Page 10 of Last Love

“And the poorly phrased ‘professional’ no is the fucking worst. Fuck, just say you don’t trust a recovering addict to walk your goddamn dog, Mrs. Pollard, or that you don’t feel comfortable having someone who could tell you the going rate for a different type of Girl Scout Cookies as a roommate, Kelvin.” Exasperation hits me square in the chest like I had just the conversation this morning instead of three days ago. “And what kind of fucking name is Kelvin anyway? Could your fucking ‘rents not decide on whether to name your ass Calvin or Klein, so they just made up some bullshit compromise?”

Unlike Doc, who rarely cracked more than the tiniest smirk at my comments, Law laughs.

I’ll admit I appreciate Doc for being a fucking hard ass, but I think Law’s a little more human.

Which makes it a little easier for me to feel human.

To feel like it’s okay to be fucking flawed.

“I get it,” Law begins in a warm tone, cup finding the table again, “but, you’re really making great progress, Collins. Don’t underappreciate it by focusing on the progress that you’re still struggling with.”

It’s hard to give myself a gold fucking sticker when I spent so much of my life simply taking lashes. The shift from destructive to productive, from blame to accolades, from hopeless to…anything remotely auspicious – word my stunning sister-in-law read to me and my niece from her word of the day calendar yesterday –, is strained as well as filled with nothing but doubt, frustration, and loathing.

Noah says it’ll get easier.

I have to fight every instinct inside of me that wants to tell him to fuck off.

“You have a support system of individuals who are dedicated to helping your success. You have developed a system, a routine, in which you handle your physical health – exercising – your mental health – group – and your emotional health – TV nights with your in-law and walking your niece around the neighborhood in her stroller.”

Doesn’t anyone else think it’s fucked up I can be trusted to push around a baby but not to walk around and pick up shit after a cockapoo.

Also, a terrible fucking name.

I momentarily cut my gaze out the window and across to the street where Noah is having a working lunch with his secretary. She’s smiling and hanging onto his every word, yet he seems too caught up in multitasking to truly notice.

Again.

If he fucking hurts Shelly or Shelby because he can’t keep his dick in his pants like our goddamn father, I’ll do to him what I never had the balls to do to our old man.

“You’re doing great, Collins,” Law kindly states, shifting my stare back to him. “And you will continue to do great. You will continue to fill your time with positive and productive activities further solidifying your newly established lifestyle. And as that shit continues to flourish, naturally, the cravings will curve. The instinct to find comfort in a cigarette will lessen. The dependency to reach for an outside source rather than deal directly with the frustration will fade. But make no mistake.” He prepares to lift his cup once more. “Those feelings will never be completely dead. Simply subdued. And every day you have to show up prepared to put them in their place. Every day you have to overpower them and put them back to rest. You have to be fucking strong. You have to be fucking committed. You have to choose not to give in. You have to continue to choose who you wanna be over who you used to be.”

And there it is.

The basic bitch epitome of what life is.

Choices.

Fucking. Choices.

What do you choose to do at every goddamn opportunity presented?

Do you go left or right at the fork?

Do you rise from the ashes like a phoenix or sink to ocean floor with the ship?

I’ve rarely made the right choices since that day ten years ago when I made a very wrong one.

One that led to me numbing the pain.

Led to me taking advice from another recovering addict.

Led to me being a defective disaster I hate staring at every morning.

Yeah.

I fucking understand having to constantly choose that over the worthless sack of shit I used to be.

At least this version of me has a shot at acceptance.

And family.

And like Doc didn’t hesitate to point out…family is all I’ve ever really wanted.

After delivering a few more wise words while paying the bill for his coffee and my half-eaten order of crinkle fries, Law leaves to resume his workday and I return to Noah who has been rearranging his work schedule to accommodate chauffeuring my ass around for the time being.

Fuck, I might look forward to that shit changing most of all.

I need some independence even if it means I’m driving a goddamn moped around town.

Our drive from the dive diner is unfortunately filled with nothing but the sounds of Noah negotiating a pitch with one of his latest clients. While his choice of career is similar to what our father made millions doing, it’s vastly different. Noah works for a different type of investment firm. His convinces people with money to give them that money to invest in startup business. It’s risky yet rewarding. And unlike what the bastard in which we come from, he isn’t simply just trying to make the rich richer. He’s giving those with dreams and ideas but not funding a chance to make them come true.

I think that principle is bleeding over into our relationship.

Why he’s working so hard to help me find a job and a place to live.

It’s either that or because he’s tired of me and his wife having inside jokes about a show that he can’t spare twenty-five minutes to watch with us every once in a while.

Pulling into a parking space outside an impressively manicured apartment area on the outskirts of downtown Highland is done in tandem with Noah ending his phone call. The instant he kills the engine, he turns his attention to me. “I really think this one might work out.”

“You said that about the last three roommates we interviewed with.”

“It’s not my fault they weren’t the right fit for you.”

“The dude had sixteen fucking snakes, Noah.” My shoulders bounce on their own accord. “Who the fuck is that right for?”

“Perhaps a rat farmer.”

He’s instantly twitched a sarcastic glare.

“And the guy before that-”

“Mr. Spits While Talks?”

“You’re being dramatic.”

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