An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)(14)
“I have, yes,” she confirmed, not wanting to say anything more, uncomfortable under the two pairs of scrutinizing eyes.
Caleb rocked on his heels, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s great. It’s about time someone tackled that behemoth of a building.”
Grace laughed shortly. “Well, I’m your girl.” The sparkle in the deputy’s almond-shaped blues was flattering but had Grace’s feet moving around him. “Anyway, I’d better get back. Thanks . . . Holly. I’ll be here on Monday.”
She waved a shaking hand over her shoulder, ignoring whatever Holly’s reply was, and all but stumbled out of the door onto the snow-covered street. Hurrying down the sidewalk as best as she could with the cold taunting the old injuries to her right hip and rib cage, she stopped inside the mouth of a small alleyway and pressed her back against the damp brick.
Leaning her head back, Grace breathed as slowly and as deeply as she could, fighting the fear back with the cold, fresh West Virginia air and the fact that her past was thousands of miles away on the other side of the country, on parole with a court-issued restraining order and her old apartment. Her throat narrowed as his face flickered behind her eyelids.
Maybe Kai was right. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. Maybe it was too soon for her to be out alone, out in a strange place. Maybe she wasn’t strong enough to be around unfamiliar people yet. Maybe she should pack up, forget the old house, and head back to DC.
“No,” she croaked toward the freezing sky. She wasn’t giving up that easy. These moments were bound to happen; she just had to fight through them. Her breathing slowed. She opened her eyes, hating the tears that filled them. “Great,” she whispered, pulling her hat back on. Now the deputy and her new boss would think she was a raving loony after she’d behaved so rudely.
Well, as her momma used to say, what’s done is done. Grace knew she’d simply have to show them that she wasn’t a complete weirdo when she went to work on Monday. Her pulse jumped, this time in excitement. A job. It might be for only a few hours a week but she had an actual job. Kai would shit bricks. She laughed to herself, thinking of the conversation they would no doubt have that evening when she called to tell him, and slowly left the safety of her alleyway, heading back to the boardinghouse.
Yes, the dark clouds of her past continued to follow her daily, but with the house, and now a job, at least they now had beautiful silver linings.
Between the painting, the gym visits—which were having an awesome effect on his arms, chest, and waistline—group sessions, and chats with Elliot, time started to speed up for Max. Days passed in a blur of talking, running, punching, and acrylic paint until, one brisk January afternoon, he received his second medallion. Sixty-four days of clean living and, Max had to admit, he was feeling pretty good. He’d even quit smoking.
He’d built up a solid friendship with Tate and always looked forward to their sessions, while—although he still wasn’t singing like a canary—his therapy with Elliot was also becoming less of a hindrance. He’d spoken more about Lizzie, more about his addiction and the roots of it, not that it would have taken a genius to figure out, and had even allowed himself to consider the future, his time away from rehab.
His stay was never given a time limit, though Elliot had suggested he look to staying another month. He was pleased with Max’s progress but wanted Max to be happy and ready to deal with the real world again. The after-care program was second to none and Max would obviously have access to sponsors and therapists for as long as he needed, but Max had agreed.
He wasn’t ready quite yet.
In truth, the thought of going home—as awesome as it would be—filled Max with an odd sense of trepidation. He was busy every day in the facility, surrounded by people he had grown to recognize and, in many cases, like. Despite the latter being true, Max worried about how he would fill his time when he was home, how he’d move from one day to the next without the rigorous timetable he lived by. Busyness was his new friend. Without it, back home, he’d have a lot of time on his hands; time to ruminate, agonize, wonder where he could get a line.
He was concerned that his friends wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t recognize how hard Max battled to make it through every day without stuffing that poison up his nose. He knew they’d be supportive, of course; they always had been; but would that be enough? Elliot explained that his fears were understandable and very normal, but still Max fretted.
The reflection that looked back at him in the main hall window showed a much healthier face, though still weathered with lines of struggle. His brown hair had grown into disarray and he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. His dark eyes watched the driveway like a hawk.
“You got a visitor today?”
Max startled at the voice at his side. He turned to see Dom, from his group session, peering out of the window, too. Max nodded. “My best friend.” He turned back to the window. “It’s the first time I’ve seen him since he left me here.” He swallowed. No, that wasn’t fair. “Actually, he helped me get in here. Paid for everything.”
“Awesome,” Dom commented, always a man of few words. Max noticed how much better the man looked, too, in comparison to when they’d first been introduced, and wasn’t that a strange thought? Two men, two addictions, but both with the same goal: get clean or get dead.