Page 101 of Perfect Praise

“Locke,” she whispers through her tears.

“Can we talk?”

She nods slowly.

Maren and I sit on the couch.

I set the timer on my watch for thirty-three minutes, giving myself that three minute buffer. I don’t know how this is going to go, but I’m determined, and this will only bring out my best (or worst, depending on you look at it) self.

But when I look up, I already know I’ll win this argument based on how defeated she looks. Not that I would have lost, because I wasn’t walking out of here without her anyway, even if it took hours.

My mom sits, listens.

I get lost in the conversation, the tears, but it won’t matter how long I have to talk. It won’t matter if she doesn’t think she can do it. I’ll talk and talk and talk. I’ll never shut up as long I can get her to agree to walk out of here with me and check in to rehab.

And eventually, I’m leading her to my car.

I watch her in my rear view mirror as I pull out of the driveway. She looks tired, so exhausted that she might fall asleep mid-thought.

She’s tried twice already to get sober, and even though she relapsed, she’s going to attempt to try again. And that’s what matters to me.

My mom is willing to get better. She wants to keep trying, fighting.

And every time, I’ll be here for her.

Maybe the third time in rehab will be the charm for her. But this doesn’t magically end. I don’t think there is an ending to addiction.

The timer on my watch goes off, ringing through the car, and Maren snaps her head in my direction. She reaches across the console and wraps her fingers around my wrist, hitting the button to silence it with her thumb.

She narrows her feisty eyes.I love you, she mouths.

I mouth it back and lace my hand in hers.

But then again, maybe I shouldn’t be giving anyone advice—I’m an asshole.

Maren and I walkback out into the Florida sun. Palm trees line the path to the parking lot, so I watch the shadows move in the breeze as we walk. I take one last look behind me. The rehabilitation center, with its grand glass opening and high white walls, almost looks like a resort.

I’ve never talked so much in my life during each of my now three trips here.

But it’s worth it—to have her and her doctors and therapists lay out a specialized and personal treatment plan, to discuss our feelings so I can be involved in the process and support her in the best possible way. She knows that I’m here for her, and I will do everything in my power for her to get the best possible treatment.

I stop short and gather Maren into a tight hug. “Thank you,” I whisper into her neck. “I know you felt like you didn’t do anything, but you did. So much. Thank you for being here because I couldn’t have done this without you.”

She won’t ever realize how much her presence calms me and lights me up at the same time. I’ll never be able to put into words what she does to me. Because it’s inexplicable.

“You’re welcome.” She traces her fingertips up and down my back before she pulls away to look me in the face. “I’m not going anywhere,okay? We’re going to do this together every step of the way, and I’ll support you while you support her.”

I nod as she presses her palms against my cheeks. Her thumbs sweep under my eyes. I’m sure they’re dark as hell. Between not knowing how to say those three simple words and my mom’s phone call, I haven’t slept in two days.

I let out a breath. “I need sleep.”

“Let’s go home,” she says as she presses her lips to mine and takes my hand in hers. Her green eyes brighten against the sun when she turns her head up to look at me and smile, scrunching her freckles up. “No tournament for you this week. No work for me this week.”

I smile back, exhausted. “Less.”

“Less sounds fun,” she agrees.

Locke shuffles out theback sliding door.

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