Page 136 of Imperfect Player

My instinct has me wanting to stay away—for her sake.

My head knows that if she knew that, she would hate me for it. It’s her life. Her decision.

My heart, that tricky son of a bitch, wants every fucking piece of her regardless of the fact that we may damn well implode.

“You don’t have to sound so happy to see me,” I tell him. “I’ve made your life a living hell these last few months.”

Tripp smiles. “True. But come on, we both know that even bad press is good press.”

“That’s why I’m here. I, uh . . . I want to take the bad shit and make something out of it.”

I may not know what to do about Everly, but between the therapy and the sobriety, I sure know what the fuck I want to do in life. The stamp I want to leave on it.

“I’m all ears,” Tripp says, motioning for me to sit.

I take the seat opposite his desk.

“First I need to know—”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“I’m not discussing Everly with you.”

“I just want know how she is.”

“Then call her. Visit her. Do whatever you want, just don’t ask me about her.”

Fair enough.

It’s also the same reaction that I got from Maddox.

“Okay. Well, let’s get down to business then.”

Tripp is silent, doing nothing more than nodding his head as I speak about the causes I want to support rather than the endorsements I want to do. The things that I want to bring awareness to. He’s not saying no, he’s listening, so at least there’s that.

The ideas I’m offering up aren’t exactly money -generating, but I don’t want them to be. I have money. What I don’t have is purpose. These things, they give me purpose, a reason to stay sober. That, and Everly and Ben.

I know, I have to do it for myself. I have to want it for me. But hell, isn’t it always easier if you have a reason behind it? Something to drive you? Before it used to be my anger, my need to get back at my parents and prove to them that I don’t need them.

Now?

Now I need to prove that I’m worthy of Everly and Ben. I want to help the millions who struggle with addiction, just like me. I want to help kids that suffer, just like Ben.

So yeah, it’s for me, to help me be the man I know I can be. Yeah, that should be incentive enough. But when you add in the two of them, it makes the reward of it all that much sweeter.

“So?” I ask Tripp.

His face is unreadable. I’m not sure if he’s proud, or happy, or pissed.

“I support whatever you want to do,” he says.

“But you don’t agree with it.”

“It doesn’t matter what I agree with. It matters . . . ”

“It matters to me. Come on, Tripp. Honestly, what do you think?”

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