Page 101 of Bad & Bossy

He held up one finger as he jogged back to my driveway. Every step he took was precise, not a hint of swaying or stumbling. I watched as he pulled a box nearly the size of me from the trunk of his car, his slacks and button-up shirt telling me he actually went to work today. “I couldn’t find big enough paper to wrap it, so you’ll have to cut me a little slack,” he laughed, walking back to my front door.

I stepped out of the way to let him in.

Hesitantly, he stepped across the threshold, eyeing me as he set the box down on the carpet. “I know I missed his birthday. I’m sorry about that. I was out in New York on business and I considered just having it delivered, but I, I guess I wanted to be a little selfish and try my luck seeing you.”

I shut the door behind him.

“Dana?”

I didn’t know what I was doing or what to think. All I could do was watch him, take him in, and note the ways that he’d changed in six months. It was overwhelming. He’d come here to see me, to drop off a gift for Drew that looked way bigger than anything he needed, to test his luck.

Why was I bending to him?

I knew why.

“How are you?” I asked, hearing the strangeness in my voice, the lump at the back of my throat.

The concern on his face morphed into something akin to understanding, but warmer than that. “I’m… getting there, Dana.” Getting there. What did that mean? He took a step toward me, and I didn’t move. He kept himself at a friendly distance, but we both felt the static in the air. “How’s Drew? How are you?”

“Good,” I answered. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the rapid beat of my heart. “He’s good. I’m good. He’s doing a lot better since, well, since the last time you saw him.”

He nodded, his gaze flicking between me and the door. I could tell that a part of him wanted to run, but I could see the war in his eyes, could see him fighting to stick to the situation he’d ended up in. He must not have thought I’d answer the door, and maybe, if I hadn’t already caved and sent him a text, I wouldn’t have.

“Is, uh, is Bobby still living with you?” I asked, throwing him a curveball in an attempt to keep him locked in place.

It worked.

I watched as his eyes dropped, as his shoulders began to sag. Oh, god, he is. He never believed me. “No,” he said quietly. The way he watched me seemed almost as if he felt like he was under a microscope, everything about him seemed so much smaller all of a sudden. He let out a breath, letting the silence hang for just a moment before he spoke. “He passed away three months ago.”

“Oh my god?—”

“It’s okay,” he swallowed, but the way he steeled his jaw, the way the ligaments in his hands flexed, told me otherwise. “I should have listened to you from the start. Shit, I should have listened to Gray from the start. You both tried to warn me.”

I watched him, studying the way he avoided my eyes as he spoke. “That doesn’t mean it’s okay that your friend died.”

“He wasn’t much of a friend at the end, Dana,” he sighed.

“Is that what…?”

He shook his head. “No. I, uh, made a plan with Gray right before it happened. We found him when we got back. But I won’t deny that it gave me an extra push.” He took another step, tentatively testing me out, breathing a sigh of relief when I didn’t move. I had no reason to, he wasn’t a danger to me, wasn’t a danger to my son. At least not like this. “I didn’t—I don’t—want to go like that.”

The words fell out of my mouth before I could stop them. “You’ve stopped drinking.”

He huffed out a breathy laugh, but it didn’t seem like he found it humorous. Nerves, maybe. “I don’t want to lie to you. Not again. So, I’ll say this—I’m trying.”

Trying. Another step, and we’d move out of the friendly field and into dangerous territory. I still didn’t move, didn’t know what to think. What did he mean? If he wasn’t sober…

“I’m back in AA. I’m doing what I can. I’m trying, but I’m also being careful not to beat myself up when I fail,” he explained, his voice quieting as he took me in. All of me.

If it was honesty hour, then I could press him harder. I jutted my chin out as I looked up at him, cementing myself to where I stood. “How often have you failed?”

He nodded, but it didn’t seem like it was for me. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple jumping. I knew he wasn’t used to being this open about it with me, but if he was here, if he was trying to wedge himself back into Drew’s life, I needed answers. I needed solutions. “Once, since I started back with AA,” he admitted. “But if you want me to be harder on myself, I’ll do it. I’ll never fucking drink again.”

Why did he have to put me between a rock and a hard place?

He took another step, closing in on me, close enough to feel the heat of him and smell his shower gel. No cologne, no masking the scent of alcohol. I couldn’t even smell a hint of toothpaste or a breath mint. I felt like I was a ticking time bomb, seconds from exploding, or maybe imploding. I didn’t want to push him away. A part of me was proud of him for doing this, for digging himself out of the hole he’d buried himself in, but the other part wasn’t happy with knowing he’d had a fail. That part wanted none.

“I don’t want you to be harder on yourself,” I croaked, and dammit, could I just have one moment with him where I didn’t cry? “I just, I miss?—”

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