Page 66 of Unholy Confessions
He turns and loosely hugs me, like bros do, but I can feel him shaking too. "I'm thankful for you, too. Like everyone says, you get the people in your life when you need them the most."
I've never believed that bullshit before, but after this experience, I do more than ever. Benson saved me in ways he'll never understand. When I was convinced I was broken, when I thought I'd destroyed everything good in my life beyond repair, he showed me that recovery was possible. That I wasn't the first person to fuck up this badly, and I wouldn't be the last.
A familiar SUV pulls up, and my heart stops completely. Through the windshield, I can see my mom in the passenger seat, her hands pressed to the glass, and she's already crying. Dad's knuckles are white on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched in that way that means he's fighting back tears. EJ is practically vibrating with excitement in the backseat, his face pressed to the window.
The sight of them hits me like a physical blow. I haven't seen them since the day Dad dropped me off here, haven't heard their voices except for the brief, supervised phone calls we were allowed once a week. Seeing them now, seeing how much pain I've put them through, makes me want to crawl into a hole and disappear.
The doors fly open before the car even comes to a complete stop.
"RJ!" My mom reaches me first, and when her arms wrap around me, I completely fall apart. All the emotions I've been holding back for weeks come crashing down like a dam breaking. I'm sobbing into her hair, clinging to her like I'm five years old again and she's the only thing standing between me and the monsters under my bed.
"I'm so sorry, Mom," I choke out between sobs. "I'm so fucking sorry for everything. For lying to you, for putting you through hell. For making you watch me destroy myself and not being able to stop me. Even though I hoped you had no idea what was going on."
"Shh, Rhett James," she whispers, her own tears soaking through my shirt. "You're about to be home. You're safe. You're clean. That's all that matters now."
But it's not all that matters. The wreckage I left behind matters. The trust I broke matters.
Dad joins us, and when his strong arms circle both of us, I lose it even more. This man who's been my hero my entire life, who helped me learn to play guitar and write songs and chase my dreams, and I repaid him by becoming everything he raised me not to be.
"I thought I lost you," he says, his voice breaking in a way I've never heard before. "I thought we lost you, son."
"I thought you did too," I admit, the words torn from somewhere deep in my soul. "There were days I wanted you to. Days I thought you'd all be better off if I just disappeared."
"Don't you ever say that," Mom says fiercely, pulling back to look at my face. "Don't you ever think that. You're our son, and we love you no matter what. We never gave up on you, not for a second."
EJ crashes into our group hug then, and we're all crying now, holding each other in the parking lot like we'll never let go again. My big brother, who saved me, who watched me fall apart and couldn't do anything to stop it.
"Dude, you look so much better," EJ says through his tears. "Like, you look like you again. You look healthy."
He's right. I feel like me again, but a different version. Scarred but healing. Broken but putting the pieces back together. The hollow look is gone from my eyes, the constant tremor in my hands has stopped. I've gained back the weight I'd lost, and for the first time in months, I can look at myself in the mirror without feeling disgusted.
"I feel better," I tell him honestly. "Not perfect, not fixed, but better. Like maybe I can do this."
After what feels like hours but is probably only minutes, we finally break apart and get in the SUV. As Dad pulls away from the facility, I watch it disappear in the side mirror. That place saved my life, gave me tools I never had before, showed me that addiction doesn't have to be a death sentence. But now I have to prove I can stay saved.
The drive to the airport is a blur of streets and anxious thoughts. My family chatters around me, catching me up on everything I've missed. Normal life things that continued happening while I was locked away getting my shit together.
But all I can think about is Montgomery. How she'll look at me, what she'll say, whether there's anything left between us to salvage. Whether she's moved on, whether she's happier without me, whether these five weeks have shown her what I've known all along – that she deserves better than me.
My hands are shaking as I pull out my phone, the device feeling foreign in my hands after weeks without it. Montgomery. God, Montgomery. I've been dreaming about this moment, writing her letters I'll never send, practicing what I'd say if I ever got the chance to see her again.
The number is still in my favorites, still listed as "M " like it was the day I left. My finger hovers over her name for a long moment before I finally work up the courage to type.
R: I'm out. Are we able to meet? We'll be landing in a few hours. They chartered a flight.
I hit send before I can second-guess myself, then immediately want to throw the phone out the window. What if she doesn't want to see me? What if she's moved on? What if she takes one look at the message and deletes it?
Her response comes so fast it takes my breath away.
M: Yes. Where?
The relief is overwhelming, but so is the fear. She still wants to see me. After everything I put her through, after disappearing without a word, after leaving her to pick up the pieces of our relationship alone, she still wants to see me.
R: Meet me at my house.
The plane ride is uneventful and when we land in Nashville, I'm nervous as fuck. The drive to Franklin has me sweating, because I know I'm that much closer to seeing Montgomery.
What will I say to her? How do I explain where I've been, not the location, but the place in my head, what I've learned, how much I've changed? How do I apologize for the pain I caused her while I was too fucked up to see what I was doing?
