Chapter 32
Matteo
“Hey boss, how you holding up?” Anthony asks.
“About like you’d expect.”
“Anything you need? Are they treating you right?”
“No.” I chuckle. “But that’s kind of their job.”
As I pace the hallway, I glance up to find a plaque hanging on the wall beside the Harris wing of the main building. In all of the times I’ve walked past here, I hadn’t noticed it before.
This wing is named in memory of Jake Harris,
loving father, husband, doctor, and friend.
He dedicated his life to helping heal those around him.
I’m certain a sizeable donation had to be made to name an entire wing after someone. Had he been a patient? Or maybe he was on staff here. It said he was a doctor. Gazing up at the inscription, I run my hand through my hair as I resume striding back and forth.
I’ve noticed I seem to have more nervous energy now than ever before. Will this go away once I’m back home? Or will I forever be wearing this cloak of irritation prickling at me?
Westhampton Wellness is one of the best inpatient addiction recovery programs in the country. Giovanni spoke with a few of his billionaire boys’ club members, as I refer to them, and they located a top-notch residential treatment center located within an hour of The Devil’s Playground.
The place seemed massive when we arrived, but then again, my brain was pretty saturated in scotch at that time. It’s set on twenty-five acres of land and has a main lodge that houses classrooms, patient rooms, a gym, a spa, a library, and an art studio. They have yoga, meditation, nature, and even adventure therapy. Whenever my mind starts heading in a place that’s not healthy for me, there are options to focus on something constructive.
I attend individual and group therapy sessions daily as well as assorted weekly activities that not only focus on my addiction to alcohol, but any mental health issues that may be a trigger to self-medicate. They even offer family therapy, yet I’m committed to tackling this on my own.
I need to get dry for me and me alone. So, I can offer my wife a life I know I can manage with the right support system in place. There’s no way I’d allow her to shoulder the burden of this disease. And I know her. She’d make it her mission to get me through this.
This is my problem. Not hers.
I want her support. Not her codependence.
While much of my rehab is tailored to my alcoholism, the facility works with addicts of all kinds. Drugs, alcohol, sex, food. You name it. Compulsions have no boundaries. They seem to have an overall handle on the residents staying here. Yet, those with addictive personalities are a manipulative bunch. I should know. I had a front-row seat growing up with it. And not just my father, but many of the men he surrounded himself with had no control over their addictions. Alcohol, drugs, women. I observed it all firsthand at a very early age.
It should’ve made this seem normal. As if these cravings were acceptable, but I saw what his behavior did to the people I loved. Hell, it might not have been the alcohol, merely his vile character. Yet his vices all but lit the match. And I’ve learned the hard way that itch is always festering beneath the surface. If someone snaps and wants a fix, they’ll find it. So, I’ve tried to keep to myself. I don’t need to make friends here. Especially friends who often slither in low places.
There are both private and semi-private rooms in the main building as well as separate gender specific housing for those that want some distance from the day-to-day activities. I’ve chosen a private room in the main hall. Residing in one of the houses felt too much like a boarding house. I’m not interested in socializing with any of the people here. What’s more, I can’t risk having access to some cunning snake who manages to sneak booze or drugs under the radar. Because there’s one in every crowd.
With eggshell-colored walls and minimal decorations, my space is tastefully furnished with luxurious linens, a queen size bed, nightstand, dresser, and a private en suite bathroom. The entire facility has a tranquil, peaceful vibe about it. Like they pipe in aromatherapy through the vents or something. Not the antiseptic scent in the air I expected when I arrived here. It’s far from clinical. Hell, an executive chef prepares meals equal to any top restaurant I’ve visited.
Honestly, minus the withdrawal symptoms I suffered through when I arrived, and the daily therapy, this place could easily double as a four or five-star resort. I’m incredibly grateful to have a clean, serene place to finally do the hard work. As opposed to the smelly old roach infested operation, my cousin had wished upon me during one of my recent benders.
It’s been two months. I’m making headway, but once I have these overbearing demons off of my shoulder, I don’t ever want to look back. So, I’ve committed to at least one more month, but haven’t ruled out more.
I have yet to communicate with anyone since I arrived. Felt it was best to put enough distance between me and the outside world so I wasn’t tempted to bolt. Or worse, head straight to a liquor store. But after making it this far, I’ve given myself some leeway.
And I need to know.
I start to ask, then hesitate. I’m not certain he’ll even answer me. Hell, Giovanni’s probably instructed him to avoid any questions about Sydney while I’m here. “Anthony, how is she?”
“I’m not sure I should tell you.”
When Anthony dropped off some personal items last month, I asked him to send Sydney flowers after my second month was complete, so she’d know I was thinking of her. Did he even send them? Had G instructed him to avoid anything and everything as it relates to her? “Do you know if she got the flowers?”
“Oh, she got ’em all right.”
Uh oh. “What does—”
“She was standing over them in the driveway. I kept wondering how much longer ’til one of the neighbors was going to call the fire department.”
That little brat.
I can’t help but chuckle. I’ve never loved anyone more. “Just keep a close eye on her, Anthony. You’re my eyes and ears while I’m—”
“We’ve got this, Matteo. You just take care of business. I promise on my life we’ve got her.”
“Thanks, Anthony. I owe you one.”
“You come out of there without needing me to go looking for your drunk ass or clean anything else off the floor of the car, and we’re good.”
I cringe. Hell. The shit I’ve put this guy through . All of them. I may be focused on how much I’ve hurt Sydney, but all of my family and friends deserve both my gratitude and sober living for standing by me through thick and thin.
“Okay, back to it. I’ll reach out in another month.”
“You’ve got this, boss.”
Now that I’ve gotten my fix, I can concentrate. I know my girl. She’s not giving up on me.
Smoldering roses or not.