Page 137 of Becoming Us

“Yeah,” I said. “I am.”

“Then focus on that. I’m not even close to being sponsor material, but I know what it feels like to struggle. We take the little wins. That’s how we survive. You removing yourself from the situation? That’s a win. Not a failure.”

I didn’t feel like a winner. I felt ashamed. Disappointed. Angry at myself for even thinking about it. Was it always going to be like this?

“I’ve had close calls too. Give yourself some grace. I can tell just by looking at you—you’re tearing yourself down,” he said, voice gentler now. When I looked over, his expression matched it—soft, understanding.

“How?”

He smile softly. “Takes one to know one.”

“I just feel…” I took a breath. “Like I got slapped in the face with reality again. It took me so long to admit I had a problem—so much shit had to happen before I evenwantedto change. And I thought I had it together.”

“We don’t have to have it together all the time.”

“I can’t relapse. If I relapse?—”

If I relapse, I lose him. I lose everything.

I dropped my forehead to my knees and took a shaky breath.

“You can’t live every day afraid of that. Love isn’t supposed to be conditional.” His words hit something raw in me, like he’d seen straight through to the fear I hadn’t spoken out loud.

“If Atticus messed up—made a mistake—would you try to forgive him? Work through it together?”

“Yes,” I said instantly.

“Then why don’t the same rules apply to you?”

“Because I already fucked up once—he said he’d break up with me if I used again.”

Paxton frowned. “Atticus said he’d break up with you if you used again? Those exact words?” His tone was gentle, but there was an undercurrent of skepticism—enough to make me realize something felt off, because it didn’t sound like Atty. Not when he said it.

“Yeah.” I swallowed; the words suddenly tasted wrong. “And…if I refused to get help.”

He nodded slowly. “Would you? Refuse?”

“No, of course not.” The answer came without thinking, and Paxton’s face softened. He didn’t speak over me; he just waited until I could catch up to myself. “Of course not,” I repeated.

And that was it—the awful loop I’d been trapped in. He had never actually said the words the way I’d replayed them in my head.If you fuck up, we’re done.That wasn’t Atty. He’d wanted me to get better; he’d said that so many times, and I’d never listened.

I would never refuse help now. I had Sam, I had tools. Things that worked.

“I don’t know all the history between you two,” Paxton said, “but I can tell you’ve been through a lot together. From what I saw tonight, that man loves you. Anyone with eyes can see it. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d just give up—not if you’re actually working toward getting better. Which you are, Noah.”

I bit the inside of my cheek.

“Fear can’t be your only motivator. I get that it tends to take over, but you’ve done the work. You know how to throw yourself a lifeline.”

Little by little, the storm inside my head started to lighten.

“You don’t have to tell me your reasons. But you do have to remember them. And remember that as long as you keep admitting this is a problem and face the shitty stuff head-on, then you’ve got this.”

I had been doing it. I’d been facing things. Problems. I wasn’t running anymore—not from difficult conversations, or the spirals my mom caused, or my own responsibilities.

And I had that, a really good fucking reason had kept me on track—one that had pulled me through the shitstorm after I’d left Atty two years ago.

I closed my eyes and pictured it: the future. Not some dramatic fantasy, just something simple—the new house, sunlight through the windows, music low. A cat, maybe. Stability. Love. Atty. Family.