Three
A n hour later, I was being driven, in a fucking cage no less, to the local drug rehab charity, who’d miraculously found an appointment for me. I’d been pretty certain my unrealistic request would have been impossible to fulfil, but maybe I just kept underestimating the lengths my club would go to for one of their own.
Ryder was driving his old lady’s crappy old car, and I was in the passenger seat, glaring resentfully at every car we passed.
“I could have taken my bike.”
He cleared his throat. “Pres has it locked down for now, Ice, but the prospects are giving it the once over for you, since it was left unattended like that. No way he’d let you out anywhere alone right now anyway.”
I turned to glare at him instead of the poor passers-by, and let’s face it, he deserved it more than some fucking strangers.
“He doesn’t fucking own me, Ryder.”
He steered down a road into a commercial estate.
“He owns us all, and you fucking know it. That’s how the club works. We all agreed to trust him to do the right thing by us. That means helping us out of shit we can’t get out of. If you knew the pressure he has…” He trailed off, and I wanted to slap him.
“What pressure? Other than me being a fucking addict… what else is going on, man?” Being kept out of the loop really sucked, but I also found it hard to care about so many things right now.
He shrugged. “The usual. You’re aware the club voted against Alicia being his old lady?”
I hadn’t had a damn clue, but again, would I have cared if they’d mentioned it?
“But he married her. In front of everyone.”
“Yeah… but he can’t let her wear a club tattoo, because a couple of our brothers were assholes about her.”
“What did she do?”
He parked up outside a smart office building.
“Jesus… there’s so much you missed, you know, while you were taking a long old nap.”
I felt my lips twitch, an almost grin. An almost response.
“Did she hurt the club?”
“It looked like she’d been the cause of what happened to you.”
Fucking hell . I unlatched my seatbelt and rubbed at my hair. It was driving me nuts lately. It used to be my fucking pride and joy, and now I hated the way it felt, not just to my fingers, but on my head. Everything about my body felt wrong. Everything was out of sync.
“She wasn’t.”
He nodded, getting out of the car, and walking with me to the door. He pressed a button on the intercom and announced our arrival, and then we were buzzed in. The waiting room was smart, and empty.
For a drug rehab centre, it was far less crappy than I’d expected. Normally they don’t waste money on making somewhere like this so nice, just for people like me to mistreat the place. I knew that, because I’d been in rehab before. It hadn’t worked then, and it wouldn’t work now. It was a waste of fucking time .
“Yeah, well… enough brothers got in their heads that she’s bad for the club, so even though Reacher married her and moved her in, she can’t officially be classed as his old lady. She really cares about the members of the club, but unless she can win them over, any re-vote will just go the same way.”
“I could punch them in the nuts until they change their minds.” My offer was a joke. Nothing more. I didn’t care enough. I didn’t care about anything except how my body and mind felt, and how my environment felt jarring, and abrasive. Everything did. How the hell would talking to some stranger make any of that go away, or improve? It was bullshit, but at least it’d look like I’d tried.
“Mr Silver?” The prim-looking woman who stepped out into the waiting room looked from me to Ryder, and then her eyes came back to mine. How did she know? Did I look as strung out and destroyed as I felt?
Ryder nudged me when I didn’t move.
“Yeah, it’s him. I’ll wait here.”
He was already sitting down when I turned to flip him a middle finger. A delicate sound of a throat being cleared made me turn back. Her lips quirked for a fraction of a second.
“If you’re finished here, we can go to my office. I’m Doctor Chase.”
Jesus . I followed her into her office.
Lissa
I could already tell that he was going to be as resistant as possible, just because he didn’t want to be here. Don’t get me wrong, nobody wants to be counselled through their struggle to fight addiction, but he looked ready to bolt, before we’d even started.
I led him into my office, and gestured to the sofa in the corner. My armchair was opposite, and I waited until he took a seat before I sat in front of him.
“Water?” I poured a glass and passed it to him, and he just stared at it, both hands cupped around the plastic glass.
“Does it seriously help? Why does everyone keep offering me fucking water?” I sat back, and watched him for a moment. He was lost in thought, and wasting his chance to talk things out.
He was attractive. Probably around my age, or maybe younger. It was hard to tell with addicts, because their faces often showed evidence of their struggles, and the toll drugs had taken on them. It aged people faster. I knew that from personal experience. It was part of my reason for doing the job I’d chosen.
“You don’t need to drink it, Mr Silver. May I call you Damon?”
He shrugged, setting the drink down on the coaster. He wasn’t dressed like a biker, but the man with him had been. He’d worn one of those leather waistcoats with the patches on. The way they interacted with each other told me they were likely both in the same club.
“So, who forced you to come here today?” I smiled when he looked at me, shock crossing his face.
“How did you know?”
I carefully crossed my legs, making sure I didn’t flash him, even though a tiny part of me almost wanted to. What the hell was that about?
“Nobody ever wants to be here, Mr… Damon. It’s just something that needs to happen, for you to come to terms with what’s happened so far, and how you build a future, without the chemical assistance.”
“Chemical assistance. Why don’t you just call it what it is? Drugs. Fucking dependence. I know what I am.” His tone was bitter, and he was glaring at me. Even angry, he was incredibly attractive . I wasn’t supposed to focus on that. It was unprofessional. His hair was a light greyish blonde, and looked like he’d pulled at it a lot. It was spiky, but looked strangely soft too, like it would feel nice on my fingers.
“Addiction usually happens for a reason, Damon. Whatever it was that first led you to try drugs as a solution, or a form of self-medicating, that’s the underlying issue that you might need to work on. But let’s get real here. Drug withdrawal is nasty. How long have you been clean?”
He grimaced, leaning back on my sofa, and glancing around the small office. It was painted in light shades, with dark furniture, and soothing paintings on the walls. Scenery. Beautiful places. Calming things. His eyes paused briefly on each picture, before he finally met my eyes again. I was used to it. Avoidance was a classic trick when people were trying to waste the time allotted to them.
“ long fucking weeks. Actually… I was… I wasn’t conscious for some of it, so it should feel like less, but it doesn’t. It feels like forever, and yet I can remember how it feels to function at that level the drugs kept me at. Like it was yesterday. Like it was an hour ago, and I’m just fucking sinking into hell. Is that what you wanted to hear? Do you want me to detail how every fucking inch of me is aching. Painful. Like I’ve been… oh wait , like I’ve been stabbed. I didn’t tell you that bit. It’s a lovely story. Boy meets bastard with knife, and wakes up from a coma a week later. Oh… and some other bastards thought it was their place to put him through fucking detox at that time.”
He was trying to shock me, or upset me, but it wasn’t working. Wait… no, it was working, but not for the reasons he expected. It upset me that someone had hurt him in that way. It made me want to hold him. My god, I’m verging on inappropriate behaviour. I needed to rein in that part of me that found him endearing, and vulnerable, and… yes, dammit… hot .