Page 47 of Bad & Bossy

Oh my god.

Darting across the parking lot I ran toward him, nearly tripping over the hump of the sidewalk to kneel down next to him.

“Cole,” I rasped, gently touching the back of his head with my palm.

Slowly, he looked up at me, his eyes red and raw. I realized then that the quivering beneath my fingertips wasn’t from the chill of the rain, it was from him. He was rocking himself back and forth and my chest ached for him. “I don’t know what happened,” he broke. He relinquished his grasp on himself only to push his hands through his hair instead. “Time kept fucking hopping and before I could stop it, I’d bought a bottle. I don’t even remember doing it. It just happened, Dana, and I’m sorry I lied to you. I have a fucking problem.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” I insisted. I wrapped my fingers around his and pried them from his hair, replacing them with the softer touch of mine. “It’s okay. Did you drink any?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Good. That’s good,” I said. “Deep breaths, Cole. You’re okay.”

“I lied to you,” he gulped.

“I know.”

“You came anyway,” he whispered. A hand snuck around my waist and pulled me into him, tight and unwavering, and I couldn’t have cared less that he was wet. The rain was picking up anyway and we’d both likely come out of this soaked to the bone. All I cared about was making sure he was okay. “Thank you.”

I nodded into the crook of his neck and wrapped my arms around him, squeezing him back.

“You were right,” he said. His fingers dug into my side, his grip almost bruising. “That night—last year—that was only the tip of the iceberg. I was fucked, baby. I couldn’t stop. I spiraled further after that, got worse, drank myself into fucking oblivion every chance I had.”

I swallowed and pulled back enough to look at him. The realization of his words slowly began to seep into me, creating a tidal wave inside that challenged the unwavering support I wanted to give him.

“The rumors are true. I was in rehab,” he sniffled. His eyes met mine, striking and bloodshot. “I’m almost at eight months. Almost. I don’t want to throw it away.”

“I know you don’t,” I breathed. But worry reared its ugly head again, screaming at me to run away and never look back, to block him from my life in every way possible, take my son and go. He was like Mom, though Mom had never made it eight months. But I didn’t want to leave him, not like this. “What can I do?”

“Stay,” he croaked.

I shook my head. “I’m not going anywhere. What else?”

His eyes left mine, veering off to the broken bottle behind him. “Can you check the seal?”

I let out a shaky breath and nodded, pushing out of his grasp with relative ease. The paper bag fell apart the moment I touched it, waterlogged and fragile, and as I peeled back the layer that covered the top of the bottle, I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that the seal hadn’t been broken. “You’re good, Cole. You didn’t open it.”

“Oh, thank fuck.” He laid back on the sidewalk, clutching the sides of his head again as he half-submerged himself in a puddle. “Thank fuck, thank fuck, thank fuck.”

I kneeled down next to him again, taking his hand and forcing him to sit back up. “Do you have a sponsor?”

He nodded. “Yeah, calling her was the first thing I did,” he sighed. “I thought it had helped. But then I ended up here.”

Slowly, I interlaced my fingers with his. I could tell he needed the grounding comfort. “Okay. Good. You did all the right things.”

He shook his head. “I haven’t been to a meeting in days. I didn’t do all the right things.”

“We can find you a meeting,” I offered. “If you think that will help, we’ll do that. I’ll take you.”

His eyes met mine again. Every feature in his face that had been tense seconds ago released. “You’ll do that?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Please,” he breathed, squeezing my hand so tight I thought it might break. “I don’t want to go home and fuck up all over again.”

————

With his hand still locked in mine in a convention center in downtown Denver, we listened as the others spoke. It was nearing midnight. I had no idea that AA meetings ran so late, but apparently they were available for people needing them at desperate hours. We’d had to drive almost an hour but I was happy to do that for him. With him.

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