Page 68 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

much as I want to support him, I know I can’t relate to this kind of

issue. Truthfully, I’ve never been addicted to anything other than

being a perfectionist. Even though I seem to be failing that now, I

guess we both have some inner work to do in order to see the value of

our efforts this far.

“I hear people in recovery like coffee and donuts.”

He shrugs, undoing his seatbelt while the truck comes to a stop. “I

guess. They always have them in the meetings downtown.”

“How often do you attend?”

“Not as much as I should. I’ve been to two meetings in three weeks.

They give me a poker chip every week I tell them I haven’t slipped

up. I don’t know what I’m going to say about tonight.” He shakes his

head, leaning back in his seat as though the shame bares him down

to not move. “I failed.”

“So negative about yourself,” I reply, kicking out of the truck and

heading for the house. The car door shuts behind his exit, and his

steps shift against the dry gravel of the driveway as he follows close

by.

“You had said it yourself. You don’t know much about alcoholics.

How can you say this isn’t the correct reaction when slipping up?”

“Because I’ve made mistakes, Percy. Just because I trip and fall every

now and again doesn’t mean I’m permanently clumsy. And if I skip a

day of work in the shop, that doesn’t mean I’m a lazy worker now.

We’re human, and you talk to yourself like you're less than that.”

He waves me off, making himself at home in the kitchen while I start

a pot of coffee. “Fine, if you say so, Leah. But tell me this. Does

knowing I’m an alcoholic make you want to change your mind about

this whole arrangement?”

“Of course not. Why should it? We’re here to support one another,

and seeing the looks on their faces today—what more support could

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