me to the closest rehab place instead. Would that have made an impact on me?
Maybe I wouldn’t have seen this as an opportunity. It’s an actual second chance. The guy who mugged me resembled me when I was younger. He died. Is it morbid to think that he took my place?
No, he took my wallet, my belongings, and my drugs. Who the fuck consumes that amount in a night?
Not me, and I pray that I’m strong enough to remain clean.
I’m registered for the long-term program. I won’t be moving into one of the cabins until I finish a ninety-day cleansing that includes many things I can’t pronounce, like Ayurveda or is it Averyuda. Sounds like Aberdeen. If I ever have children, I’ll name one of them Aberdeen. It’s a cool name. And now I’m digressing.
There’s acupuncture, reiki, craniosacral therapy. I don’t know what that is, but it sounds like a metal band. There’s yoga, meditation, and holistic breathing. I can’t forget horseback riding and petting therapy. I feel like I’m going on a retreat with Hannah—without Hannah. She’d love this place.
I’m never going to tell her I’m taking yoga or she’ll drag me with her to a class. I’m thankful for art, music, and hydrotherapy. I’m pretty sure the latter is about swimming, and I love swimming.
During the trip, my pulse goes from settled to speedy and then back to settled. The uncertainty of what’s next, along with the doubts about my capacity to change, won’t leave me alone.
Am I ever going to be able to settle down and be happy?
Chapter Five
Ethan
Per Zeke’s request, I leave the hospital, but I begged Beacon to keep me up to date on his progress. Reluctantly I fly out of Florida. I should be there with him and for him. I made my choice all those years ago when I denied myself and rejected him.
When I arrive home, I take a ferry and head to Silverthorne Bay. I want to register him at Luna Recovery & Restoration. I’ve heard about this place before. The moment Beacon suggested it, I agreed that it’d be the best place for Zeke. I pay for the first ninety days of his recovery. If Zeke agrees to continue their long-term program, they’ll bill me monthly.
Time after that passes slowly. Every second feels like a year. I wait for Beacon’s text to give me an update on Zeke’s condition. The day he leaves the hospital, I have a charter ready to fly them to Seattle.
My heart finally calms when Beacon arrives at my office. It’s been working overtime, beating at the speed of light, fearing that Zeke might leave the hospital and disappear again.
“Your man is in Luna Recovery & Restoration getting help,” he states, placing a manila envelope on my desk. “I didn’t tell him you’re footing the bill. It’s sad that Willie B. Hardigan stopped existing.”
“Thank you for taking care of him.”
“So, it’s none of my business,” he states, clears his throat, and continues, “but if you need someone to talk to about it, I’m here for you.”
“About?”
He tilts his head, cocks an eyebrow, and stares at me. “Seriously. Are you in denial?”
I lean back in my chair and look at him. “Probably. I’ve been in denial for half of my life, but please, enlighten me.”
“Dude, your man almost died,” he states. “You found out he was dead, and you didn't reach out to anyone. Are you dead inside?”