Page 17

He’s right. The rehab I was in placed me with Jared when I told them I wanted to head to Washington instead of staying in LA.

Doctor Steinfeld said he wanted to set me up for success, and since Seattle was the closest big city, they found a number of Narcotics Anonymous meetings that weren’t based around religion.

Jared was the one I looked at and felt I could trust. So far, he’s proven me right.

Our first meeting was a lot of me sitting around, trying to string words together.

I wasn’t as sullen as I was when I started to open up to Doctor Steinfeld, but I wasn’t too keen on talking to a stranger.

But Jared made me feel comfortable, telling me about his own struggle with alcohol.

He’s been sober for twenty years and says he actively works on it every day.

It’s nice to know someone struggles like I do but also makes me a little angry that I’ll always struggle with the pull to drugs and booze.

One day at a time.

Initially, I was nervous about having a sponsor that wasn’t famous.

It’s all supposed to be anonymous, but I didn’t expect the person I was paired with to keep their word.

But when I met Jared, there was no hint of recognition on his face.

When I asked if he knew who I was, he looked sheepish and said no and asked if he was supposed to. That made me feel safe around him.

After I told him who I was, he said he didn’t recognize me because he mostly listened to classical music and jazz, something that reminded him of his grandfather who raised him. He assured me that my privacy was of the utmost importance, and he wouldn’t tell anyone that I was his sponsee .

He smiles at me before taking a long sip of his tea. “Is there anything you want to ask or tell me?”

There is, but I’m not sure how to put it into words. I want help, but I also want to help myself. I can’t continue to lean on other people. But he’s here to assist me and since this is all new to me, I should ask.

“My old friend…I think more than anyone else, we have to sit down and talk. He was the one who got me out of the situation I was in. And I was cruel when he only tried to help. What do I do?”

Jared leans back, staring off into space for a beat or two. “I can’t answer that for you, Wesley. Different people require different approaches. What does your gut tell you?”

“That I need to do more than a quick apology to make things right. I’m not sure if we’ll be friends again or if he’ll tell me to shove my apology up my ass, but it has to mean something.”

“As long as you have a plan, you’ll be okay. Have you thought about using?”

“More than I care to admit. Being away from the structure of rehab is harder than I assumed it would be. I have to tell myself not to use, even though I’m free to.

Some days are easy, and I don’t think about popping pills until it’s time for bed and I have trouble falling asleep.

Other days, the first thing I want to do is a line or have a shot as soon as I roll over. One day at a time, right?”

“One day at a time. I’m glad you recognize those patterns.

Means you’re working those steps.” He grins at me.

“I have a good feeling about you, Wesley. Some people are determined to make it through this path called life unscathed, but you’ve been through the fire.

You know what it’s like to be burned, and you’re still walking forward with your head held high. I admire that. ”

I chuckle softly. “I don’t feel like I deserve it but thank you. I’m going to keep going, proving to myself that I can do it. I can kick the booze and the drugs and be better.”

We wrap up our meeting shortly after. Unlike most people that go through NA, I don’t attend meetings.

Mostly because of my celebrity and because I’ve learned I don’t do well at group.

I shared in rehab because I had to sometimes, but I would have rather done things one on one.

Jared doesn’t mind being available for a meeting in person or over the phone whenever I need it.

I head back to Tourneville, to the house we used to say was haunted when we were kids.

I had Zed rent it for me under an LLC. I’m careful to wear a hoodie and shades when I get inside of city limits so no one will leak to the press that I’m back.

I was only here for two years, so those who aren’t familiar with Lana’s Mischief may have forgotten about me, but the younger generation will for sure know who I am.

I don’t want to compromise my sense of privacy until I have the chance to make things right with Jaxon and Mr. Collins.

When I pull up to the house, I hurry inside, take out my phone, and make a quick call. He answers on the first ring.

“Collins, Attorney at Law.”

His voice sounds nothing like it used to but familiar all at the same time. “Jaxon. It’s Wesley.”

“Oh.” I can almost see his wide-eyed look, the faint blush high on his cheeks. Even though it’s been fifteen years and a lot of alcohol and drugs, I still get the same fluttery feeling that I used to when we were kids.

I met Jaxon my first day at our high school.

He was my unofficial guide that first week.

We clicked immediately, even though I thought he’d judge me on my torn and too-short clothes and my unkempt appearance.

He was always so put together. But he looked past all that to get to know me.

That meant more to me than he would ever know.

He breaks into my train of thought when he asks, “You okay? Shit, I’m sorry. I asked you that already.” He blows out a breath. “What can I do for you, Wes?”

Wes . He was the only person that called me that. The only person I allowed to call me that.

“I was wondering if I could get the key for Suzette’s house from you. I want to see how much shit I have to toss outta there”

“Yeah sure, of course. You can drop by the office and?—”

“I was thinking you could bring it to me…over lunch. So we can talk?” I leave it as a question so he doesn’t feel pressured to meet.

He’s silent for a long time. It stretches on and on, so much so that I have to check to make sure he hasn’t hung up on me.

Finally, he says, “Okay. Sure. When and where?”

“Tomorrow. At Terry’s Diner.” Terry’s Diner is a dive bar midway between Seattle and Tourneville. I’m hoping if someone sees me, they won’t figure out I’m living in Tourneville for the foreseeable future.

“Terry’s Diner is closed, but an Italian restaurant is in its place. They have a back room with booths. It’ll be discreet.”

“Thanks. Noon okay?”

“Yeah. Noon is perfect.” I pull my phone from my ear, but just before I hang up, I hear, “Wes?”

“Yeah, Jax?” I ask, putting the phone back to my ear.

“I’m glad you called.”

I sigh, emotions swirling in my chest. Apprehension, fear, grief, confusion, guilt.

They all swim around, each one fighting for dominance.

With effort, I push them away and try to clear my mind.

This would be a time where I would swallow some pills to make myself forget everything but my own name, clearing my head of any negative or confusing thoughts.

But I have to face my shit head-on. I can’t go back into that cycle of depending on drugs.

Going with honesty, I say, “Me too.”