Chapter 23
23
MALCOLM
“L ook who it is,” I call out from the ring. “You look like hell, man, you okay?”
I watch as Marshall ducks under the half-opened garage door of the training center which is partially down to keep out the chill of the December air. Christmas is next week and while many of the people who train at the gym have gone home to be with family, my family—both blood and not—live right here in Charleston so I have nowhere to go.
Marshall waves a hand at me and pairs it with a half smile. He seems to be limping or moving like he is in pain. I’m about to ask him if he is okay when he speaks. “Thank you for the reminder that I’m old. I can always rely on you to keep me humble.”
“Where’ve you been? You haven’t been here or at the bar as often as you normally are.” I bend over at the waist to step out of the ring and walk up to him.
“Who the hell are you, my mother?” He chuckles and bumps my fist. His breath is shallow and coming out in short bursts. “Just been busy, holiday season and what not. I had to get some affairs in order.” His eyes flit around the center and I follow his gaze.
“Reese isn’t here right now, he just left actually,” I explain, assuming that’s who he’s looking for.
“Damn, I needed to talk to him.” The tone of his voice makes my brows furrow, like he’s not telling me something. Is Butcher and Block in trouble? Is he stressed about that? He turns and looks at me again, making his face light and easy.
“You done?” he asks, nodding towards the ring.
“Yeah, I can be.” He nods silently and moves towards one of the metal fold out chairs along the wall and I follow him, lowering myself down into the chair next to his.
“What’s going on in your life? Fill me in.” His voice is raspy and worn.
“Nothing really, just hanging out with the guys and working at the bar. Training here like normal.”
“ And ?”
“And what?” I turn to look at him and he tilts his weathered forehead at me with his lips pulled into a straight line.
“I’ve known you a long time. Years. I’m your sponsor and your boss. I know when you’re not telling me something.” Leave it to him to know when I’m holding out. He isn’t wrong, behind my friends, he knows me better than anyone.
I push out a slow breath. “And there’s this girl,” I start before leaning my elbows on my knees and dropping my eyes towards the floor.
He chuckles softly beside me and pats me on the back reassuringly. “And there’s a girl.”
I turn my neck to look at him. “Her name is Ophelia.”
“Pretty name.”
“Pretty girl,” I nearly whisper, allowing the images of her smile and head in my lap from a few weeks ago fill my brain. How her fingers felt in my hair as she braided it and how she felt draped over me, fast asleep, our breath synchronizing in perfect harmony.
“You like this girl.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. Like he knows as much as I do how true that is.
Knowing there’s no sense in pretending with him because he sees through me like I’m a piece of glass, I nod. “I like her a lot.”
“And there’s an issue?” He raises a brow as I lean back in the chair, resting my head on the wall behind me.
“No, well, I don’t know. She just, it’s just…”
“You know, for a guy who always has his nose in a book, you’re doing a pretty shit job at using your words,” he chides and we both laugh.
“She’s amazing, but she doesn’t do relationships?—”
“So she’s you?” he deadpans, cutting me off.
“Would you let me finish?” I sigh and he raises his hands in apology and to signal me to continue.
“Yeah, she’s me. Doesn’t do relationships, doesn’t date, and doesn’t want labels. But, for the first time I do want all of those things and I want them with her. I don’t know, I guess I just don’t want to force her into something she doesn’t want.” I run my fingers through my hair and sigh again. I’ve done this circle in my head for weeks now. I like her, a lot, and for the first time in my life I want to be able to call someone my girlfriend. But she doesn’t want that and I’m worried about trying to convince her otherwise. The last thing I want is for her to feel trapped in something she doesn’t want.
“Can I give you a piece of advice from an old man like me who’s been around the block once or twice?”
“You’re not old,” I interject, looking at him again.
“Oh shut the hell up and listen,” he gripes. “If you like this girl, like you say you do, just keep showing her you care. Treat her right, don’t be an idiot, and let her come to you. You’re not going anywhere, are you?” I shake my head when he looks at me.
“And you’re not going to do anything dumb to fuck this up?” I shake my head again.
“Then just be a gentleman and do right by her. Women like it when men do that. Show her you care, that you’re there for her and that she can trust you.”
