Page 14 of Unloved

But that doesn’t take away from the fact that I’ve now met two people who are successful and sober. It has a flicker of hope forming in my chest. I so desperately want to do this.

Stirring me out of my thoughts, Arlo rises up off his chair and walks around his desk. He gestures to the door. “Let me show you around the place and then we can put together a plan that suits your schedule before you leave.”

As he leads the way, I follow his every step and hang off his every word. I push down the inconvenient thoughts that tell me I can’t commit; the very same ones that remind me I’m a failure.

Addiction is a disease.

I’m treating it.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi.

I can do this.

Iwillfucking do this.

5

SAMUEL

The doctor, Dr. Keriakos, couldn’t have picked a worse time to come and discuss Lennox’s prognosis. Lennox has yet to speak to me, but the way he lashed out at Frankie, has me on high alert. He’s frustrated and hurt, and I can’t differentiate if it’s because of the last forty-eight hours or Frankie’s return.

Right now, anger is rolling off him in waves, and whatever news the doctor has to give him, my gut is telling me it isn’t going to be good. We’ve already been here too long, and the unanswered questions are piling up.

Pulling up a seat beside Lennox, the doctor places a manilla folder on the tray table and pushes it toward him. Lennox opens it at the same time the doctor drops a handful of pamphlets in front of him.

I send Lennox a quick text.

Do you want me to leave?

I see my message appear on his cell as it vibrates on the table between us. He glances up at me and shakes his head, then looks back at the endless amount of information the doctor has just given him.

“There’s a lot of information here,” the doctor says, surprising me when I realize he’s talking and he’s talking to me. “I’m going to leave all this information for Mr. York to digest, and when he’s ready, we can start working through any questions he has.”

I’m just about to tell the doctor off for addressing me instead of Lennox; his dismissal is extremely unprofessional. Before I get the chance to, a figure in the doorway catches my attention.

Frankie, like a dog with a bone, is back and just standing there expectantly. I turn to see Lennox’s reaction, and he’s looking at me, the request for help written all over his face. Standing, I stalk toward Frankie, who straightens his spine, pushing back his shoulders, determined to show me he won’t back down.

He’s on the defensive, ready to pounce, and if this wasn’t a pivotal moment in Lennox’s life, I would laugh at how ridiculous his older brother is being. I don’t know what he thinks I’m going to do, but I have no intention of throwing down in Lennox’s hospital room.

His mouth runs a mile a minute the second I reach him. “If you’re going to try to tell me to get out, you better rethink your game plan,” he says sternly. He points at Lennox, and I follow his stare to see anger and pain etched into every single one of my best friend’s features.

Frankie gestures back to himself, pointing repeatedly at his chest. “He’s my brother, and I’m not fucking going anywhere. Understood?”

Just like with the doctor, Frankie is not taking into consideration that his brother can’t hear what he’s saying. I don’t like it, but unlike the doctor, I can see it’s not intentional. His emotions are running high—everyone’s are—and while I know there’s history and so much hurt and regret between them, there’s no missing how much Frankie loves Lennox.

Reminding us of his presence, Dr. Keriakos clears his throat, uncomfortable at the interruption. “Is everything all right here, gentlemen? Do I need to call security?”

Everyone’s attention shifts to the doctor, including Frankie’s, who extends his arm out and introduces himself.

“I’m Frankie York, Lennox’s brother. I just arrived from Seattle and would appreciate being kept in the loop every step of the way.”

Picking up on the tension, the doctor’s gaze bounces between the brothers. “Since your brother is an adult, I will need his consent before passing along any of his medical information.”

I watch Frankie swallow hard and slide his hands in his pockets, trying so hard to harness his feelings, knowing full well there is a high likelihood of Lennox withholding his consent.

“Do you think you both,” he says, pointing at me and Frankie, “can give Lennox and me a few minutes alone?”

Reluctantly, I step outside, wondering if the good doctor will manage to succinctly work out how to effectively communicate with Lennox. The fact that he was so aloof when he first came in with all his pamphlets, doesn’t leave me with much hope, but there isn’t anything I can do.

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