Page 22 of Reclaim Me

I mean, obviously, I’d thought about seeking her out. Actually, after I wrapped things up with Taurin—leaving him at Waffle House despite my better judgment because he insisted his parents were on their way to pick him up—I drove around town aimlessly, hoping to run into her again, but she doesn’t know that, which means this conversation is as random as it is uncalled for.

“Of course, I know that, Hunter.” Rae rolls her eyes, and a shiver runs down my spine at the sound of my name on her lips. Maybe she’s right to be warning me away. “I’m just trying to be preemptive, to rid you of any ideas about looking me up or showing up to my house or contacting my kid.”

My brows fall together as a mixture of hurt and outrage filters through my body. “You think I’d do some shit like that? Just pop up on you or, worse, freak Riley the fuck out by showing up at her school and saying, ‘hey, I used to be in love with your mommy?’”

When I say her daughter’s name, all of her features go still. She takes a step back like the small space between our bodies poses a threat to Riley’s safety, and it’s so incredibly hurtful that I take a step back, too, reeling from the pain of watching the woman I once dreamed of building a family with physically recoil at the thought of me knowing anything about her kid.

I scrub a hand over my face and sigh. This is what addiction has earned me: distrust and skepticism. I’ve dealt with it before and talked my sponsees through their encounters with it as well, which means I know that being angry won’t help. Using, but especially relapsing, breaks something fundamental in relationships, and as the addict, it’s your job to try and repair it.

Most of the time, it’s not a wound that’s easily healed. It takes time and consistency, and with Rae, I have neither of those things. All I have is my word, and I already know it doesn’t mean shit to her.

“I’m a lot of things, Rae, but I’m not, nor have I ever been, a stalker or a creep. I would never do anything to make you, your family, but most of all, your daughter, feel unsafe. You have my word that if I ever see you out in public, I will turn and go in the other direction before you even know I’m there.”

Rae is stoic as she studies my features, almond-shaped eyes flitting from one part of my face to the other in search of sincerity. She must find what she’s looking for because she swallows and nods.

“Thank you,” she says before turning to leave just as quickly as she came.

“Heard you kind of lost your shit in a meeting the other week. The fuck was that about?”

Nate poses the question seconds after taking a seat across from me with a cup of coffee in one hand and a chocolate croissant in the other. He’s been out of town dealing with some family stuff, so this is the first face-to-face sit-down we’ve had in weeks. I’m not surprised that he’s chosen to kick things off by calling me out about the way I acted when I ran into Rae on the first day of what I now affectionately refer to as ‘Hell Week.’

“Who said that?”

He chomps down on his pastry, chewing thoughtfully before saying, “Everybody. The question is, why didn’t you say anything to me about it?”

I shrug and take a sip of my water. “You were dealing with family shit, I didn’t want to unload on you.”

“So you chose to unload on a room full of your sponsees instead?”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“How was it supposed to happen then?”

“The way it always does.”

“Meaning?” He lifts a brow, and the strands of silver that have just made it to the top of his face after months of staging a coup to take control of the hair hugging his chin dance under the fluorescent lights above us.

“Meaning, I was supposed to keep my shit tight, hold space for the meeting attendees and save all my trauma for you.”

Nate dips his head in a faux bow. “I’m honored to be the keeper of your trauma.”

“Of course you are,” I toss back the last of my water and shake my head as memories from the meeting weeks ago assail me. “I fucked up, huh?”

“What makes you say that?”

“I mean, you just said that’s what everyone else is saying, so…”

“That’s not what I said.” He takes another bite of his pastry and washes it down with coffee before continuing. “I said everybody was talking about how you lost your shit.”

“Right, which means that I fucked up.”

“Hunter, since when does having a moment of vulnerability constitute a fuck up?”

That question gives me pause, which is exactly what Nate hoped it would do. His smug smile tells me as much.

“I guess never?”

Nate lets out a loud, boisterous laugh. “I mean, I’m sure there are some occasions when it does, but this definitely isn’t one of them. A fuck up in our world is a relapse; anything else, including crying about your ex in front of your sponsees, is just a part of being human.”

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