Chapter 12 Austin
austin
I hadn’t meant to word vomit, but the words came out before I could soften them. I expected her to react, maybe to get uncomfortable or shift in her seat. I half expected her to run and get as far away from me as possible.
Instead, she shook her head slightly, her expression calm, and stayed right there.
It was clear she hadn’t Googled me and didn’t know the backstory.
“I’m an alcoholic,” I repeated, trying to keep my voice even. “I got caught up in drugs and drinking while I was playing. It got bad, really bad. When I realized I was risking my life, I quit and went to rehab.”
There was no judgment in her eyes, only a quiet understanding. Without a word, she undid her seat belt and got out of the car, grabbing the other grocery bag from her side.
She stood there for a moment, then looked at me. “Wanna walk and talk?”
I nodded, grabbed the bag from her, and guided her toward the lake. It wasn’t secluded but far enough that the lake wasn’t polluted by the noises of the road or people in the parking lot. I’d also gotten a blanket from the trunk.
“Wha—”
“I got married in the middle of my addiction but had no idea what I was doing.” I spoke in such a low voice that I wasn’t sure if she heard me.
“I thought everything was fine. I went to rehab, came back, got to play again, but it was all downhill from there. I learned that I needed to go to rehab again because I wanted it. I wanted to get better, to feel more like myself.”
“And did you?”
I huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. I spent a year in an intensive rehab program in Malibu and then the rest in a sober living house. This technically is my first year on my own in . . . a long time.”
I waited, bracing myself for the inevitable judgment or criticism, for her to tell me how I should’ve handled things differently. That’s what everyone else in my life had done. They told me I should’ve been smarter, stronger, or that I should’ve quit before it got so bad.
“How do you feel?”
“Oh, how do I feel about being sober? Well, it’s not exactly a party. It sucked, and it still sucks sometimes.”
She shook her head. “No, not that. How do you feel right now, in this moment, about telling me all this?”
Her question caught me off guard. I stared at her, a bit confused, unsure what she meant.
How I feel about telling her?
That wasn’t something anyone had ever asked me before. People were always more concerned with how I was managing my sobriety or if I was “doing okay.” They tiptoed around me. Fuck. I tiptoed around myself.
“I, uh . . .”
Her big, bright amber eyes stayed fixed on me, full of genuine curiosity. I turned away for a second, still waiting for the condescending remark, something to undercut what I’d shared. Yet there was nothing. Just her standing there, waiting for an answer.
“I feel better for finally getting that out. This is the first time I’ve been around a girl doing . . .” We never officially called this a date, so I wasn’t sure what to say. “Bucket list stuff.”
“Yeah. It can be pretty intimate to do bucket list stuff with people. I mean”—she bumped me in the shoulder—“you did already see me naked in the lake.”
I chuckled. “Yeah. I guess we’re already pretty close on that level.”
We continued on the path that curved toward the lake. On this side, we were alone, with only a couple of fishermen off in the distance on the far end. The lake, though small, was big enough that it gave us some privacy. The space between us felt intimate, quiet.
“Thank you,” I said, leading us toward an old wooden picnic table beneath a sprawling oak tree. “Thanks for letting me say all that.”
“Anytime.”
She brushed the satin fabric of her skirt, and I realized that I might have misunderstood—or underestimated—how casual her request to come to the lake had been.
My mind was racing, stressing out over every little detail.
I should’ve done more for her. The times I’d seen her at school, she was in a T-shirt and pants.
Now she looked fancier. Was that a part of the bucket list?
What did that mean? This would’ve been the first date—or whatever the heck it was—since my divorce.
Did everyone overthink like this during a date? Was this normal?
I glanced down at my hands, half expecting them to be shaking, but I let out a breath when I noticed they were fine.
Charlie wrapped her fingers around mine, and I looked up. “What’s going on?”
“I-I didn’t bring much. I, uh—” I held up the grocery bag like it was some grand explanation. “Just some stuff I grabbed last minute.”
She hiked up her skirt and perched on the top of the picnic bench, looking completely at ease. “Nah. This is perfect. Anything fancier and I probably would’ve felt underdressed.”
Tension eased as I smiled and joined her at the top of the table, emptying the plastic bags between us.
Out came a few bags of chips, two cans of sparkling water, a couple of Diet Cokes, and an assortment of chocolate bars that tumbled out onto the table.
It was a pretty mismatched spread, and I cringed a little at how thrown-together it looked.
