Page 129 of Retribution

“Reed, man. Long time, no see!” Everett claps me on the back, and I begin to feel at ease, knowing I’m not here alone.

Blake strides past with a pizza slice in his hand.

“Where’s the TV?” He asks, his mouth full.

“Right through there.” I chuckle and point to the lounge.

“Did I interrupt something?” I ask and Everett shakes his head.

“Just the Monaco Grand Prix, nothing major,” he jokes, and they disappear into the lounge.

I stand in the hallway as Devon leans against the wall.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his arms folded across his chest. I shake my head and stare at the wall beside him.

“Indie had a miscarriage.” I wince at the word, my body shrinking in on itself.

Devon pushes off the wall and walks past me, nodding his head towards the kitchen. We walk past the lounge and the guys are sprawled out on the couch, fiddling with the control for the TV to get the race back on.

Devon stands at the other side of the island as I take a seat on the same stool I had been sat in earlier, the glass still on the counter top, untouched.

He raises an eyebrow and nods his head in admiration.

“You did it, Reed.”

“I didn’t” I grit.

“You did, you did the right thing.” He continues.

I look back at the glass and the whiskey bottle sat next to it.

“I was too close, Devon, too close. I poured the drink, and I leaned over it like a predator, waiting for my prey to look away so I can attack,” my voice is slightly raised from my fury at myself, knowing I was seconds away from throwing away my progress.

“But, you didn’t attack.” He reiterates.

I blow out a breath and put my face in my hands.

“This is too fucking hard this time, too fucking hard.” I choke out, the pain gnawing into me.

“You’re doing it though.” He rests his hands on the island as he presses his weight on them, his muscles flexing through his white tee.

“I don’t think I can do it,” I whisper.

There’s a long pause.

“You won’t if you keep telling yourself that. You need to believe you can do it, you need that fire in your stomach to keep you going. Yes, your circumstances aren’t ideal. But you need to learn to channel your anger and use it to fuel your drive to get sober.”

His words make perfect sense, if I already think I’m going to fail, how will I ever succeed? I almost, very nearly, drank today.

But I didn’t.

The finish line seems to come into the picture now, the line that never existed until right this second.

“You’re right.” I state and lower my head.

“I know,” he responds, his arrogance shining through, earning a laugh from me.

“How about a drink?” He says and I look up at him with a scowl.

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