Page 31 of Keep Me Close

“Huh?” My brain was mush.

“You know three favorites. We're going to know each other for a long time, Hallie. We might as well know a few more details.”

My lips curled into a smile. I managed to stand there clinging to what little composure I had until the door clicked shut, and I heard his footsteps retreating across the landing and down the stairs. I leaned my back against the door, sliding my hips down to the floor, feeling as if I were melting inside and out.

“Oh, my god. Chase is dangerous,” I murmured to myself as I lifted my head and thumped it against the door with a deep sigh.

Emotions twined like a vine within the intense physical sated quality I felt after last night and this morning. Chase actually seemed like a nice guy, but I didn't trust much in the world when it came to relationships.

My cell phone vibrated loudly. I stared at the coffee table before rising from the floor and crossing over to fetch my phone off it. When I lifted it and looked down, my heart seized and then lunged, casting out beats unsteadily.

I stared at the name flashing on the screen. For a moment, I was going to ignore it, but I was all about facing down the asshole on the other end of the line. Maybe it was because of what I was going through right now, but I wanted to turn the page on this chapter of my life. Sliding my thumb across the screen, I tapped to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Hallie. It's Brad.” As if I didn't know it was him.

“Hi, Brad.” I rolled my eyes as I looked down at the screen. “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if we could have dinner.”

I was struck speechless for a moment and simply stared at the phone. “Excuse me?” I finally said.

“Look, I understand why you might not want to, but I've actually started treatment,” he explained.

“Uh, okay. What does that have to do with dinner and me?”

Brad was my only serious relationship after high school. He'd become a raging alcoholic. Now I knew, looking back, that he'd been one when I met him. I just didn't know what I was witnessing. He was one of those guys in college who partied hard, so hard that it was messy. He had a sweet side, and he came across as carefree and light when he was sober. That was the guy I'd fallen for. Over time while we were together, it wasn't so fun anymore. I'd had a miscarriage, and that was what finally blew us apart. He thought having a baby would help him stay sober, or that was what he said when we found out I was pregnant. That was before I knew I had endometriosis, although my doctor said it was difficult to predict when it had begun.

The night I had miscarried, Brad had been out partying. I'd started bleeding and then bleeding more and more. The fact that he was calling right now nearly sent me into a panic attack. Miscarriages are awful at any time, but they’re worse when you’re all by yourself and scared. When I was alone and bleeding, I drove myself to the hospital, where they confirmed what was happening. An ultrasound showed the miscarriage in progress.

I’d tried in vain to call Brad, who was too drunk to answer the phone and didn't make it home for three days. That wasn't the first time that happened, but it was the last time it happened to me. We'd only spoken twice since then. Both times, he’d tried to persuade me to get back together with him. The last time had been over two years ago.

“I’m really glad you're in treatment, Brad, but I don't want to have dinner with you.”

He was quiet, and I expected an argument. He surprised me when he acquiesced. “I understand. As part of my treatment, I'm trying to make amends. It's one of the twelve steps.”

I bit my tongue, silently ordering myself not to be bitter. Brad used to think the twelve steps were bullshit. He’d said so many times.

“I know I used to say the twelve steps were bullshit,” he said as if reading my mind. “But they're not, and they're helping me. I know I can't fix what happened, but I want you to know I'm genuinely sorry.”

My heart gave an achy thump in my chest, and my throat felt thick. I blinked because I’d already cried more tears than I ever wanted over Brad. It's hard to love someone and lose them piece by piece. I'd done my own reading, and I'd even gone to Al-Anon. I knew the man I’d loved wasn't the man who fell further down the slope of alcohol. All the parts I hated were the addiction, but it didn't change that he was still responsible for his own actions.

“I appreciate that, Brad,” I finally said when I could get a breath in.

“I'm not going to try to persuade you to get back together with me,” he added. “I should have been there for you when you had the miscarriage. I'm so sorry you lost our baby alone. I'm trying to forgive myself, but that's the heaviest weight.”

I was pretty sure he meant it, but it hurt to hear. I steeled myself and took a quiet breath, keeping my tears in check. “Thank you.”

“Still no dinner?”

Of course, he had to push a little. “No, I appreciate the phone call. I appreciate the apology. I think you need to figure this out on your own. I can't be there for you for this. I can tell you that I care about you, and I always will. You can know that I am cheering you on in the background.”

I swallowed, and it hurt. Even though I told myself I'd already said goodbye to Brad, letting go of Brad when he wasn’t drunk or hungover and in denial about his issues was different. There was a finality to it that hadn't existed before.

“Thank you, Hallie. Thanks for even answering the phone,” he said somberly.

“Of course. If I see you, I'll always be glad to see you. Stay in that program and don't start another relationship just to escape.”

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