Page 113 of Reclaim Me

Our waitress appears with complimentary bread sticks and water, telling us about the night’s specials while filling our glasses. When she’s done with her introductory spiel, Rae says she already knows what she wants to eat, which leaves me with mere seconds to choose which dish I want. Truthfully, I’m not all that hungry, but I still get the carbonara because it’s Rae’s favorite and for some odd reason, she chose chicken Marsala this time.

“Ohh,” she moans regretfully when the waitress leaves to put in our food. “I love carbonara.”

“I know.”

She plucks a bread stick from the basket and breaks it in half, taking a bite. “Will you share with me?”

“Why didn’t you order it if that’s what you wanted?”

“Because my therapist suggested that I make one small, random choice every day as a way to prove to myself that things can turn out okay even if I don’t try to control every aspect of them.” She shrugs, taking another bite of her bread stick. “Apparently, I have control issues.”

Picking up my glass, I take a sip of water to try and tamp down the vast amount of questions that have just popped in my mind. I want to know everything. Like when she started therapy and how long she’s been going and if, by chance, she’s talked to her therapist about the answer she’s supposed to be giving me in six months. When I trust that none of those things will come out of my mouth, I respond.

“Really?” I ask, arching a brow. “I never would have thought.”

Rae is a lot of things, but flexible isn’t one of them. There’s a reason why ballet—one of the most rigorous dance forms—is her chosen craft, a reason why she keeps Riley on a strict routine and takes the same way home every day when she picks our kid up from school. Growing up loving, and being in love with, an addict means a life of chaos, of ups and downs and highs and lows that you have no way to anticipate or control, so it makes sense to me that her reaction to the unpredictability of life with Will and with me, resulted in a fierce rigidity.

Her jaw drops in surprise and a tiny bit of offense, but she laughs. “Shut up. I’m working on it.”

“Good.” I smile, turning my glass of water around in small circles just to have something to do with my hands. “How’s the support group Nate suggested?”

“It’s nice. Did you know Taurin’s mom is a part of it?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“She shared about him the other day, talking about how she’s looking forward to them spending Christmas together,” Rae says, then she slaps a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. “Damn. I wasn’t supposed to tell you that, was I? Aren’t these things supposed to be anonymous?”

“I think it’s fine, especially considering that she told me the same thing when I talked to her earlier this week when she came by the gym to try a yoga class.”

Her nose scrunches up. “It wasn’t goat yoga, was it?”

My laughter echoes between us, making our server smile as she appears with our plates. I wait until she leaves us alone again to ask, “What do you and your daughter have against goats?”

“Nothing.” She picks up her fork and knife, cutting into the chicken and taking a bit, nodding her approval before continuing. “I just don’t think they belong in yoga.”

“Don’t knock it until you try it, Sunshine.”

We fall into a comfortable silence, both of us enjoying our meals, only really speaking when we feel it’s necessary. For Rae, that necessity comes in the form of bullying me out of large bites of my carbonara, which is fine because I ordered it for her anyway. Towards the end of the meal, when we’re pretty much the only people in the restaurant, and we’re just sitting at the table because neither of us wants to leave the presence of the other, she turns serious almond eyes on me.

“I owe you an apology.”

My brow furrows. “An apology? For what?”

“For the way I acted when I came back.” She bites her lip. “For not seeing or appreciating the person you are now and using our past to push you away. That wasn’t fair to you, and I’m sorry for that.”

“Hey.” I reach across the table, offering her comfort with an upturned palm, which she takes with a sigh. “You don’t need to apologize. You were trying to protect yourself from being hurt again.”

Since we’ve been back in each other’s lives, we’ve had a lot of conversations. Most of them have been about Riley and what she needs, wants, and deserves from both of us. And while that’s the way it should be, I can’t help but feel like we should have made some time to have this conversation, too.

I rub my thumb over the inside of Rae’s wrist. “I’m sorry too, Sunshine,” I murmur, shaking my head as tears fill her eyes. “For fucking up so badly. For scaring you away. For leaving you alone when you needed me the most.”

“I left you alone,” Rae gasps, tears flowing freely now. “I should have come home when Will was sick. I should have been there to support him and you. I regret staying in New York so much, Hunter. More than you’ll ever know.”

“You think that’s why I relapsed?” I ask, incredulity skating across my features as she nods.

“Of course, it is. I put too much pressure on you, and you broke. I broke you,” she whimpers. “I broke us.”

“Oh, baby. Come here.” I tug on her hand, and she’s up in a second, rounding the table on shaky legs that give out as soon as she’s close enough for me to catch her. I pull her in, helping her get situated on my lap. “You didn’t break me, Rae. I was already broken. Taking care of Will brought up so much shit I hadn’t dealt with around losing my mom.”

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