Page 33 of Unholy Confessions (The Paper Rings Trilogy #1)

RJ

T oday is the day. What I've waited for since I got here. The day I get to go home. My parents and EJ are coming to get me.

But I'm scared shitless.

The facility has been my safety net for the past five weeks.

Here, everything is controlled, monitored, safe.

I don't have to worry about running into Evan or finding drugs in places I forgot I'd hidden them.

I don't have to worry about the crushing weight of everyone's expectations or the guilt that threatened to drown me every time I looked at Montgomery and saw what I was putting her through.

Here, I could focus on getting clean, on doing the work, on figuring out why I kept trying to numb myself into oblivion. But out there? Out there is everything that drove me to this place in the first place.

"Are you excited?" Benson asks as we stand in front of the building, waiting for our families to come and get us.

Benson's been my anchor through all of this.

When I first arrived, strung out and shaking and ready to crawl out of my own skin, he was the one who talked me down from leaving after the first day.

He's the one who listened when I sobbed about how badly I'd fucked up my life, how I'd destroyed the one person who meant everything to me.

"Part of me is," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.

"The other part of me is terrified to go home.

What if I can't handle it? What if I see Montgomery and the guilt overwhelms me and I use again?

What if I run into Evan and he offers me something and I'm not strong enough to say no?

There are no safety nets there. Here, I don't have to worry about destroying everyone I love all the time. "

The fear is eating me alive, gnawing at my insides like it's trying to get out.

I've been clean for five weeks now, but the cravings still hit me some days.

Yesterday, during group therapy, I broke down crying because someone mentioned cocaine and for a split second, the want was so strong I could taste it.

What if that happens when I'm home? What if I'm at the studio, or at a party, or just walking down the street, and the craving hits and there's no one there to talk me through it? What if I destroy everything I've worked for in a moment of weakness?

"I know," Benson says, and I can hear the same fear in his voice.

We've talked about this, the two of us lying in our narrow beds at night, voices hushed so we wouldn't wake our roommates, sharing our terror about returning to the world that broke us.

"That's why we did the work we did. To be able to handle it once we go home. "

But the work feels so fragile compared to real life.

In here, everything was controlled, predictable.

Morning meditation, group therapy, individual sessions, art therapy, fitness time, evening reflection.

A routine that kept the demons at bay. Out there, everything that drove me to this place is still waiting for me.

The pressure, the expectations, the crushing weight of everyone's disappointment.

And Montgomery. God, Montgomery. What if she takes one look at me and realizes she's better off without me? What if these five weeks of separation have shown her how much happier she is when she doesn't have to worry about me, doesn't have to pick up the pieces every time I fall apart?

"You're right," I say, trying to convince myself as much as him. "And if I need help, I can call my sponsor."

The sponsor relationship was one of the hardest things to navigate. They wanted me to choose someone I trusted, someone who understood addiction, someone who wouldn't enable me or let me manipulate them. The list of people who fit all those criteria was shorter than I'd expected.

"Who did you end up picking?"

I run my hands through my hair, my fingers shaking slightly.

"My dad's producer, Gavin. He's been in recovery for twelve years, he knows what it's like, and he knows me.

This man can tell when I'm lying to him better than my parents can.

" My voice cracks as the weight of it all hits me again.

"God, I hope I made the right decision. I can't fuck this up again, Benson.

I can't hurt the people I love anymore."

The memory of Montgomery's face when she left still haunts my dreams. The way she looked so broken, so lost, like I'd taken something important from her and left her with nothing.

I did that to her. The woman I love more than my own life, and I destroyed her piece by piece with my selfishness and my addiction and my complete inability to get my shit together.

She deserves so much better than me. She deserves someone who doesn't disappear for weeks at a time, someone who doesn't lie about where they've been or what they've been doing. Someone who doesn't choose drugs over her, over their relationship, over everything good in their life.

"Hey, before everyone gets here." Benson's voice brings me back from the spiral I was heading down.

"I wanna say thank you for being my friend while we've been in this crazy situation together.

I appreciate it. We haven't been able to have phones, but this is my email in case you want to connect once we're back in the world, so to speak. "

He slips me a piece of paper, and I grab it like it's a lifeline. My eyes are burning with tears I'm trying not to shed because I'm not ready to say goodbye to the one person who's understood exactly what I'm going through.

Benson's been more than a friend – he's been a mirror that showed me I wasn't the only one struggling with this shit. When I wanted to give up, when the work got too hard and I just wanted to numb everything again, he was there reminding me why I was fighting.

"I don't have a pen, or I'd give you mine."

"Just email me if you need me, then I'll have it."

"Thanks for being my friend when I really needed one." I clap him on the back, my voice thick with emotion. "This has been one of the craziest times of my life, and I wasn't a great person to the people who are normally in my life, but I'm thankful to have met you."

He turns and loosely hugs me, like bros do, but I can feel him shaking too. "I'm thankful for you, too. Like everyone says, you get the people in your life when you need them the most."

I've never believed that bullshit before, but after this experience, I do more than ever.

Benson saved me in ways he'll never understand.

When I was convinced I was broken, when I thought I'd destroyed everything good in my life beyond repair, he showed me that recovery was possible.

That I wasn't the first person to fuck up this badly, and I wouldn't be the last.

A familiar SUV pulls up, and my heart stops completely.

Through the windshield, I can see my mom in the passenger seat, her hands pressed to the glass, and she's already crying.

Dad's knuckles are white on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched in that way that means he's fighting back tears.

EJ is practically vibrating with excitement in the backseat, his face pressed to the window.

The sight of them hits me like a physical blow.

I haven't seen them since the day Dad dropped me off here, haven't heard their voices except for the brief, supervised phone calls we were allowed once a week.

