Page 53 of Misconduct Zone

“You’re overwhelmed by the depth of your feelings for Dylon, which is not surprising given your family history. When you grow up in an environment devoid of emotion, big feelings can be hard to process,” she says without judgment. “You’re worried about all the what-ifs and have thought of every terrible thing that could happen in the future. You worry about Dylon committing to you long term and his need to explore his sexuality. You’re afraid of your past repeating itself, the ramifications of coming out and how that will affect your relationship, your jobs, both your mental health, and his sobriety. All of your worries are valid, but you’re catastrophizing, and that could sabotage yourrelationship and your mental health if you let it get out of control. The exact opposite of your goal to protect yourself and him.”

I blow out a breath. “Yes. But what do I do?”

“You know what you have to do.” She smiles kindly. “You can’t protect your heart or his because the future is uncertain. You could brace yourself for his relapse only to suffer a head injury with amnesia yourself. Life is unscripted. You can’t prepare for all the bad things, and if you try, you’re going to miss the love.

“Love requires risk. You’re panicking about what can go wrong and can’t be present in the moment and soak in the joy of a new relationship and explore it. You’re clinging to him, afraid he’ll leave, but you could be smothering him. Mentally allow yourself to go through all the unpleasant scenarios, play them out in your head, and then release them. We talked about visualizing setting them on fire. Do you still want to do that?”

“How do I know if it will work?” I imagine a fire big enough to burn all of Manhattan with my fears.

“You don’t but that’s okay. We can try something else if it doesn’t work. This is a process, not a one-off technique. Some people can’t logically think through the worst-case scenarios, but it fits your personality type to do that.” She’s always been able to help me slay my proverbial dragons, but the stakes are so high, I’m choking on my terror.

Chapter 28

Dylon

The walk cleared my head and made me realize I have to confess last night’s urge to throw away my sobriety. The old pattern of secret-keeping is back. He assumed I was meeting with my sponsor, and I didn’t come clean. If I keep this up, the lies will build on one another, and I can’t risk losing Lars.

He’s what I want, playing hockey together, cuddling on the couch, having life-changing sex. Alcohol can’t compare, and I hate the fact that I’m struggling. It’s absurd. He’ll know what to do, he always does.

Lars is in the office on his computer, and I recognize his therapist so I backtrack out of the room to give him privacy. I’m out of sight when I hear his agonized voice ask, “Okay, then what?”

My heart rate spikes because Lars is calm and composed, not scared and unsure. I don’t mean to listen, but I hear her response.

“Lars, tell Dylon the truth. Don’t hold back. Don’t be afraid of your truth. He’s been your friend for a few years, and you have a solid base of a relationship. Believe in that. He will understand, and you can work through it.”

A timer dings and they end the call. The roar in my head drowns all of my thoughts, and I’m frozen in place. Lars has something he’s afraid to tell me. So afraid he needs a pep talk from his therapist. My mind fixates on the obvious…he knows how close I was to relapsing and doesn’t want someone like me.

“Hey, Dyl.” He stops short, almost bumping into me. “I missed you,” he murmurs in my ear before kissing me.

I don’t trust his words because he’s not telling me everything. He’s the one who demands the truth, but he’s been holding back.

It’s my fault. My addiction is too much. I’m not worth the effort. The thoughts are mine, but they’re also from my past.

“How was your meeting?” His warm palm dips into the hollow of my back above my jeans.

“Fine.” I wave my hand as if I’m unconcerned.

He takes my hand and tugs me down the hall to the living room couch. “There are a couple of things I need to tell you.” He sits, staring up at me, expecting me to sit next to him.

Expecting me to just listen while he tells me all the reasons we’re not going to work out.

That my addiction will always be an issue and he has to change his life and abstain from drinking because of me. That I’m too needy. That it could affect the team and our jobs. And I’m supposed to be okay with whatever he says.

I’m not okay with it.

His face changes, and he charges up to cradle my jaw. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

My tongue is thick, and the dire pleas die before I can persuade him not to leave me. My phone vibrates, and I pull it out of my pocket for a distraction.

“It’s a new person my sponsor and I were discussing,” I lie and pretend to read the message from a meditation app of all things. “Shit. I gotta go. Raincheck on the convo,” I say like a fucking moron.

Lars won’t let go and seems to crumple into himself. I pry his hands away, and my feet eat the path to the door as fast as they can without running. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back,” I holler, slamming the door and bending at the waist, choking on bile. I need a plan. A plan to prove my worth. A plan to change his mind.

The coffee I drank burns my esophagus, and I swallow it back, gasping for breath. When I hit the street, I walk aimlessly. The thing about New York is there is no shortage of places to go and things to look at. My mind can’t focus on anything but Lars leaving me, making a plan is an unattainable mental feat.

An hour later, I find myself standing outside of a liquor store.

Years ago, when I could walk into a liquor store and buy a bottle of Maker’s Mark without worrying about the price and if I’d be able to buy foodanddrink, I shook off my lower-income roots. I thought it was the best money could buy. I didn’t know anything back then.

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