Page 67 of His Red Carnation

“No,” I immediately replied. “I don’t fucking know anymore.”

Ana sighed on the other end. “Sloane loves you, Cal.” The softness of her voice returned. “You know that much is true.”

“Yeah, but for how long? She’s on her way to Sarah right now. I’m at a fucking Red Roof Inn, sobbing in a tiny fucking hotel room. What the fuck am I supposed to do while she’s gone?” I stood up and began to pace, and the urge to drink was stronger than ever.

“Stay on the line with me. Tell me about what you and Sloane have been doing.”

Did she know how close I was to relapse again?

“I don’t know if you want that information, Ana,” I said with a small, embarrassed laugh.

“Ay, dios mio.” She laughed in return. “I mean, what else? Tell me what you love about Sloane.” She was trying to distract me, and it was working.

I sighed and sat down on the armchair in the corner of the room. “I love her laugh. I love how when her smile gets real big, that little dimple comes out on the side of her cheek. I love how smart she is. She fucking corrects me all the time, and I love it. I love how she makes me feel. She makes me feel like I’m not a piece of shit. She makes all of this fucking worth it,” I said in one long breath. “And I don’t know what I’m gonna do without her,” I choked out.

“Callan, don’t jump to conclusions,” she responded. “Don’t write this all off just yet.”

She was right; I had jumped to conclusions before, and I fucking relapsed. Running a hand through my hair, I sat back and took deep breaths. Then, I did what I should have done before—I called my sponsor.

29

Sloane

I had no idea if Sarah would be at work or not. It was a weekday, in the middle of the day, so I could only hope. As the Uber got closer to the rehab center, the ache in my chest grew. Callan was devastated when he told me to go. I felt incredibly guilty for luring him to Baltimore under false pretenses—pretenses that could possibly harm our relationship. I wasn’t sure what I would do if Sarah gave me a detailed account of what Callan had done to her. I prayed to every God I could think of, hoping she would admit she had made it all up. People on drugs or alcohol made mistakes, and they lied. But if Callan had hurt her…I wasn’t sure how I would feel. Would it make me love him any less? I believed in redemption, in people growing and taking accountability for their past. I knew the Callan I loved wasn’t the same person he was eight years ago—lost and addicted.

I walked into the lobby of the brick building. It was clean and homey, and the front desk receptionist immediately recognizedme. She was young, and she jumped up with a smile as I walked closer. “Oh my God. Sloane Martin?”

“Hi,” I said with a smile. “I’m um…I’m hoping to see an old friend. Is Sarah in today?”

She looked surprised. “You knowSarah?”

I nodded. “Yeah.” I shrugged.

“She never told me that! Oh my God, yeah…she’s here. One sec, I’ll go get her!” She quickly scurried off down the hallway.

Nerves swirled through my belly, and I crossed my arms as I glanced out the window, wondering what the hell I was gonna say to her.

“Sloane?”

I turned, and there was Sarah. She looked exactly like her picture, though she was much more petite than I’d realized—and even more beautiful. Her hair was styled in long braids, and an oversized knit cardigan hung low, nearly reaching the ground. She wore tortoiseshell glasses, her gaze intense. Her eyebrows were drawn together as she gave me a wary smile.

“Hi, Sarah?” I asked hesitantly.

The receptionist had returned to her desk and watched us intently. Sarah crossed her arms and took a step closer to me.

“Are you here because of Callan?” Sarah asked quietly.

Of course she knew I was connected to Callan—we were all over the internet. I’m sure anyone with a TV or phone knew that Callan and I were together.

“Yeah, um…” I glanced at the receptionist and then back at Sarah. “Can we talk?”

Sarah regarded me for a moment, staring me up and down. I suddenly felt uneasy under her gaze. “Okay.” She turned and began down the hallway, and I quickly followed her.

We ended up in a room down the hall, and she closed the door behind me. I guessed it was her office; she had a desk witha nameplate on it, with touches of plants, bohemian decor, and some certificates and diplomas on the wall.

“Why are you here?” she asked coldly as she sat behind her desk, cutting straight to the chase.

I swallowed hard as I sat down, trying to wrack my brain for words.

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