Page 18 of Unloved

Slowly, I peel myself off of Frankie, no longer caring that I’m a twenty-two-year-old man crying all over his brother’s shoulder. I look between the two of them and feel so much dead weight lift off my shoulders.

“I need to sleep,” I say, surprising them both. “Can one or both of you sit here with me while I do?”

They nod, and I know neither one of them is leaving my side. And I love them for it.

My eyes land on Frankie, and all the animosity between us disappears, as if the time and distance between us never happened.

Swallowing hard, he holds his hand out to me and I take it. We silently share thoughts as he squeezes my fingers tight, acknowledgment and understanding between us.

Your secrets are safe with me.

7

RHYS

“Great job, man.” Arlo slows down the speed on his treadmill, just as my machine stops beside him. “How do you feel?”

I rub my gym towel over my flushed face, trying to catch my breath. “I think I might die.”

He chuckles. “It definitely feels like that in the beginning, but I promise you it will get easier.”

Feeling like death, I down a whole bottle of water before responding. “I hope so, because I need a little bit of easy.”

There’s something about Arlo that has me running my mouth and saying things I immediately want to take back.

“Is everything okay?” he asks. We both step down off the treadmills and walk across the gym floor toward the lockers. “Are you attending regular meetings and talking to Jenika?”

I’m not used to anyone caring, or at the very least even prying, but if I let myself take Arlo and his questions at face value, it feels different. Not good, not bad, just different and a little less lonely.

“I am,” I answer hesitantly.

“But…” he probes.

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

“Are you doing this alone?”

Unlocking my locker, I hide my face inside while I try to avoid answering his question. “What do you mean by alone?”

“Like, do you have a support system? Friends? Family?”

My knuckles whiten as I grip the metal locker door. I don’t care if it’s obvious that I’m alone and have nobody supporting me, I’m not going to admit that to a stranger. I don’t need to draw attention to all my flaws and all the reasons my family and friends walked away. I know enough about myself to know that giving Arlo the highlight reel of my past will not be conducive to my sobriety.

“Rhys,” he says softly, and I flinch, needing to find a way to stop experiencing every single emotion at every single moment. I keep my head buried in the locker.

“Rhys,” he repeats. “You don’t have to answer my question. It was invasive and really none of my business. I’m sorry.”

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi.

Eventually, I drag myself out of hiding, certain my anguish is written all over my face for Arlo to see. “I’m just not used to someone taking the time to ask if I’m okay,” I admit. “It’s all a lot to deal with right now.”

“It is,” he assures me, his voice filled with nothing but sincerity and understanding. “It might seem like nobody cares right now, but please remember that we might not be the people you thought would have your back, but we’re here for you. In any way you need us to be.”

I try to swallow down the ball of emotion in my throat as I nod, appreciating every single second of time people like Arlo and Jenika give me.

“Do you have my cell number?” he asks. My slow response time forces him to hold his hand out to me. “Here, pass me your cell, and if you need anything, anything at all,” he reiterates, “even if it’s an extra workout, just call me.”

Handing him the phone, I stick my head back inside the locker, needing to avoid his attention. It doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad, I don’t know what to do with it.

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