Page 32 of The Darkness Within

“Then I’ll buy you lunch.”

“Sure. I could eat,” he shrugs.

Fifteen minutes later, I pull into the church lot and park the car.

Nash stiffens. “What’s this?” He sounds panicked. “I don’t need Jesus.”

“That’s debatable. But we’re not here for Jesus. I brought you to an NA meeting.”

“Narcotics Anonymous? I thought you said we were going to lunch.”

“They have coffee and cookies inside, does that count?”

“Fuck this shit. Twice in one day? I’ll walk home.”

“On your bad leg? It’s fifteen miles.” He reaches for the door handle. “Wait, just come inside with me. We’ll sit down in the back. You don’t have to say a word. When it’s finished, I’ll take you to lunch.”

I wish he could see how angry he looks. The only cause for this kind of anger is denial. Or fear.

“I don’t have a drug problem like those people in the meeting.”

“I know, you can quit whenever you want, can’t you?”

“Fuck off. I don’t take the drugs because I like them. I hate the way they make me feel. It’s my head. I just need to escape my head.”

Classic. “I hate to burst your bubble, Sergeant, but that’s why every addict uses. You have a problem, and the first step to getting better is to admit that. With the overdose of drugs out of your system, you can begin to heal. You even have an appetite today, for the first time.”

He slumps back against the headrest and sighs. “If you take away the pills, it will all come rushing back. It’s the only thing that’s keeping me numb, Brewer. I need them.”

“It’s not. You have support. You have me. All you have to do is walk with me right through those double doors. Just put one foot in front of the other, and we’ll take it one day at a time. Together.”

Chancing his rejection, I hold my breath and offer him my hand. He stares at it for a full minute before taking it, squeezing back.

“I’m afraid, Brewer. I know you know that. You can see it, can’t you? I hate this shit. Hate feeling so exposed and vulnerable. What if somebody in there recognizes me and asks me questions? What the fuck am I supposed to say?”

Finally, honesty from him, and now I’m choking up. When Nash lets me in, he lets me all the way in. He’s so fucking brave, even if he’s afraid, even if he can’t see it. I can see it.

“You don’t have to say anything. I doubt anyone is going to put you on the spot like that, but even if they do, you don’t owe anyone anything. Just trust in me to handle it for you, okay? Can you trust in me?”

Swallowing, he nods. “I do trust you, even though I’ve only just met you.”

“I trust you, too. The disease of addiction makes us manipulative liars, and I am not convinced you’re making good choices for yourself right now, which is to be expected. But I trust in who you are at your core. I trust the kind of man that I know you are underneath all that hurt and trauma. You’re a trustworthy man, Nashville Sommers, a good man, with a good heart. And even though I’ve just met you, I know I’m not wrong about that.”

“How long does this shit last?”

“Sixty minutes,” I say with a straight face, even though I’m smiling on the inside. He’s handed me a small victory.

“You owe me lunch after this.”

Fuck my life and my body. Everything hurts. Possibly even my hair.

“There has to be something in here,” I mumble, rifling through the kitchen cupboards. With Brewer keeping a tight grip on my meds, I’m desperate enough to borrow some from others. In the third cabinet, I find a label I recognize and dump a handful into my palm. The patient, Miles Atlowe, hopefully won’t notice I confiscated a few of his muscle relaxers. I wonder if he has any prescribed sedatives.

The wooden floorboards in the hall creak, and my heart skips a beat. I can feel his presence, feel the heat of his glare burning holes through my back, and I know without having to look that it’s Brewer.

“You know, the drugs just make you look weak.”

Fuck him and his holier-than-thou bullshit. A man can hurt. A man can be sore. “What the fuck did you say to me?” I slam the cabinet shut.

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