Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
ALLEY
THEN
The drive to Tom and Christy’s has been long and mostly quiet.
I’ve managed to keep most of the rage storming through me bottled up.
I ranted for a few minutes when we first got in the car.
Matt let me do my thing. He listened, validated.
But since then, I’ve just stared out the window, letting the silent tears that feel like a daily part of my life now streak down my face.
As we get closer, the anger starts to stir again, rising and bubbling up—ready to explode like a bottle of champagne shaken one too many times.
“Hey,” Matt says gently, breaking the silence. His hand rubs my shoulder. “You sure you wanna do this now? I could drive you back tomorrow… after some sleep. After you’ve sobered up.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” My gaze stays locked on the blur of lights outside the window.
“Okay. If you’re sure.” He squeezes my shoulder once more and then turns into the neighborhood.
My stomach flips and twists, nerves coiling—the kind that make you feel claustrophobic.
The kind that press heavy against your chest. The kind that feel like someone’s hand is around your throat, squeezing and cutting off your air.
The kind that make you wonder if you’re having a heart attack because your pulse is so out of control, something has to be wrong.
I keep thinking I’ve felt it all. That nothing else can shock me.
Jensen lying? I’m not surprised. Sadly, that’s becoming routine.
But his mom? That’s new. Christy covering for him?
I still can’t believe it. And the thing that pisses me off most?
She texted me last night. She asked when Jensen would be back from Boston.
It’s worse than Jensen lying. He’s an addict. I’m learning to expect that from him. He has a reason. What’s her excuse? She’s texting me, to what? Throw me off? That’s a whole new level of low. And it’s a gut punch to my pride I didn’t see coming.
We pull into the driveway, and before Matt even fully shifts into park, I’m throwing the door open. I don’t wait. I don’t think.
“You’re coming,” I say over my shoulder firmly. I don’t even look at him. I just keep walking.
I’m halfway up the walkway before Matt gets out of the car. I hear his door slam shut just as I reach the porch. I punch in the code for the lock, the sound of the deadbolt barely registering. The second it clicks, I shove the door open.
I storm inside—a tornado of rage, ready to blow through anything standing in my way. Christy’s the first victim. She rounds the corner from the kitchen.
“Alley, what a pleasant—”
“Don’t you fucking talk to me!” I shout. “Where is he?” I don’t wait for a response. I’m already moving toward our bedroom, charging down the hall.
“Alley, stop. Let’s talk.”
I swing the door open. He’s not there. Slamming it shut, I whirl past Christy, ignoring her like she’s invisible.
“Alley. Please. Calm down.”
Calm down? Is she serious?
I glance over my shoulder with a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down!”
Charging into the great room, I find Jensen lying on the couch. He’s exactly how I expected. Sweaty. Shaky. Pale. Eyes sunken and dark. He looks like death.
The second I see him, everything inside me erupts. My body and soul split in two. It’s out of body—like I’m watching this girl completely lose her shit. But it’s not me. It can’t be. I don’t feel it. I’m not in control. I’m just a witness.
My eyes lock on Jensen, and my body moves before I even register it. “You lying asshole!” I grab the nearest throw pillow and hurl it at him. He winces, covering his head. I know even the slightest graze against his skin hurts like hell right now.
Good.
Because all I want to do is hurt him. Like he’s hurt me.
“Alley…” His voice is raw, grated and small. His eyes squeeze shut, the way they always do when the shame creeps in. He starts crying. Again. And even though I know detoxing from opioids causes emotional waves—I don’t care. Not right now. In fact, it only makes me angrier.
“You think you get to be sad?” I scream. “You think you get to feel bad?” I scoff. “Get up!”
His eyes open, finally meeting mine. They’re full of moisture. Bloodshot. Glassy. We stare at each other—our pain staring the other down with full-on hatred.
But it’s not hatred.
It’s love.
A love so deep it hurts.
A love that’s been shaken to the core.
Battered. Bruised.
A love that was too good to be true.
A love that broke us.
My soul slams back into my body, awareness settling like dust after an explosion. And when I look into his eyes—really look—it’s me again. Me, Alley. His wife. Not just rage in a body. And the wall I’ve built to hold all this resentment comes crashing down.
The tears burst out of me, seeping through every crack that’s formed over the past year. I cry so hard I can hardly breathe, let alone speak. I don’t know how long it lasts, but I’m aware that Christy, Matt, and now Tom are all watching. Watching…
As Jensen and I break.
You know that part of the storm—when it gets worse right before it gets better? You panic, rushing outside to save whatever might blow away or break.
Then, moments later it’s over. Just like that, it’s gone. It calms. The sky clears, and the quiet settles in, like nothing ever happened. But the wreckage is left as evidence. Furniture tipped over. Debris scattered. The damage is done.
That’s us.
That’s me.
A heavy numbness settles in, erasing all emotion like it was never even there. But the mess proves otherwise. It’s a fucking disaster.
And so am I.
A breath fills my lungs as my eyes look past Jensen, my voice flat. “Get up. We’re going home.” It’s not soft. There’s no comfort. Just duty.