She grinned. “You brought all my favorites.” She picked up one of the chocolates and turned toward me, her body vibrating with excitement.
“Oh my god. We should pretend like we’re on one of those cooking shows.
” She grabbed another chocolate bar and shoved it in my lap.
“We should do a taste test while we wait for the sunset.”
“Really?” There was no way this was actually fun for her. It felt so . . . relaxed, unplanned.
“Yeah. When I was growing up, my parents were so strict about everything.” She peeled off the packaging of the chocolate. “My mother is very strict with me—what I eat, what I do for work, who I hang out with, what events I attend on the weekend . . . and a whole slew of other things in my life.”
She closed her eyes as she took a bite of the chocolate bar. “This,” she said as she opened her eyes and looked right at me. “This is so against anything she’d ever let me do, and yet this couldn’t feel more perfect to me.”
“You’re not in some kind of rebellion phase, are you?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.
I’d been down that road before with Nova, and it hadn’t ended well.
“I’ve heard that my entire life — being called rebellious, being told I needed to stop breaking the rules my mom set out for me.
And yeah, the list was my rebellion. But not the kind you think.
It’s not about acting out for the sake of it.
It’s about choosing a life aside from the one she mapped out for me. ”
The guilt hit me hard as it twisted in my chest. “I’m sorry,” I said, the words tumbling out as I realized how my comment might have echoed her mom’s.
She shook her head, brushing it off with a small smile. “It’s fine.” She handed me her chocolate bar. “Let’s trade. This one’s a solid seven.” She held up the chocolate with a playful smirk. “What’s your rating?”
The way she moved us from serious to light was something I wasn’t used to. My life had been all seriousness lately—focusing, trying to heal, always pushing forward. She was like a breath of fresh air, filling spaces in my lungs I didn’t know could open up anymore.
I took a bite of the chocolate bar. “Alright, I’d give this one an eight.” I handed her the bar, and she jumped up and stood on the bench.
“Look,” she shouted, excitement lighting up her face as she pointed toward the horizon. Her voice was full of energy, and her eyes sparkled.
I hesitated for a second, staying seated. If I got up and stood on the bench too, my weight would definitely tip the entire table over. “What am I looking for?” I asked, leaning forward slightly to try and see what had captured her attention.
“The sunset.” She smiled, eyes still locked on the horizon.
I followed her gaze, and there it was—a brilliant explosion of orange and pink spreading across the sky, the sun melting down into the water’s edge. The light reflected off the surface of the lake, turning it into a shimmering canvas of colors.
The sight was breathtaking. It was the two of us, the sky painted in shades of fire, and the quiet, steady rhythm of the water lapping against the shore.
“I spent years thinking about this.”
“About what?”
“Sitting here. Watching the sunset with someone else who just . . . gets it.”
Her words hung in the air, and I knew exactly what she meant. There was beauty in the small, simple things that made life feel full. I could see it in the way she looked at the horizon, how the colors reflected in her eyes.
“The big lake is beautiful and all,” she murmured, turning to face me, “but nothing beats this.”
Her thick red lips parted as she took a bite of chocolate and let out the smallest, contented sigh.
It was a sound so soft, so genuine, that it stirred something inside me.
The way she savored that bite, the way she let herself enjoy this tiny, perfect moment made me want to reach out and pull her into my arms. I imagined holding her close, feeling her warmth against me as we watched the sun dip completely below the horizon, waiting for the moon to rise and cast its glow over the water.
The urge was so strong, but I held back, my hands resting on the table as I watched her. This moment, this quiet connection between us, felt like its own kind of intimacy.
“Thank you for helping me check this off my bucket list.” Her shoulders fell as she put the bar down.
“Anytime, Ms. Honey.”
The corners of her lips pulled into a smile, and that urge inside me stirred so intensely that eventually I cracked.
“Fuck it,” I murmured.
I reached out, sliding my hand around her waist and tugging her down beside me.
She perched on the tabletop at my side, her body warm and soft against mine, and I did my best to keep my eyes fixed ahead, resisting the temptation to glance down at her breasts as they pressed lightly against me.
I tightened my fingers on her waist, feeling the curve of her hips beneath the fabric.
When she sagged into me, melting into the embrace, I let my chin rest gently on the top of her head.
Her hair brushed my skin, soft and carrying a faint scent of something sweet.
We both settled, the tension easing as we stared out at the horizon in silence, the colors of the sunset reflecting off the water.
The stillness wrapped around us like a blanket.