Page 54 of Losing his Daddy

I sucked in a breath at the punch of emotion his words brought forth. They were too close to reality. I was taking care of Gerald. Just as much, if not more than he took care of me. There were nuanced differences between the two. Where he enjoyed serving me at a base level, I thrived on the idea of providing a home and tasks for him. It was through me that he could find bliss in service. Our dynamic was more than sex. It was deeper.

“Thank you for believing in me and trusting me enough to know this. I’ve kept a lot from you throughout the years, and I’m sorry for that. It feels like I blinked, and time flew by. The less I reached out, the easier it was to pretend I didn’t need to.”

He snorted. “Yeah, that sounds about right. I won’t push for anything further because I’m not one to look a gift horse in themouth. And I promise not to tell anyone at the ranch about us talking. Just be sure to take good care of him. He deserves a second chance.”

I didn’t need him to tell me who he was. Because Gerald did deserve a second chance. A second chance at love. A second chance at life after his addiction. A second chance at happiness.

And I intended to provide all the above.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Gerald

I sat in the car,staring through the front window with a ball of worry in my gut. The building was quite simple. It looked like an abandoned YMCA that someone converted into a city activity center. It was well kept with nice flowers all around the entryway. We were still in the city, so of course there was concrete everywhere, but it was clean, and the brick along the walls created a beautiful touch.

Even so, I didn’t want to go inside. I knew that the minute I stepped through those doors, I would have to let my guard down. My therapist had told me as much before I left the rehab center.

“You have to be willing to try, Gerald.“ she had said during one of our last sessions. “Group therapy is a wonderful thing. It can be the continuation of what you’ve learned here. You can find other people just like you, people who struggle with various forms of addiction and are trying to assimilate into the lives they left. “

I had no doubt that what she said was true. And in all honesty, I wanted to experience the benefits of what therapy could give me. I missed having others to share with who could relate to my mistakes. It was a strange thought, considering I wasn’t so keen on therapy at first. But it grew on me. I couldn’tdeny the peace I found after each session. Maybe not initially. It took time to find my way.

Wes squeezed my hand. “I’m here with you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

I gave him a small smile. “I know."

True to his word, he agreed to come with me to this first group session. We had put the date on the calendar weeks ago. When I got the reminder yesterday, I wanted to delete it and pretend it never happened.

I accepted that the first time would be awkward. And maybe the second time too. For all I knew, I might never adjust to this particular group. But I had to try. And trying meant that I had to climb out of the car and actually go inside.

I opened the door quickly, moving fast so I wouldn’t lose my nerve. Wes flew out of the other side of the car and rushed around to me. He reconnected our hands, placing our fingers together in a way that told me he had my back.

Through the doors of the center, we found a brightly lit space covered in cork boards. There were notices everywhere, along with instructions of what session was where. I even saw a map of the building.

I didn’t need any of it, of course. The website we visited had very clear instructions. They didn’t want anyone to get lost or feel as if they were bogged down before coming to the meeting.

I was thankful for their thoughtfulness. I guess I should’ve known, considering their entire premise was built on the idea of making SMART goals. These were the type of people that had to-do lists and believed in the data of recovery versus the spiritual journey. It was one of the biggest reasons I chose them. It was harder to find a secular therapy group, though I had.

While I held no hostility towards any religious organizations, I knew that I would never be able to complete a program that was founded within one. AA had one particular step where youfocused on a spiritual connection. And sure, I could have found any other type of higher being to find peace with to continue on, but it didn’t feel right. I knew myself well enough to know that I could just fake my way through those twelve steps. With an outline so clearly given to me, one that was cookie cutter, it wouldn’t be personal enough to stick to.

With the SMART goal group, I would have to formulate my own plan of attack. Every decision would be based off me and what fit me best. I would have to face the darkest parts of me and work to turn them bright. The pain that I knew all too well wouldn’t be able to hide behind a script.

Since I had given Wes the information on where to go, he took the lead on navigating us through the building. My head was on the swivel as we passed each door or open space. There was everything from mommy and me sessions going on, to a birthday party for what appeared to be an elderly man based on the age range of people surrounding him.

It was fascinating. I felt a sense of community without even having stepped into the meeting. There was just something in the air here. I hoped that the feeling remained once we were where we needed to be.

Once Wes reached the stairs in the back, he led me up to the second floor. We went down the hallway back towards the front of the building, then turned into one of the only rooms that had the door open and a light on. It felt almost like a beacon the way it brightened the otherwise muted hallway.

Inside the space, we found a room with chairs in a circular position. A few people were already seated, but even more were lined up at a table covered in snacks and drinks. I could smell the sugar from across the room, and my stomach rumbled.

Wes looked down at me, a frown on his handsome face. “I knew I should’ve fed you.”

“I was too nervous to eat. It would’ve all come back up." I shook my head, as if the move would dispel my nerves.

A short, lean man approached us. He wore a vintage graphic tee, ripped up dark wash jeans, and a pair of platform shoes. His hair, which was black as night, stood up in all directions. He had a piercing in one ear and a sparkle in his eye.

“You’re new here." It was said as a statement and not a question. “I’m Gage. This is my group. Have you ever been to one of these meetings?”

I shook my head as Wes gave me a reassuring squeeze. “I haven’t.”

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