Chapter 2
Chapter Two
MATT
December
I make my way up the long, winding roads.
It’s beautiful—snow-capped mountain views and trees blanketed in white.
I wish I could enjoy it, but I’m not present.
My mind’s spinning—thoughts of Jensen, Alley, and the past two years cloud everything.
It’s been insane. Never in a million years did I think I’d be picking up Jensen from a rehab facility in fucking Switzerland.
It’s been a rough year. Watching my best friend destroy his life.
Getting calls from Alley—hearing her cry, watching her crumble because of him.
I’m not a judgmental person by nature, but fuck, there were moments I wanted to pummel his ass.
We almost came to blows after she left. He showed up—completely fucked up—asking if I’d talked to her, where she was.
There was no reasoning with him when he was high. And when I didn’t give him what he wanted, he snapped. Shoved me. Accused me of lying. I shoved him back. He swung and missed, and ended up against the wall with my arm pressed to his throat and tears in his eyes.
It wrecked me. We’ve never fought before. Ever. I remember my own eyes burning as I stared into his and didn’t recognize him anymore.
He left after that, and I didn’t see or talk to him again until he showed up two weeks later, pleading for help.
No one ever talks about this shit. How addiction’s like a poison that seeps into every corner of the addict’s life.
It stains everyone in their path. Everything they touch.
Alley’s taken the brunt of it, that’s for damn sure.
I don’t know if anyone comes back from the kind of hell he put her through.
The tires crunch over gravel as I pull up the rehab’s long driveway.
I’m excited to see Jensen and to have my best friend back.
His counselors say he’s doing great, and when I talked to him last week, he sounded like himself again.
He seemed… happy. And knowing that, it feels like I’ve been given an extra tank of air.
I just wish Alley were here with me.
Alley. Definitely not a topic I’m looking forward to. And I know it’s all he’s going to want to talk about.
I haven’t shared much with him since he got here. Only what’s necessary, and only recently, to avoid setting him back.
I texted her before I left yesterday to let her know I was picking him up. She replied with, Thanks for letting me know. That’s it.
What the hell am I supposed to do with that? What am I supposed to tell Jensen? Sorry, man. She doesn’t fucking care? He’s her husband for Christ’s sake.
I shift into park, staring up at the massive building. It looks like a resort. It was impressive three months ago with all the fall colors, but something about it now gives off the impression that if you’re staying here, you’re rich as hell and better take this seriously.
Good. Because it was expensive as fuck.
I open the car door and step into the bitter cold, zipping my coat as I begin the hike from guest parking to the front entrance.
The building’s modern, set high and tucked into the mountain, with way too many damn stairs leading to the door.
It wasn’t an easy trek the first time with Jensen.
I mean, for fuck’s sake, people coming up these steps are usually fresh out of detox.
They barely have the energy to stand, let alone climb a staircase to redemption.
This place required him to be clean when he arrived, so after he came to me broken and desperate—at rock bottom—I sat with him for two weeks, helping him get through it.
Detox, withdrawal, all of it. Megan helped out when I had to leave for the occasional meeting I couldn’t afford to reschedule.
He didn’t leave mine or Megan’s sight the entire time.
She wasn’t happy about it. And she sure as hell didn’t do it for Jensen. She did it for me and for Alley.
Megan’s pissed at Jensen—empathy’s never been her strongest quality. But I asked her to do it because I knew he wouldn’t pull any shit with her. She can hold her own. Honestly? She’s a little scary sometimes.
I finally reach the entrance and swing open the heavy glass door.
I can’t even pronounce the name engraved across it, something that roughly translates to wellness and refuge of Lucerne.
It’s the most expensive rehab in Europe, on every list when you Google top rehabs in the world.
Their success rate is one of the highest. I didn’t care where it was or how much it cost. Jensen’s like a brother. I’d do anything for him. Period.
I check in at the front desk and take a seat in the lobby while I wait for a counselor to take me back. My mind wanders, and suddenly my palms go clammy and my stomach twists.
I’m glad Jensen came to me—that he trusted me to be his person here. But it feels like it should be Alley sitting here.
The counselor said they’d tell him she filed, but what’s going to happen when that reality hits him? When I’m the one who has to tell him just how bad it really is? What if he relapses again?
I let out an exhale. This whole situation is fucked.
Alley came to see me before she left for Chicago—to tell me goodbye on her way out. She came back two weeks later to grab a few things from the apartment. I’ve never seen her look more defeated. She quit her job, packed her shit in a bag, and left. It killed me. It’s still killing me.
And if I’m struggling to handle it, how the hell is Jensen supposed to?
My stomach twists tighter thinking about it. Having to break that news. To see his face. To knock him down when he’s finally clawed his way out of the hell.
I sink deeper into the couch. He asked about Alley every time we talked. I avoided the question every time. Acted like I didn’t know.
As much as I want them to work out, I’m not holding my breath. Alley’s done. She’s my friend, and I care about her. But she never asks about Jensen. I just hope he’s not clinging to some false sense of what’s waiting for him back home.
My phone vibrates in my back pocket, and I pull it out.
Megan
Do you have him yet? How is he?
A small smile tugs at my upper lip. She cares more than she lets on.
Not yet. I’m here now. Just waiting.
Moments later, I’m greeted by a middle-aged man named Tobias. He leads me down a quiet hallway to a small office with three chairs in front of a desk.
“Thanks for coming, Matt,” he says, settling into his chair. “Jensen’s made a lot of progress. I think you’ll see that for yourself, but I wanted to give you a bit of a heads-up before he gets here and we go over everything.”
