Page 129 of Blackout-

Don’t get me started on the reasons he impregnated you.

You were nothing but a shiny toy.

Something to make him feel good about himself.

You serve no purpose to him sober.

He’ll never love you.

Not clean.

“What if he doesn’t want me anymore?” I whisper.

“Lacey,” my father calls but his voice…it's so far away. “He loves you more than anything in this world.”

Lies.

They’re nothing but lies.

Chapter Fifty-One

Blackie

Another two weeks down,about another thirty to go. I’d be lying if I said it’s going by quickly. In fact, it often feels like there isn’t an end in sight. It doesn’t matter how many therapy sessions Sunny packs into my schedule; the days drag and when night falls, I lie awake missing my woman. I think what I miss most is turning to my side and seeing her there, sleeping beside me. It’s crazy how I took something so simple for granted.

I won’t tell you many times I’ve stared at the sonogram photo because you’ll think I’m pathetic. Let’s just say if someone held a gun to my head and asked me to replicate it from memory alone, I’d paint a fucking mural. Every detail and all her perfect features would be spot on. That’s another thing that’s crazy. I knew I was capable of loving someone unconditionally because of how I feel for Lacey, but I never knew love could be blind. That you didn’t have to meet someone physically to love them. My daughter is teaching me that lesson and you know what, I think it’s the greatest one of all. But I’m also starting to think I’m a little bias when it comes to her.

See, crazy.

She’s not even here yet, and she’s already the most important part of me. I’m pretty sure I’m making Sunny sick with all the baby talk. The poor nature loving woman is going to rejoice when I’m finally out of her hair.

Speaking of Sunny, I can feel her gaze drilling a hole into the side of my head.

“Is there anyone else who would like to share with the group?” she questions. “Dominic?”

Fuck me.

I should’ve known she’d put me on the spot the minute the group therapy session began, and I learned the topic. Everyone was sharing their struggles on connecting with the people they wronged while using and I was trying to fly under the fucking radar because in the two weeks since Jack and Reina’s visit, I still haven’t found the nerve to reach out to Lacey. It was still eating at me that I didn’t ask them why she decided not to come and yet, part of me didn’t want to know her reasons. I’d rather brush them under the rug and push forward, but Sunny says avoidance is the language of cowards. I suppose she’s right.

Meeting her gaze, I refrain from giving her the finger. Instead, I glance around the circle and take in all the familiar faces of my peers. We’re past the pleasantries of standing and introducing ourselves. We’re all addicts looking to be fixed.

Clearing my throat, I straighten in my seat. I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable sharing my business with these people. It’s not that I think they judge me or anything like that. I have a difficult time personally hearing myself admit my faults out loud. Everything I say makes me cringe. We get one chance at life and if you think about it, we don’t really get all that much time. Knowing that and realizing I’ve wasted half my life making a mess of things is a hard pill to swallow.

“I guess I’m struggling too,” I admit, glancing down at my left hand and the titanium band Lacey put on my finger when we got married. After I arrived here and Schwartz had my clothes sent over, I found my ring in an envelope at the bottom of a bag. Apparently, Ryker’s had released my personal belongings to my lawyer, and the overpriced fuck had the decency to give it back to me.

Turning the band, I lift my head and continue.

“My visitor ban was lifted two weeks ago, and my wife didn’t show. I never asked why, and I want to reach out to her. I want to hear her voice and ask about the baby we’re having. But I also don’t want to upset her. You know, I never wanted to be the guy who does more harm than good to her and yet that’s all I’ve ever been. I guess I’m just afraid she won’t answer or worse, hang up.”

“The only way to find out is if you try,” comments one of my peers.

“Don’t you think she’s waiting for you to call her? That she’s waiting foryouto ask her why she didn’t show up,” another offers.

“I can’t call my wife.”

Those five words cause me to glance across the circle at the older man who has spoken them. His name is Art and I can count on one hand how many times he’s actually engaged with the group. Out of all of us, he’s the one who has shared the least. All we know is that he’s here because he was high on pain killers when he drove his car into his neighbor’s house.

“She died two years ago from cancer,” he continues, lifting his eyes to mine. “You don’t realize how much you got to say to a person until you can’t.”

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