I avoid all eye contact as I turn to leave. Passing Matt, I whisper, “Matt, get him in the car.”
Christy follows me to the door. “Alley, please.”
“Don’t,” I snap, without even looking at her.
“Alley, can we just talk?”
I shake my head, the fight in me gone. “You said enough when you lied.” I reach for the handle. “You’re just as bad as he is, only you have no excuse.” I turn, facing her for only a moment. “And I won’t forgive you.”
Pulling the door open, I walk to the car to wait for Matt—and Jensen.
Matt helps Jensen inside, and I head straight to our bedroom, barely looking back as I say, “I’ll get his pillow.”
Grabbing it off the bed, I walk to the hallway and toss it out the door before shutting it behind me and locking it. He can sleep on the couch tonight, because he sure as hell isn’t sleeping with me. It won’t matter anyway. He’s not going to be comfortable anywhere.
Guilt tugs at my chest. Am I being too cruel? Too hard on him?
No. He’s earned every bit of the pain he’s in.
I do feel bad about Matt, though. It’s not his job to carry this. To help Jensen or be there for me. To pick up the broken pieces of our marriage.
Matt’s voice echoes down the hall through the door—not quite yelling, but raised and heated. “Goddammit! Man the fuck up! I swear to God, if I ever have to watch her break like that again, I’ll beat the shit out of you.” There’s a beat of silence. Then his voice softens. “What do you need?”
I press my ear to the door. I don’t hear Jensen’s response, his voice is too muffled between his emotions and the closed door. Maybe it’s for the best. I’m not sure I can even handle hearing his voice right now. I’m too fragile. Too broken.
I’m so angry, but… the sadness? It’s so much stronger. It overshadows everything else that’s stirring inside me.
I go through my nighttime routine on autopilot and fall into bed a few minutes later. Leaning back against the pillows, phone in hand, I stare at the screen. I need someone to talk to. Someone who gets it.
I need help, too.
I swipe up and scroll through my messages until I find Leo’s name, and click into our thread. The last text was six months ago—a photo of him and Vivian at their wedding in Turks and Caicos. I sent a quick congratulations. That was it.
Leo’s an extremely successful businessman, but first and foremost, he’s a psychologist. He’s been a professor and therapist for years, and he’s always been a sounding board when I’ve needed one.
I type out a text.
Hey… can you talk?
I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the send arrow.
I haven’t told anyone in Chicago about Jensen.
They’re my people. I need them… but I know they don’t have to love Jensen.
They choose to. Jensen’s family and Matt?
They love him no matter what. The only other person who knows is Zach.
He loves Jensen too, but he told me to get the hell out.
I know Leo would never say anything if I asked him not to, not even to Michael. But if I text him—if I talk to him right now—I risk changing the way he sees Jensen forever. And if Jensen gets clean, I’ll have made it harder for Leo to respect him. To even like him.
I swipe out of the message thread. Not because I don’t trust Leo. But because I still want Jensen to be worth trusting.
The front door shuts a few seconds later, and a text from Matt pops up.
Matt
He’s on the couch. I made him as comfortable as I could. Lmk if you need anything. I’ll stop by in the morning to check on him… And you.
Thanks, Matt… for everything. I really appreciate you.
Matt
Anytime.
I look up, my gaze landing on the bedroom door. It’s locked. Like that alone could keep out the pain. I wish I could do the same with my heart. Slam a door over it. Keep it guarded. Keep it safe.
Wanting to be numb always scares me. The thought of just turning something off inside me—not feeling anything at all—it’s dangerous.
But it’s easier that way. It’s what I did with my dad.
I buried every feeling, good and bad, and just walked away.
I chose numbness. I chose avoidance. I didn’t want it to control me anymore. I didn’t want to be codependent.
And yet here I am. Letting someone else’s choices steal my happiness again. I won’t let it happen forever. I can’t.
I told myself the first time I discovered Jensen’s addiction, the day I realized he was detoxing, that I’d give him one year.
One year to get clean. He deserves that at the very least. He’s a good person, and we have too much history to just throw it all away.
Everyone deserves a second—or even a third—chance.
Time to prove themselves. Time to fail. Time to win.
But how many chances do I give him? I don’t want two or three to turn into twenty years of trying—like my mom gave my dad.
No. One year. That’s all he gets to prove himself. To get clean, and to stay that way.
Until May.
I do the math. That’s seven months. Seven months of trying, waiting, and hoping.
God, that feels like an eternity.
I don’t know if I can do this for that long—if I’ll make it. But I have to try.
I never asked for easy. But damn. It shouldn’t be this hard.
My gaze drops to my phone again. I’m going to need something or someone to lean on. And it can’t be Leo, not yet anyway.
I open my browser and type: Al-Anon NYC.
I scroll through the meetings. There are plenty to choose from. I add a Thursday evening one to my calendar. There’s an AA meeting at the same time, in the same building.
Good.
We can go together. Get the help and support we both need.