Chapter 6 #2
The dampness in the air chilled me to the bone, despite my trench coat.
I kept my head down as we dodged puddles and weaved along the sodden city streets in search of something Tallus might enjoy for lunch.
He was easy to please when it came to food.
Coffee was a given. He limited himself to two cups a day due to migraines, but apart from the morning latte I’d bought him on our way to Evergreen, he hadn’t had another.
His caffeine levels would reach the danger zone if I didn’t top him up soon.
The spark of joy and giddiness he got upon seeing a steaming mug of coffee always made me fall in love with him all over again, so I went out of my way to deliver those small pleasures every chance I got.
And peanut butter cookies. Always peanut butter cookies.
Food and coffee were necessary, but they were an excuse to get out of the building.
I had other intentions on that blustery March day, and it took three blocks and two cigarettes to gather enough courage for what I planned, which was about three cigarettes and four blocks less than I anticipated, so go me. Small wins were worth celebrating.
Then again, it might have been the weather. The longer I was out, the more desperate I was to return to a heated building and Tallus.
I found a storefront with a scant awning, a front window, and a dry ledge wide enough to accommodate my ass. I sat and pulled out my phone. My heart rate instantly kicked up a notch, and despite the chill in my bones, my palms sweated.
When I did nothing more than stare at the device, Echo licked my fingers and chuffed.
She’d been in my life for a year, and I sometimes wondered if she could read my thoughts and understand the turmoil that swirled inside my chest day in and day out.
I gave her a voice and dialogue inside my head, even if it was stupid.
At that moment, she was telling me to do it already.
“I’m getting there. Gotta work up the nerve.”
Another chuff.
“I know it’s cold and wet, but… this is hard.”
She whined and shuffled to stand between my thighs, much like Tallus had done earlier.
“Okay. I hear you.”
I located Aslan Doyle’s name in my contact list and went over the words I’d practiced since my conversation with Ruiz. I’d programmed the number after our brief meeting the previous day, afraid that if I didn’t, I would go home and lose the paper. On purpose.
Ruiz had warned Doyle, so I knew the detective would be expecting my call sooner or later. I didn’t want to put it off indefinitely, or he might think I wasn’t serious. Until that moment, I’d had no clue that Aslan Doyle was an alcoholic. Why would I know? It wasn’t like we were friends.
Echo nudged my hand and vocalized a weird noise that almost passed for language.
I laughed and scratched her ear. “You’re persistent. Now or never, huh?”
According to Ruiz, Doyle and his husband had returned to work in January after six months of parental leave.
Their daughter would be nine months old.
I knew nothing about babies, but I had the feeling nine months was a busy age.
I didn’t want to bother Doyle in the evening when he was at home with his family, so I figured calling midday was best. If he was on a case, he might not answer, and that was okay.
He could return my call when it suited him.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I tapped his number and held the phone to my ear.
Closing my eyes, I rested my other hand on Echo’s neck, clinging lightly to her fur and loose skin.
My anchor. My rock. She grounded me, and I needed her support more than ever because this phone call was much harder than I anticipated.
Thankfully, pedestrian traffic was thin due to the weather. Cars splashed by in both directions along the road. Swollen rain clouds hung low over the city. A light breeze blew, misting rain under the awning. It dusted my face and coated Echo’s fur.
I shivered, counting rings, ready to hang up if his voicemail answered.
But no. Aslan picked up before that happened, his tone brusque and serious. “Doyle.”
A wash of adrenaline flooded my veins, and I cleared my throat. The words I’d carefully planned vanished, and I fucking stammered. “Um… H-hey. I… It’s… D-diem.”
A pause, and when I was certain he had not heard me properly and I was going to have to repeat myself, he said, “Krause? Shit. I was wondering if you’d call.”
A lightness that would have been more suitable if we were friends or co-workers replaced the stern cop-edge that I hated.
A snarky comment would likely kill any chance of procuring his help, so I bit my tongue and stayed silent, unsure what to say.
Of course, he was not going to let me off that easily. “So. To what do I owe the pleasure on this fine rainy day?”
It was going to be like that. He was going to make me say it. Fair enough. The problem was, I didn’t know how to say it. Hi, I’m a fucking train wreck, and instead of barreling headfirst into a brick wall, I thought you might help me. Yeah right.
Instead, I went with, “I got your number from Ruiz.”
“I know.”
I dug my fingers deeper into Echo’s fur, bending so I could rub my nose against her head. She smelled like wet dog, and I almost laughed for no reason at all except that my anxiety was high.
