Page 12 of A Cure for Recovery

She groans theatrically and dunks a chip in queso. “You guys had the right idea. I wish we’d just gone to Vegas, honestly. His mom has all these second-cousins she wants us to invite, and it’s getting out of control…” She spends a good ten minutes venting about her soon-to-be-in-laws, and Tommy makes sympathetic noises while he digs into his tacos.

“Hey,” she says, after she winds down. “You okay?”

Tommy freezes, back half of his last taco raised to his mouth. He knew when he looked in the mirror this morning that he looked like he’d cried hard for a long time, but he hoped some of it faded in the half-day since.

Now, he sets his taco down, wipes his hands, and says, “Yeah. I’m fine.” Skin prickling with apprehension.

Dana tips her head and makes a face. She was intimidating as hell when they were kids, and still is today. More astute and aggressive than any of the detectives he worked with.

Tommy’s first instinct is to deflect, because he’s been doing it forever. But after last night, after he sat at Lawson’s side while he paged through the mental health booklet, he feels like he owes more than his husband a dose of reality.

He sets the rest of his taco down and says, “Actually…”

Dana perks up like a hunting dog.

“Okay, don’t look so excited.”

She snorts.

“I. Um. I…need to apologize to you.”

She looks baffled. “What for?”

“I’ve, uh…I’ve been a jackass. While I was recovering.”

She snorts again, and dunks a chip. “You’ve always been a jackass, dude. That’s kind of your selling point.”

“No, it’s…” When he trails off, she looks up again, and goes still. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a worse jackass than normal. I already apologized to Lawson–”

“Whoa, hey, no.” She pushes her paper boat of food aside and grips his hand where it rests on the table. “Are you okay?”

“I’m…yeah. I’m good.” And as he says it, he realizes that it’s true. Mostly. He’sbetter. For all that he hates crying, last night cleansed him. He feels lighter, now, even as he trips over his words. “I’ve not been…very good about accepting help. And I – my new doctor said…well, I want to do better. So if I’ve made you feel awkward or shitty while I was recovering, I’m sorry, Dana. Truly.”

She sits with that a beat. Squeezes his hand tight. She has a tendency to brush off sincerity, but sometimes, like now, she takes emotion seriously. “Thank you,” she says, solemnly. “For the record? I know what you’ve been dealing with sucks, and I don’t think you need to apologize to me, because I’ve never taken anything to heart.” She squeezes his hand again. “But I’m glad to hear you apologized to Lawson.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Her smile is small, but warm. “He adores you, you know.”

He nods, lump forming in his throat. “Yeah. It’s mutual.”

~*~

Lawson works a late shift, so Dana takes him home.

“Drinks tomorrow,” she reminds, and blows him a kiss as he eases out of the car. He waves in return, adjusts the notebook he’s carrying, and takes the ramp instead of the stairs because, as Dana reminded on the way home, being kind to himself isn’t weakness.

It’s going to take an adjustment.

But he doesn’t stumble, and he gets inside okay, and when he hears the TV, he calls, “Bill?”

“Hi,” he calls back, an easy word to say.

Tommy loosens the knot on his tie and hangs up his jacket. “Need anything?” he calls. “Drink? Snack?”

“Water. Pleasssssse.”

Tommy snags two bottles, plus a bag of pretzel sticks, and makes his careful way into the living room where Bill’s chair is parked in front ofPeople Puzzler.

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