Chapter 34 Jay #2
"I don't want to wait for us to be together," he says. "I found you and I don't want to be apart anymore. I don't want to drive back and forth. I don't want to only see you on weekends. I want you with me all the time."
"I want that too and I'm not asking you to wait forever.
I'm not asking you to put your life on hold indefinitely.
" I sit back down on the edge of the bed.
"I'm just asking you to let me get my feet under me first. Let me deal with my shit before I come into your life and make a mess of everything you've built. "
"What does that mean? Get your feet under you?"
"It means I need to deal with the arrest myself.
Figure out what I owe, what I'm facing, what my options are.
Do I need a lawyer? Can I represent myself?
What are the consequences? I need to know.
" I take a breath. "I need to pay Mick back because he took a chance on me when he had no reason to, and I won't let him down.
And I need to work on the drinking. Really work on it.
Not just white-knuckling through the weekends when you're here to distract me, but actually dealing with the root of it. "
"And what am I supposed to do? Just sit at home and hope you're okay?"
"You can still visit me. Call me every night like we planned.
Text me during the day. Be patient with me.
" I finally reach out and take his hand, lace our fingers together.
"Let me try to become someone who deserves you.
Someone Rosalyn can look at and think, okay, I get it, I understand why Ivan chose him.
Not someone she looks at and sees every red flag in the book.
Not someone who makes her worry about her license and her kids. "
"You already deserve me."
"Give me time to believe that too, then.
" I squeeze his fingers, hold on tight. "I'm not going to be your charity project.
I'm not going to be the broken thing you drag home and try to fix with love and good intentions.
When I come to you, it's going to be because I've earned it.
Because I've done the work. Because I can look you and Rosalyn and those kids in the eye and know I'm not putting anyone at risk. "
A tear escapes down his cheek, cuts a track through his face, and he wipes it away angrily with the back of his hand.
"Fuck, I hate that you're right," he says finally. "I hate everything about this conversation."
"I hate it too. I hate that this is our reality, but it is and we can't ignore it."
"I want you with me. All the time. I don't want to leave you here alone, knowing you're struggling, knowing you might—" He stops, can't finish.
"Might what? Drink? Fall apart?" I don't look away from him.
"Yeah. I might. That's the truth. I might fail.
I might fuck this up. But I'm less likely to do it if I'm working toward something.
If I have a goal. If I know that every day I stay sober is a day closer to being with you for real. To earning my place in your life."
"You promise you'll work on it? Not just say you will?"
"I promise. I'll call about the arrest on Monday. I'll find out what I'm dealing with."
"And you'll deal with the drinking?"
"I'll try. I can't promise I won't slip. I can't promise it'll be easy or fast. But I'll try."
"And if you need money..." He holds up his hand when I start to protest. "Just listen.
Please. If you need money and you can't get it anywhere else, if there's literally no other option, you tell me.
Promise me, you won't just suffer in silence or let things get worse because you're too proud to ask for my help. "
I want to argue. I want to tell him I'll never take his money, that I'll figure it out on my own no matter what, that I'd rather go to jail than be his charity case.
But I think about jail. I think about what happens if I can't pay whatever fines or fees or restitution the court decides I owe. I think about losing my job because I'm locked up. I think about losing everything because I was too stubborn to accept help when I had no other options.
"If it's the only option," I say. "If I've exhausted everything else. Every other possibility. I'll tell you. I won't just let things go to hell."
He pulls me into a hug, tight and fierce. I hold him back just as hard, breathing him in, trying to memorize the smell of him. Trying to hold onto this feeling for the week ahead when he won't be here.
"Every night at nine," he says against my hair. "You call me. Or I call you. No matter what."
"That's a deal."
"And if you're struggling, if the cravings hit, if you're thinking about drinking, you call me immediately. I don't care what time it is. I don't care if I'm asleep or at work or in the middle of something. You call me."
"I will."
He pulls back just enough to look at me, and his eyes are red, his face blotchy from crying.
"I believe in you," he says. "Even if you don't believe in yourself yet. Even if you think you're going to fail. I believe you can do this."
I want to believe him more than anything. I want that certainty, that faith.
I take a breath. "When you were twelve, you looked at me like I was the strongest person in the world.
I need to be that person again. Someone you can rely on, not just someone you worry about constantly.
" I cup his face in both hands. "Let me earn my way back to being your equal instead of your project.
When I come to you, it'll be because I deserve to stand beside you. "
He kisses me then, full of everything we're not saying. I kiss him back with everything I have.
Today isn't goodbye.
But it feels like something ending.