Page 18 of A Cure for Recovery

“Uh…” Leo says, gaze darting between them all. “Is something the matter?”

Sober, Tommy would feel bad about putting that look on Leo’s face. But flush with beer and good company, he feels a smile threatening. He smooths it, and goes over to the table. If he has to use his cue as a makeshift cane, well, that’s alright.

When he reaches the table, Lawson drags one of the tot baskets up to the edge, where a small pile of golden, cheese-crusted tots and a half-cup of dipping sauce await. “I saved you some.”

“Thanks, babe. Leo.” He fixes him with a stern, Tom Cattaneo sort of look that leaves Lawson snorting into his beer.

“Tommy, come on,” he tries, laughing. “We talked about this.”

Tommy gestures at him absently with his tot. “Shush, this doesn’t concern you.”

“What? Dude, this concerns me themost.”

“Leo. Why the fuck did it take yourbuddyKeithseven monthsto respond to Lawson’s email, huh?”

Behind him, Dana cackles.

Leo still looks wary, but relaxes a fraction. “Oh. Well. Seven months isn’t that long considering the publishing industry.”

Which is what Lawson’s said all along, but Lawson has startlingly low self-esteem and doesn’t expect his writing to ever take him anywhere.

“That’s what I told him,” Lawson says.

“I saidshush.” When Tommy gestures again, the tot flies out of his hand, and Lawson dissolves into laughter. To Leo: “It’s bullshit, is what it is. I thought he was your friend? I thought he was going to actually look at Lawson’s manuscript.”

“He – he is. He did. He’d actually like to meet Lawson–”

“Yeah, but will that meeting lead anywhere? Or is this just setting Law up for disap–”

A heavy arm hooks around his neck and drags him sideways so he’s leaning between Lawson’s open legs, hip braced against the edge of the stool. “Okay, okay. Easy, tiger. Pom-poms down.” There’s a laugh still threaded through his voice, but in the back of his mind, Tommy recognizes a note of seriousness.

But Tommy’s angry, he realizes. He’sangry. He thinks of Lawson last night, gaze skating away from Tommy’s while he see-sawed his hand to demonstrate Keith’s indifference. Thinks of all those times Lawson shakes his head and saysit’ll never happenabout his books. And why not? Because a bunch of pedantic, elbow-patched professor types who’ve never written a damn thing themselves say so? Because Lawson doesn’t fit in their snooty little box?

Yeah, he’s pissed.

It’s not Leo’s fault – he knows that, beneath a haze of alcohol that he’s now realizing was a big mistake on an empty stomach – but Leo’s the one who’s here, so Leo’s where he directs his anger.

“He couldn’t move Lawson to the top of the pile as a favor? What’s the point of sending a cover letter if he’s not gonna do a favor for a friend? What kinda douchebag is this guy?”

Leo’s gone pale.

“Jesus Christ,” Dana sighs. “You’re swapping to water.”

Tommy draws breath to continue, and Lawson’s face is suddenly crowding into the side of his. His hand squeezes at the back of Tommy’s neck. “Chill, baby,” he whispers, right up against his ear. Not unkind, but firm.

Tommy’s never handled being told to calm down well.

He elbows Lawson in the chest and pushes away from him with a glare. He wobbles, because of course he does, traitorous legs shivering and rippling with pins and needles; Lawson’s hand falls to the back of his shirt, and grips tight, and is all that keeps him from crashing over on his side.

The beer buzz has dulled his usual shame and embarrassment, leaving plenty of room for continued anger, and indignation. The stumble doesn’t slow him.

Instead, he snaps at Lawson, “Shut up, I’m trying to get you a fucking career.” He turns back to Leo, who looks inexplicably sad, now, gaze shifting between the two of them. “DoesKeithknow how many shitty books are on shelves right now? How many shitty books go viral? There are books out there that are sloppily-written, amateurish, steaming piles ofhorse shit, and Keith has time forthem, but not Lawson’s? Are you fucking kidding me?”

Leo’s brows knit together. “Tom–” he starts.

Dana swoops in on Tommy’s other side, expression furious. Her voice is low, and sharp. “Hey,asshole. What happened to apologizing, huh? What happened to ‘sorry?’ You’re being a dick, and you need to drink some fucking water andback the fuck off.”

No one ever could stand up to Dana when she got like this, and Tommy’s no exception.

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