Page 70 of Never the Best

I swallowed hard. “But what if it gets loud again?” I asked, afraid. “What if I slip?”

“You might,” he told me simply, not sugarcoating it. “Recovery isn’t a straight line, Pearl. There will be hard days, even hard weeks. But you’ve been here before, and you’ve come out the other side. You’re learning how to recognize the signs and how to reach out for help when you need it. And you have people who care about you, who want to support you. You’re not alone in this.Thatis the thing that is helping you heal faster this time.”

I thought of Rhett then, of how he’d been there every single day since my relapse. How he’d moved into the cottage without me even asking, quietly taking up space in my life as if he belonged herewithme.

“Am I…am I foolish for letting him back in? Weak? Stupid?”

“You know how I feel about you using words like that to describe yourself,” he admonished. “Now, let’s change the question: how is Rhett?”

“What do you mean?”

“How is he to you? Who is he? What have you learned about him?”

I smiled faintly. “He’s…incredible,” I admitted, my cheeks warming slightly. “He’s been patient, steady. He doesn’t push me, but he doesn’t let me disappear into myself, either. He makes me tea at night and stays up with me when I can’t sleep. And somehow, he’s learned how to make scrambled eggs exactly the way I like them.”

Dr. Allen’s lips curved into a small smile. “It sounds like you feel safe with him.”

“I do,” I said, the truth of that statement settling warmly in my chest. “I feel like he sees me. All of me. And he doesn’t run away from it.”

Dr. Allen nodded, looking pleased. “It sounds to me that you’re letting yourself accept what he’s offering, which is another step forward. And regarding what you said earlier, no, I don’t think you’re weak or stupid or any of those things. I think you’re brave. You dare to forgive, accept that people can change, and give them a chance. A weak person would, out of fear, not let Rhett back in. You’re not doing that.”

Later that evening, Rhett was in the kitchen chopping vegetables for dinner while I sat at the table, flipping through a Southern cookbook that Rhett had brought home. He’d started cooking more since moving in, partly because he enjoyed it and partly because he knew I needed the structure. Eating was easier when someone else prepared the food, when it felt like an act of care instead of a battle.

“Did you know there’s a whole section in here dedicated to desserts that use bourbon?” I said, holding up the book with a raised eyebrow.

“Bourbon is a Southern staple.” Rhett grinned. “You can’t bake a decent pecan pie without it. That’s practically law in Savannah.”

I smiled broadly, and it thrilled me that I could. “Do you even know how to bake a pie?”

“Not really,” he admitted, tossing chopped zucchini into a pan. “But I’m pretty good at following instructions. Besides, isn’t that what you’re here for? To supervise and criticize my technique?”

“Oh, absolutely. It’s my favorite hobby.”

Talking to Dr. Allen made me feel almost normal, whatever that word meant. In addition to feeling calm and peaceful, the smell of garlic and olive filling the kitchen didn’t scare me.

Yes, Dr. Allen was right. I had come a long way in just a few days. Part of it was years of therapy, certainly, but the rest was thanks to Rhett, Aunt Hattie, and Missy—a true support system. I lived in constant fear of having a relapse, how I would recover, how I would keep my job, and how I wouldlive. But Rhett made me feel like I could rely on him, that he’d always be there with and for me, and if I relapsed again, he’d be my bulwark.

“Rhett,” I said, and waited until he faced me, “are we dating?”

He smiled widely. “I fuckin’ hope so, darlin’.”

I chuckled then. “Really?”

“Absolutely.”

I swallowed. “Even though I’m fucked up?”

“I don’t like it when you talk about yourself like that,” he scolded me, sounding just like Dr. Allen had earlier. “And I’d date you even if you had two horns.”

I laughed then, and he just stared at me.

“What?” I asked, feeling self-conscious.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re happy. So fuckin’ stunning.”

I flushed.

“Dinner’s almost ready.” His eyes met mine, and he lowered his voice. “How are you feeling today? On a scale of one to ten?”

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