Page 378 of Redeeming 6

“Nah.” He chuckled, closing the space between us. “You’re too notorious.”

When he pulled me in for a hug, I forced myself to not shove him away. Instead, I offered him a small pat on the back. It was the best I could do.

It was progress.

“Let’s sit down and get started, shall we?” Dr. B suggested, leading my brother over to a large leather couch. Instinctively, I walked over to the one opposite.

“You have no idea how happy I was to get the call,” Darren got the ball rolling by saying. “When I got home from work and Alex told me that your doctor had called to say I could visit—”

“Hold up,” I interrupted, leaning back on the couch and folding my arms across my chest. “You’re back in Belfast.”

He nodded.

“Since when?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean how long did it take before you left the kids?” I arched a brow. “How long did it take before you went back to your real life?”

“Joey.”

“Hey, I’m not judging you.” I shrugged. “Look at where I’m sitting, Dar. I’m in no position to throw stones.”

“They’re in good hands with John and Edel.”

Yeah, I didn’t doubt it. But it still pissed me off that he left them. Especially when I wasn’t there for them, either.

“Joey,” Dr. B interjected. “Remember how we talked about relinquishing control. You are not your siblings’ parent, and neither is Darren.”

I didn’t respond, because I wanted to get my damn phone call, and the explicit words on the tip of my tongue would assure that I didn’t.

The good doctor and Darren delved into deep conversation then.

About my issues.

About my recovery.

About my sixty-day chip.

About what a good little recovering addict I was.

About bla-fucking-bla.

Entirely uninterested, I zoned in and out of the conversation. I nodded at all the right cues, not really giving two shits what Darren thought about me. My feelings toward him were too complicated to be worked through in a therapy session. They had built up over the course of almost six years. It would take at least that amount of time to resolve them.

It was only the mention of an extended stay in treatment that had my ears pricking up and my attention riveted to the conversation. “What the fuck?”

“Joey, calm down please. It’s just a suggestion,” the doctor began to say, but I was already on my feet.

“No.” I shook my head and paced the room. “No, no, no. I’m out of here in three weeks. I’ve done my time.”

“Joe, if the medical team feel that you’ll benefit from an extra couple of months, then I think you need to listen to them,” Darren tried to interject, but I wasn’t having it.

“They didn’t suggest it, asshole,” I shot back. “You did.”

“Because I think you need it,” he argued. “I think it might be good for you.”

“And I think you need to shut the fuck up,” I sneered. “I’ve done everything I’ve been asked to do. I’ve done the detoxing. I’ve done the counseling. I’ve done the group fucking therapy. I’ve planted the fucking flowers and painted the pottery.” Furious, I turned to glare at the doctor. “I agreed to do two weeks of detox and twelve weeks of treatment. Not a day over it.”

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