Page 134 of Breaking the Rules

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When he caught me drinking at work, that was it.

He was done with me.

I wish I could say that was what inspired me to get clean. But it took another few months of drinking my money and an ultimatum from my parents—no rehab, no rent—to even consider putting down the bottle.

Even then… I didn't plan on getting sober.

I was going to do my time, get out, get drunk as soon as possible.

It wasn't until I was clearheaded enough to give a fuck that I actually wanted to change.

Now…

I'm still not sure where I'm going.

Only that I want to be better.

To stay sober.

To fix the shit I broke.

A short dude steps onto the sidewalk. Shoots me awhat the fuck's your problemlook.

He's a new customer. Or one I forgot in a blur of bourbon.

Either way, he's not impressed by the way I'm staring.

It's not helping.

I've got issues with the twelve step program, but that wholeonly make amends if it's not making shit worsething?

That's a good policy.

I've done enough damage.

If my friends and family aren't read to forgive me—

I have to be okay with that.

Somehow.

I suck a breath through my nose, then I step into the shop.

My feet barely touch the ground.

Same flash tattoos in black frames. Same clean white walls. Same heavy guitar riff flowing through the speakers.

Chase has the same favorite band as Emma.

That can't be a win.

I laugh. For a second, I believe my brother and I are close enough I can tease him about his music.

Then I see him standing behind the desk, stern look on his face, posture screaminggo away—

All that joy fades.

He doesn't want me here.

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