I look at the man who’s been more like a father figure to me for the last five years and for the first time really take in his features. Deep green eyes that remind me of a soft patch of grass and cracks and crevices in his skin that show off all the life he’s lived. His hair is thin and his bushy gray eyebrows are wild and carefree, the last remaining remnants of the type of man he used to be. He drops a hard hand on my knee and gives me a tired smile.
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I hope you do. And if that fails, well, who the hell am I to give advice? I’ve been divorced three times.” He gives me a curt nod and doubles over in laughter. After collecting himself, his face morphs into a solemn expression.
“What?” I ask, furrowing my brows at him.
“How are you feeling with Christmas coming up? Are you spending it with your mom and dad?”
Oh. The mention of my parents causes a sense of shame and disappointment to wash over me. Two emotions I never feel short of when it comes to them. I purse my lips and bite the inside of my cheek before speaking. “Yeah, I’m spending a few days at their place. Umma’s really excited to have me spending the holiday with them but you know how my dad feels about me.”
“Your father loves you,” he says more confidently than I feel about it.
“My father loves when I stay away. I’m the family disgrace, remember?” After I was released from rehab, I attempted to live at home for a few months. But the tension between my father and I became too much to handle and my desire to use again became too strong so I moved out with Marshall’s help. He set me up in my current apartment and helped me pay my rent until I had earned enough at the bar to cover my own expenses. He became more like a father to me than my own because my own wanted nothing to do with me.
The pressure to perform and succeed matched with unrealistic expectations set by my parents is what pushed me to use in the first place. The deep seeded need to please them, to make them proud, to achieve their dreams, is what forced me over the edge as I worked to push myself to greater heights. On my way to making them proud, I developed the toxic coping skills of popping pills and going on weekend long benders. When I got clean, I dropped out of school to focus on my recovery and in return, dropped out of my parents’ good graces.
Their only son, a junkie.
In other words—a failure.
After I moved out, I didn’t hear from either of them for weeks until one day, I got a message from my mom. She and I had always been close. She showed me care and compassion as I grew up and never hesitated to show me I was loved. But she also loved my father and was raised to be a traditional Korean woman. I’ll never forget how it felt to get a message from her for the first time. We stayed in touch this way for months. I asked how she and dad were doing and she asked me about my friends and the bar. After a year or so, we met for probably the most uncomfortable cup of coffee I’ve ever had, but it was a step. I only recently started talking to my dad again and even then, it’s in short bursts. This is the first Christmas we will spend together in years.
“You’re not a disgrace, son.” The feeling of Marshall’s hand on my shoulder grounds me and helps to dispel some of the guilt I feel chewing away at my heart. “You went through a rough patch, but you got through it. Grew through it. You need to remember that.”
I blow out a breath. “I know.”
“You made some poor choices, but you’re stronger than your addiction and you prove that every day you wake up and choose not to use again. Your parents see that.”
“Do they? Because any time we talk for more than five minutes my dad likes to remind me about how weak I am and how disappointed he is that I couldn’t rise to the standards expected of me.” I try a chuckle but it comes out as more of a pained snort.
“Most people don’t understand what pushes a person to use for the first time. The pressure they’re under, the darkness they’re carrying. How heavy the world feels on their shoulders. Just because they don’t understand doesn’t mean your feelings are invalid,” he recants the speech I’ve heard a hundred times at this point. “You don’t need to convince them of your feelings. You need to show them that you’re stronger than the drugs that made you believe you were too weak for this world.”
We hold one another’s gaze for a moment and exchange a silent understanding that only people like us understand. That there’s always going to be people out there who believe we are weak for being addicts, even if we’re in recovery. That people out there—the ones who have never battled with the inner demons that justify drugs or alcohol as a means for survival—will never truly understand what it’s like to be us.
Hurt. Scarred. But still trying like hell to keep our heads above water.
“I know.” I nod my head finally. “I’m just nervous, that’s all. I’m staying at their house for the first time for a few days—Umma’s request. Christmas Eve through the day after Christmas, since the bar will be closed.”
“I think that’s a great idea. I’m sure that’ll make her really happy. Don’t forget to pack enough books.” He winks at me and nudges his elbow into my arm.
“I won’t.” I laugh easily and try to ignore the tension collecting in my shoulders as I think about spending three days at my parents’ house next week.
“I’m always in your corner, you know that.” When he says the words that have become our version of ‘I love you,’ I look at him and can’t help but give him a tight smile. He has always been in my corner, since the first day I met him.
“I know you are, and I’m always in yours.”