I sit, nodding slowly. “I’m all ears.”
He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “He’s clear-headed. Engaged. He’s worked the steps. Been brutally honest in therapy. Group work, individual sessions, developing good habits, working out… he’s done it all. We’re proud of how far he’s come.”
I swallow the lump rising in my throat. “That’s good. That’s really good.”
“It is. But he’s still holding on to the idea that he’ll win Alley back.”
Shit. There it is.
“He’s not delusional,” Tobias adds quickly. “He knows it won’t be easy, but… he hasn’t fully let go of that hope yet. And in recovery, sometimes that kind of hope is what keeps people grounded.”
“So, he’s doing well, but she’s still his motivation?” I ask.
“Part of it, yes. The rest is genuine. You’ll see.”
Great. And I’m the one who gets to deliver the blow.
I glance toward the door, pulse picking up. “He knows she filed?”
Tobias nods. “I told him. A little over a month ago, after we talked it through with the team. It hit him hard, but it also pushed him deeper into the work. He had to grieve it. Process it. Imagine a future where she isn’t waiting at the end of all this.”
I nod slowly. “And now?”
“He’s still scared of that future,” Tobias says.
“But he’s facing it. Keep an eye on him, but let him breathe.
He’s got to stand on his own now. He’s been open about his triggers, but that doesn’t mean he won’t run into new ones.
Stress, rejection, shame—those are big ones.
And transitions, like reentering normal life, can stir a lot of that up. ”
I shift in my seat, feeling like I should be taking notes or something. Fuck, I’m not equipped for this shit.
“If you notice him pulling away from people, skipping meetings, saying he’s ‘fine’ all the time when he’s clearly not?
Those are red flags. Big emotional swings are normal, but if they turn into avoidance—especially around difficult conversations—he might need a reset.
He’s learned to reach out, but if that stops…
if he goes radio silent, that’s when it’s time to step in. ”
He leans back, folding his arms. “And if he starts rationalizing again, saying he’s got it under control, that one drink won’t hurt… that’s a red alert.”
I blow out a breath. “That’s a lot of responsibility.”
“Just remember, Jensen is responsible for Jensen. Your job is to be a good friend. Which you have been. He’s talked about you a lot, and he’s lucky to have you.”
My eyes well up, and my voice cracks when I say, “It’s me that’s lucky to have him.”
Tobias smiles, nodding. It’s quiet for a moment before there’s a knock on the door.
“You ready?” he asks, already standing.
I rise to my feet, bracing myself. “Yeah.”
He opens the door, and Jensen walks in. The second he sees me, a grin stretches across his face.
“Hey, man!” I call out, walking toward him until we meet in a hug, clapping our hands on each other’s backs.
“Hey, brother.” Jensen’s voice cracks, and goddammit, my throat swells, choked with emotion.
What a fucking ride these past two years have been.
“Thanks for coming,” he says, pulling back. His eyes are misty, but they’re clear. Clearer than they’ve been in a long time.
But mine aren’t. Jesus. A few tears fall down my cheek, and I blink rapidly to hold them back. I didn’t realize just how much I missed him.
“Damn, it’s good to see you!” I exclaim, gripping his shoulder. “You look good! What are you, training for an Ironman or something? What the hell?”
Jensen’s always been in decent shape with an athletic build, and his weight’s fluctuated over the past few years, but I’ve never seen him like this. He’s fit. And not just fit—the dude’s yoked.
I knew this place focused on health—personal trainers, top chefs, whole-foods-only diet, life coaches, meditation—as well as top-ranked counselors and doctors. But I didn’t expect him to come out this changed. It’s like he’s hit the gym every damn day.
Jensen chuckles through his tears. “Thanks, man. I’ve had a lot of gym time. How was your trip over?”
“It was good. Just worked on the plane. You ready to get the hell out of here and see Switzerland?”
We’re spending the next week here exploring before heading back home.
“Hell yes,” he says with a grin.
“I know you two have a lot to catch up on, so I’ll try to make this quick,” Tobias says, settling back into his chair.
We both take a seat opposite him as he launches into a summary of the past twelve weeks—Jensen’s stay, his treatment, and his progress. Then he hands me a packet on how to support Jensen during the transition home.
“We’ve already gone over what this transition can look like with Jensen thoroughly.” Tobias looks to him. “He’s ready,” he adds with a nod.
He hands Jensen his discharge papers and walks him through each one as he signs. Then he passes me an acknowledgment form—something I need to sign to confirm I’m agreeing to support Jensen at home.
Tobias walks us out to the lobby, where a group of counselors and other patients are waiting to say their goodbyes to Jensen. He hugs them all, grinning through the tears, and it’s clear how much they care. All I can think about is how I wish Alley could see this.
I want to be mad at her. I want to shake her and tell her he’s not the same man she left. But I also saw her face that morning—when she walked out like she’d already buried him. And at the same time, there’s this gnawing fear underneath it all. The kind that whispers, What if this doesn’t last?
He looks like a new man. But I’ve seen new men fall apart fast. And I don’t know if I could handle watching that happen to him again.
I take a few group photos for him with my phone as he says his final goodbyes.
The last hug comes from an older woman. She wraps him up tightly, holding on like she doesn’t want to let go.
“I’m so proud of you,” I hear her say, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Don’t you give up on her.”
He chuckles, wiping at his eyes. “Thanks, Judy.” He gives her one last squeeze, then turns to me, grabs his luggage, and we walk out the door together.