Page 98 of Let It Breathe
Clay drove the truck back to the vineyard, conscious of Reese warm and round and beautiful in the cab beside him. God, he’d almost lost his mind back there in that office. What was it about her that made him so crazy, so thirsty for her? It was a little like being a drunk, but without the hangover.
“So tell me about your recovery,” Reese said, and Clay wondered for a moment if she’d read his mind. He glanced over at her, surprised to see her biting her lip. Was she nervous? “It’s okay,” she said quickly. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I just thought?—”
“No, it’s great,” he said, and gave her a reassuring smile. “I want to talk about it. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“You’ve mentioned the steps, but I don’t know that much about them. Can you tell me more?”
“Sure.” He kept his grip loose on the steering wheel, relieved to feel like he could talk to her about his. That he didn’t have to pretend it never happened. “Examining past behaviors and trying to figure out how you got there is one of the big ones.”
“And what did you figure out?”
“I wasn’t such a great guy when I was drinking,” he said. “I did some pretty dumb things.”
“Like what?”
“There was the time I stole that scooter from the old folks’ home and challenged Axl to a race.”
“You would have won if he hadn’t cheated.”
“Or the time we went to see Sheila at work and I asked them to call a Code Brown.”
“Eric never should have told you that’s hospital speak for a poop-related incident.”
He sighed. “There’s also the time I forgot to wear pants when I went out to buy Cheetos.”
“I think Eric still has that video somewhere.”
Clay grimaced, wishing she hadn’t been a witness to so many of his worst moments. He took a shaky breath, wondering if he should apologize again. He was still deciding when she asked her next question.
“So what made you an alcoholic? I mean—how does it happen, exactly?”
“Well, genetics are a factor,” he said. “My grandpa was an alcoholic, and so was my dad.”
“That’s right, I remember,” she said softly. “It seemed like things got worse for you after he died.”
“They did, I guess. That’s not an excuse, but it was definitely a trigger.”
He glanced at her in the mirror again, expecting to see pity in her eyes. Instead, he saw a mix of curiosity and determination that made his heart feel like it might burst.
“So what’s left?” she asked, shifting a little in her seat. “Are there still more steps left?”
He nodded. “Learning to live a new life with a new code of behavior,” he said. “I’m working on that one now.”
“You’re doing a good job.”
It was the simplest nugget of praise, but his whole body surged with pride. “Thanks. I’m trying.”
She reached over and put her hand on his knee, and the warmth in his belly grew. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“Thank you. I will.”
“And thank you for your help just now—with the bottles, I mean. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
“Glad to help.”
They rode in silence for a moment, but it didn’t feel as awkward as it had earlier in the day. He wanted to reach over and brush his fingers over her cheek, but wasn’t sure about the rules in this relationship. Everything felt so new.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “Look. I want you to know last night was special. I don’t do that sort of thing all the time. I mean—maybe I had a reputation in college, and obviously I did some dumb stuff when I was drinking and slept around more than I should have, but since I got sober?—”