“L-look. I’m not good at this.” I fucking hated it when I tripped over words. I clenched my jaw and continued. “If you don’t throw me a bone, I’m going to hang up, and I don’t want to hang up. I need… I need…”
The word lodged in my throat. It had been so easy during the endless dress rehearsals in the bathroom mirror. Why couldn’t I say it?
Softer, Doyle asked, “What do you need, Krause?”
I squeezed my eyes tighter and thought of Tallus, of the love I had for him that I might never be able to express. About all the times I’d failed him. He deserved a world better, and I wanted to give him the best version of me possible.
“I need help.”
Doyle huffed a laugh. It was not an unkind sound, but somehow one of camaraderie. “It’s a hell of a thing to admit out loud, isn’t it? For the record, it doesn’t make you less of a man. I needed help once too, but it took me to hit rock bottom to admit it.”
I didn’t respond. I wasn’t sure how. I’d had no idea Playboy Aslan had ever struggled like me. Rock bottom? I’d landed there at eighteen and hadn’t been able to get my ass off the ground since.
“What’s your vice, Krause? Costa didn’t share, nor is it his place to ask.”
“Alcohol. Cigarettes.”
“Drugs?”
“No, but it’s been a problem in the past. Was in rehab once in my early twenties. Haven’t… Nothing since. I’ve had a few… thoughts, though. I-I haven’t acted.”
“Okay. Good. How do you feel about attending meetings?”
“AA?”
“Yeah.”
I’d been encouraged to attend NA meetings during those rehab days, but it had been a lot of years since I considered returning to the program. “I’m not… comfortable talking in front of people, and I… Well, it will come as no surprise that I have anger issues, so…”
“So? We all have issues, Krause. We all have triggers. Things that threaten to pull us under and want to keep us there. I won’t lie to you. This shit will never go away, so don’t expect to be miraculously cured.”
“I know.”
“But, once you learn usable skills, it does get more manageable with time. That, I can attest to. It is possible to live a sober life without feeling like a weight is crushing you all the time. To be honest, I don’t know you very well.
I don’t know your story, and you don’t know mine, but what I do know is that you have a track record for treating people like shit. ”
“Yeah.”
“If you’re an asshole to me, you’re on your own.”
It was only fair. Doyle was right, and if I was serious, I would need to learn to rein in the attitude. I hadn’t worked for the department in years. I wasn’t the same person I had been back then. Years of therapy had helped, but he wouldn’t know that.
“Deal.”
“To be clear, I am not responsible for your sobriety. You are. But I can offer my support, my encouragement, and I can help you work the program. I can be your sponsor, if you want. We may not click. I can attend meetings with you or answer the phone if you’re having a bad day and need to chat.
You might find someone better, but ultimately, you have to want this, or it will never happen. The program works if you work it.”
“I want it.”
“Why do you want it?”
I frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Wasn’t it obvious?
“The why is important too. Don’t answer me, but ask yourself, are you doing this for you or for someone else?”
For Tallus, I thought.
Then Aslan continued, and I felt an inch tall. “Because it has to be for you, Diem. You have to be the driving force behind your sobriety, or it won’t work. Do you know the first step in AA?”
Everyone did, didn’t they? It was the same variation as NA or any other twelve-step program. “Yeah. I am powerless over alcohol.”
He waited a beat, then added, “And my life has become unmanageable. Do you believe that?”
“Yes.”
“Do you, or are you just saying it to make me happy?”
“I believe it,” I said with more conviction.
“Say it if you believe it.”
“I am powerless over alcohol, and my life has become unmanageable.”
“Again.”
“I’m powerless over alcohol, and my life has become unmanageable.”
“There you go. Recovery starts when you decide to stop drinking. Cigarettes are not my wheelhouse, and from what I’ve seen, they don’t advise cutting out both at once.”
My doctor had told me the same, but I’d never listened. I’d always thrown myself in the deep end, convinced I could quit both together. And I’d failed every time, so maybe there was truth in his statement.
“Tell you what,” Doyle said, “There’s a meeting I like to attend on Wednesday afternoons at one thirty.
It’s secular and inclusive. Not that others aren’t inclusive, but this one is tailored to the rainbow crowd.
I feel more at home there than at some of the other ones.
You might too. If you can skip out of work for a couple of hours, how about we meet for lunch at noon?
We can chat a bit and go together. You don’t have to speak at meetings if you don’t want to.
Although I encourage it once you’re more comfortable. What do you say?”
I glanced along the wet street in both directions, then into the golden eyes of my support dog. “Let’s do it.”