Page 50 of Last Love

Pretty sure they really like when I decide to play Gordon Ramsay because it means they only thing they have to do is eat free food.

Law wraps both hands around the back of the chair beside mine as his attention drops to me “What’d you think of Donnie’s story, Collins?”

How does he do this shit?

How does he just know something is on my mind?

“That I don’t wanna end up like him,” I fold my arms across my white t-shirt, “but can’t help this fear that that’s exactly what will happen if I slip up even once.”

“Good,” my sponsor callously states. “Use that fucking fear to your benefit, Collins. Put it in your arsenal. Let it help when you need it to fucking help. Never forget that nothing in this war is black and white. Every day, every step, every moment is a choice. Some days those choices are simple. Obvious. Don’t do this. Don’t go there. Other times you’re fucking blindsided. Thrown on two wheels when your ass was cruising controlling on all four. Nut punched with so much pain that the only outlet to numb it seems to be the one that’s been patiently lurking, waiting for you to want to rely on it again. You don’t wanna reach the point Donnie did? You don’t want your wife walking out of your life and being banned by the courts from seeing your kids? Then fucking keep working at it. All the time. And anytime you feel like completely fucking giving up? That’s when it’s going to matter the most that you keep fighting and that you reach into armory for the big guns.”

His words – like always – root themselves deep in my consciousness.

Kara may hate that some sponsors are like parental figures; however, I love it.

I need it.

I hate that I fucking do, but it is what it is.

“You haven’t called or texted this week. Everything good?”

“You could say that.”

“Work?”

“Steady.”

“Family?”

“Same.”

“Have you brought Presley to a dinner yet?”

The slow headshake he’s given receives a hum.

“Next assignment.”

“That shit’s not totally in my control though.”

“Didn’t say it was.”

My forehead immediately furrows.

“Your next assignment is to have her go with you to one. This may require some prep-work that will encourage you to work on your communication skills.”

An irritated grunt is given at the same time I chomp down on the toothpick.

“The ability to communicate is one weapon that needs to always stay sharpened for the battlefield, Collins.” He gives me a small pat on the shoulder. “Get to it.”

Here we fucking go again with that easier said than done bullshit.

I knew our second shot at this wouldn’t be a stroll through the fucking supermarket, but I also didn’t think it would be this hard. And maybe it’s this hard because we’ve changed so much. Or maybe it’s this hard because instead of being love drunk kids, we’re intoxicated adults who are trying to have limits and boundaries and live responsibly while enjoying that feeling.

I meant what I said about being the man she deserves.

I just gotta put the work into the shit like I do for every other aspect of my life.

Brick by brick.

Word by fucking word.

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