Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
CHASE
I couldn’t stop checking my phone for Elena’s daily schedule, like some lovesick teenager waiting for a text.
When she’d started sharing it with me without hesitation, something in my chest had loosened—a tiny victory I probably didn’t deserve.
These days, I structured my entire life around those hospital shifts, filling every spare moment between the cidery and ski lessons with whatever Elena would let me do for her.
Jeff had shocked the hell out of me by offering one last chance at the resort—emphasis on last. The don’t fuck this up had been implicit in his tone.
Between that and the cidery job Elliot had grudgingly given me, I was keeping busy.
And staying busy meant less time to think about Elena, about the baby, about all the ways I could still mess this up.
Today, I was planning to replace the rotting steps on her back porch with Dad.
The wood had practically crumbled under my boots when I’d checked them last week, and the thought of Elena—pregnant Elena—navigating that death trap in the middle of the night had me calling my father before I could think twice.
I knew fuck-all about carpentry, and the last thing Elena needed was me botching a home repair on top of everything else.
But that would have to wait. Right now, I was white-knuckling my steering wheel, driving an hour south to see Jackson.
One week out of rehab, and I already had more to confess than I knew what to do with.
Seven days of sobriety that felt more like seven years.
I’d made it to meetings whenever I wasn’t working, though some nights I’d just sat there in silence, counting the seconds until I could escape.
It’d been a helluva week, but I liked to think Jackson would be proud of my first seven days outside the walls of Harbor Hall. Turned out, he had a lot to say, but it wasn’t, “I’m so proud of you, Chase, good work.”
When I sat on the couch opposite the leather chair in his office, his exact words were, “Dude, what the hell?”
Today’s session wouldn’t be like our daily chats in Harbor Hall. Today, I was seeing Jackson in his outpatient office in another little coastal town, just like Sable Point.
“I’m sorry?” I reared back, a little offended that those were the first words out of his mouth.
Jackson’s face hardened as he stared me down from his leather chair. My fingers drummed against the arm of the couch, a nervous habit I’d picked up in rehab.
“I texted you six days ago. You said you were heading into a meeting. I messaged you again two hours later, and I haven’t heard back since.”
A grin tugged at my lips despite the guilt gnawing at my gut. The concern in his voice warmed something inside me, even as I tried to deflect it.
“Awe, Jacky, were you worried about me?”
His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing behind his thick-rimmed glasses. The familiar look of disappointment made me squirm like a kid caught sneaking cookies.
“Don’t deflect. What’s going on? You’re here, and you look good. So what gives?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to razz him for saying I looked good, but I’d just get scolded like a damn child again. My palms grew an uncomfortably clammy as I spilled the truth instead.
“Elena’s pregnant.”
Jackson jerked back in his chair, leather creaking beneath him. The reaction would’ve been comical if my heart wasn’t trying to pound its way out of my chest.
“How pregnant?”
“Twenty-four weeks.”
The math clicked behind his eyes. “So it’s yours, then.”
My stomach twisted. “Not necessarily.”
I watched his expression shift as he processed everything I’d confessed during our sessions at Harbor Hall—the drinking, the blackouts, the mess I’d made of things with Elena. The moment it all connected, his eyes went wide.
“Oh, fuck.”
“Pretty much.”
“How long has it been? Since you had a drink?”
The number came easily—I’d been counting each day. “Ninety-one days.”
Pride bloomed across his face, softening the usual stern lines. “Shit, Chase. I’m so fucking proud of you.”
There it is.
The warmth in his voice made me want to squirm. Some might’ve called his cursing and casual demeanor unprofessional, but they’d never understood what I needed. Jackson had always been real—calling me on my bullshit while showing me exactly who I could become.
I cleared my throat, deflecting again. “Well, hold on to your horses, because I not only got one job, but two. And a sponsor. Go me.”
“That’s great, but don’t think we are done talking about this pregnancy.”
I shifted in my seat, sadly unable to escape his knowing look.
“There’s not much to say right now. It’s a girl, she’s due March 26.
It might be my baby, it might not. We haven’t talked about it much.
The first day I saw her, she fucking collapsed in my arms and let out what seemed like twelve weeks of tears. ”
Jackson nodded, his expression softening. “Makes sense. You were her safe space. She probably didn’t have a shoulder to cry on until you came home.”
“Nah, she still had Tessa.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “From what you’ve told me, she and Tessa are very close, but you knew her worst demons before her best friend ever did. She trusted you to keep her safe long before she was pregnant.”
My chest tightened as I remembered all the ways I’d failed her. “Yeah, and look at what a bang-up job I did.”
Jackson leaned back, fixing me with that look that meant he was about to call me on my bullshit. “Let’s talk about what you’re doing now. Two jobs, regular meetings, a sponsor. That’s not nothing, Chase.”
“It’s not enough.” The words were snappy—not at him, but at myself. “Not after everything she’s been through. Everything I put her through.”
“And what does Elena think about your efforts?”
I shifted again. What was it with fucking therapists and their questions? Can’t a man just self-loathe in peace?
“We haven’t really talked about it. I mean, I fix things around her house when I can. Make sure she’s safe. But...”
“But you’re avoiding the real conversations,” Jackson finished for me.
“I don’t want to push her.” My fingers tapped a steady rhythm against the armrest again. “She’s got enough stress with the baby and everything.”
“Has it occurred to you that maybe Elena needs to see you can handle the hard conversations now? That you’re strong enough to face things head-on instead of avoiding them or drowning them?”
The truth of his words would have knocked me on my ass if I wasn’t already sitting. All this time, I’d been trying to prove myself through actions—jobs, repairs, sobriety. But maybe what Elena really needed was for me to show up emotionally, to be present for the scary parts, the uncertain parts.
Jackson checked his watch. “Our time’s about up, but think about this: sometimes the strongest thing you can do is just show up and be vulnerable. No fixing required.”
I stood, my legs steadier than they’d been in weeks. “Thanks, Jack.”
“Same time next week?”
“Yeah.” I paused at the door. “And Jackson? I’ll answer your texts this time.”
His laugh followed me out into the cold December afternoon. As I climbed into my truck, my phone buzzed with a text from Dad about starting the porch repairs when I was back in an hour.
It needed to be done, and we’d fix them.
But maybe Jackson was right. Maybe it was time to stop fixing things and start facing them.