Page 128 of Imperfect Player

I’m not cured. Far from it. But the daily sessions, those aren’t necessary anymore. The demons I fought, the ones that I’ve learned will always be there, I’ve also learned how to control them, not let them consume me.

There’s still a long road ahead of me. One that I’ll be on for the rest of my life. This addiction, this disease, there is no cure for it.

Still, today marks the day.

Sixty days sober.

Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and wait for the last question that Brad’s going to ask me.

I’m not one hundred percent sure what it is going to be, but I’m certain it will be something along the lines of how I’m doing, how do I feel about the things we’ve talked about over the last month.

Brad smiles at me. “You’ve done well, Ethan.”

I nod at his compliment. I didn’t have a choice. I had to do well if I wanted my life back. The bonus is that I actually do feel better. My head feels clearer. My pain lessened.

Brad opens his mouth to speak again. Here it is. Final question.

Drumroll, please.

“So, what are you going to do about Everly?”

I sit back on the couch, his question hitting me like a ton of bricks.

We don’t talk about Everly.

We did in the beginning. I spilled my pussy guts to him about her and how I feel about her. About all the reasons that I should stay away from her. Then it became too hard. I missed her too much.

As much as I may need to sort through shit when it comes to her, she isn’t the problem. She’s not the reason I drink, not why I’m here.

I am. My family is.

Those are the demons that I live with. The ones I need help conquering.

I told him as much. I told him there would be no talk of Everly. A request that, until today, he adhered to.

So the fact that he’s bringing her up now is quite the fucking blow.

Everly, my ray of sunshine. My everything. She’s the one thing through this all that has helped me even keep remotely afloat. At least until I was so bad off that even she couldn’t help me.

“What the fuck kind of question is that?” I ask him, stunned.

“A valid one. Your therapy is over. You’re sixty days sober. You’re on the road to recovery. Don’t you think that it’s time you finally reach out to her?”

No. No, I don’t, Brad.

“I’m never going to be recovered, remember? I’m going to be in a constant state of recovering—you said it yourself. Everly doesn’t deserve to have to deal with that. She deserves better.”

“Better than what?”

“Better than me.”

“What’s so wrong with you?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Doc. How about the fact that I’m a fucking alcoholic.”

“And?”

“What do you mean, and? Isn’t that enough?”

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