Seeing them now, seeing how much pain I've put them through, makes me want to crawl into a hole and disappear.

The doors fly open before the car even comes to a complete stop.

"RJ!" My mom reaches me first, and when her arms wrap around me, I completely fall apart.

All the emotions I've been holding back for weeks come crashing down like a dam breaking.

I'm sobbing into her hair, clinging to her like I'm five years old again and she's the only thing standing between me and the monsters under my bed.

"I'm so sorry, Mom," I choke out between sobs. "I'm so fucking sorry for everything. For lying to you, for putting you through hell. For making you watch me destroy myself and not being able to stop me. Even though I hoped you had no idea what was going on."

"Shh, Rhett James," she whispers, her own tears soaking through my shirt. "You're about to be home. You're safe. You're clean. That's all that matters now."

But it's not all that matters. The wreckage I left behind matters. The trust I broke matters.

Dad joins us, and when his strong arms circle both of us, I lose it even more. This man who's been my hero my entire life, who helped me learn to play guitar and write songs and chase my dreams, and I repaid him by becoming everything he raised me not to be.

"I thought I lost you," he says, his voice breaking in a way I've never heard before. "I thought we lost you, son."

"I thought you did too," I admit, the words torn from somewhere deep in my soul. "There were days I wanted you to. Days I thought you'd all be better off if I just disappeared."

"Don't you ever say that," Mom says fiercely, pulling back to look at my face. "Don't you ever think that. You're our son, and we love you no matter what. We never gave up on you, not for a second."

EJ crashes into our group hug then, and we're all crying now, holding each other in the parking lot like we'll never let go again. My big brother, who saved me, who watched me fall apart and couldn't do anything to stop it.

"Dude, you look so much better," EJ says through his tears. "Like, you look like you again. You look healthy."

He's right. I feel like me again, but a different version.

Scarred but healing. Broken but putting the pieces back together.

The hollow look is gone from my eyes, the constant tremor in my hands has stopped.

I've gained back the weight I'd lost, and for the first time in months, I can look at myself in the mirror without feeling disgusted.

"I feel better," I tell him honestly. "Not perfect, not fixed, but better. Like maybe I can do this."

After what feels like hours but is probably only minutes, we finally break apart and get in the SUV.

As Dad pulls away from the facility, I watch it disappear in the side mirror.

That place saved my life, gave me tools I never had before, showed me that addiction doesn't have to be a death sentence.

But now I have to prove I can stay saved.

The drive to the airport is a blur of streets and anxious thoughts. My family chatters around me, catching me up on everything I've missed. Normal life things that continued happening while I was locked away getting my shit together.

But all I can think about is Montgomery. How she'll look at me, what she'll say, whether there's anything left between us to salvage. Whether she's moved on, whether she's happier without me, whether these five weeks have shown her what I've known all along – that she deserves better than me.

My hands are shaking as I pull out my phone, the device feeling foreign in my hands after weeks without it. Montgomery. God, Montgomery. I've been dreaming about this moment, writing her letters I'll never send, practicing what I'd say if I ever got the chance to see her again.

The number is still in my favorites, still listed as "M " like it was the day I left. My finger hovers over her name for a long moment before I finally work up the courage to type.

R: I'm out. Are we able to meet? We'll be landing in a few hours. They chartered a flight.

I hit send before I can second-guess myself, then immediately want to throw the phone out the window. What if she doesn't want to see me? What if she's moved on? What if she takes one look at the message and deletes it?

Her response comes so fast it takes my breath away.

M: Yes. Where?

The relief is overwhelming, but so is the fear. She still wants to see me. After everything I put her through, after disappearing without a word, after leaving her to pick up the pieces of our relationship alone, she still wants to see me.

R: Meet me at my house.

The plane ride is uneventful and when we land in Nashville, I'm nervous as fuck. The drive to Franklin has me sweating, because I know I'm that much closer to seeing Montgomery.

What will I say to her? How do I explain where I've been, not the location, but the place in my head, what I've learned, how much I've changed? How do I apologize for the pain I caused her while I was too fucked up to see what I was doing?

When we pull into the driveway, I see her car already waiting, and my heart nearly stops. She's here. She's actually here. Sitting on the front steps with her head in her hands, and even from here I can see her shoulders shaking.

She's crying. Because of me. Again.

"Go," Mom says softly, turning to squeeze my knee. "We'll give y'all some time. We'll catch up with you tomorrow."

I know they want to see her too, want to know she's okay, but they understand that this conversation needs to happen first. That there are things Montgomery and I need to say to each other before we can pretend everything is normal.

I get out and walk toward her on unsteady legs, my whole body trembling with nerves and emotion. She looks up when she hears the car door slam, and the expression on her face nearly brings me to my knees.

Relief, love, fear, uncertainty, pain – it's all there, written across the face I've missed more than my next breath.

She looks thinner than when I left, like she hasn't been eating enough.

There are dark circles under her eyes that suggest she hasn't been sleeping well.

She looks like she's been hurting as much as I have, and that knowledge cuts through me like a knife.

She stands when I get close, and for a moment we just stare at each other across the impossible distance of everything that's happened. Five weeks might as well be five years for how much has changed, how much we've both been through.

Then she breaks, tears streaming down her face as she runs to me and throws herself into my arms. I catch her, holding her tight against me, and I'm crying too, harder than I have since I was a kid.

"I thought I'd never see you again," she sobs against my chest, her fists clutching at my shirt like she's afraid I'll disappear.

"I thought you wouldn't want to," I whisper back, my voice completely destroyed. "I thought you'd realize you were better off without me."

We hold each other in my driveway, both of us crying, both of us shaking, both of us trying to bridge the gap that five weeks of silence has created between us. She feels so small in my arms, so fragile, and I hate that I'm the reason she feels that way.