Chapter 57
FIFTY-SEVEN
DECLAN
Six months later
"My name is Declan, and I'm an addict. Today marks six months of sobriety." I wipe my sweaty palms along my jean covered thighs.
A round of applause fills the otherwise silent room. Faces I've come to know stare at me, each set of eyes filled with hopefulness.
When I arrived at Greenview Rehabilitation Center in Arizona six months ago, I was at the lowest point in my life.
The love of my life walked out on me, and all I wanted to do was further numb myself. I had been desperate to rid my brain of the look in her eyes as she left, so I did. I went on a two-month-long bender until the day I found out that Andy's mother, Diane Harris, had died of a heroin overdose.
I'd gone to the funeral but was too chicken shit to stick around and talk to Andy, so I left before she had a chance to see me.
That night, I'd gotten so high that I'd vomited in my sleep and pissed myself. The next morning I'd woken up covered in dried vomit and piss .
Never in my life had I thrown up on myself or pissed myself, but I was lying in a puddle of the proof of what my life had come to. I was a disgusting mess haunted by the face of the woman I let get away.
After I'd cleaned myself up, Adam drove me to Arizona for rehab, and I've been here ever since, actively participating. I've even been speaking with a therapist who has forced me to confront the skeletons in my closet.
I wish I could pinpoint a specific moment in my life that made me decide to get sober, but I can’t. It’s easy to say I took a long look at my vomit and piss-soaked self and decided to change, or that I see the face of my girls every time I close my eyes, but that’s only part of it.
Truth is, I was so fucking tired. Tired of living in the past and constantly thinking about my next fix. My life revolved around drugs and alcohol, and I couldn’t take it. Eventually, I was going to be the one that my loved ones buried six-feet under.
Everyone here knows my story, and I've learned that the more I share it, the more comfortable I become. I don't try to hide it anymore because what happened to me at thirteen wasn't my fault, and I shouldn't be ashamed. It's what led me to use drugs, and I've spiraled since then.
I've put a lot of work into myself over these past six months, but I still have a long way to go. I'm not anywhere near the man I want to be. The man I know I'm capable of becoming.
"I've made many mistakes in my life and have many regrets. There are many people that I need to make amends with, and I plan to do that today after leaving here." Another applause. "Thank you all for welcoming me here these past six months and for helping me. Without you, I wouldn't have a future to look forward to."
After group is over, I have a final session with my therapist, then say bye to all the people I've become friends with and who have helped me while I've been here.
The program allowed me to remain inpatient for six months, but now it's time for me to return home and apply everything I've learned to my daily life when temptation is around every corner.
I'll always be an addict because that doesn't change once you're sober, but I know that I will try my best every single day. The chains that kept me buried in the past have been set free, and for the first time in years, I truly feel free.
I've never been so excited about living and getting to live to see another day. I once lived in the moment, day to day, but now, I want to live for the future. I want to plan for the future and know I'll be around for it.
"This is familiar. We've been here before." A familiar voice catches my attention as I walk out the front doors of Greenview. I smirk at the sight of Camille standing beside her rental car, arms crossed as she waits for me.
Four months ago, when Camille found out I was in rehab, she began writing me a weekly letter. Eventually, we began speaking on the phone, leading to her wanting to pick me up once I was released.
We've avoided the subject of Luca and what we discussed at that café months ago in Seattle. She's sent lots of pictures of her little family. Ironically, her daughter Lilli, was born the same month I went to rehab. She's a chunky six-month-old baby who resembles Luca so much at that age despite having Dean's DNA.
As for her and Dean, they're living together now, but there are no immediate plans to get married. They want to enjoy life with Lilli before tying the knot and being swamped with wedding planning.
I've enjoyed her weekly letters and calls. Seeing her happy in her life has been amazing and gives me hope that I'll be able to have the same experience one day. However, I'm not in a rush. My priority right now is myself.
A slow grin spreads across my mouth as I approach her. She's right. We have been in this exact situation. She was there to pick me up from rehab in Seattle after I'd completed a ninety-day program.
A few years later, here she is again, picking me up from rehab. I'm choosing to find the humor in it rather than dwell on the past and things I can't change, because it won't do me any good. All I can do is take it one day at a time.
I'm not proud that I've been to rehab multiple times, but I know that this was the very last time. The voice in my head is gone, and instead of wanting to hide away and escape reality, I want to face what each new day will bring.
"It's good to see you. You look good," I compliment, stepping into her open arms when she pulls me in for a hug. My arms wrap around her small body, and I inhale her scent, which no longer smells sweet and familiar. Instead, she smells like baby powder and remnants of Dean's cologne.
Dean and Lilli came to Arizona with her to pick me up, but they must be waiting at the hotel since Camille is the only one here.
Releasing me from the hug, she pulls away, a smile still spread across her signature red-painted lips. It's hard to remember a time when Cam wasn't wearing her signature red lipstick.
After tossing my bag in the trunk, I climb into the passenger seat, and then we're off, kicking up dust as we drive away, leaving Greenview in the rearview mirror.
They saved my life, and I'll never forget my time there, but as I watch the large white building become smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, I can't help but smile as I put them in my past.
An hour later, we're sitting in the hotel room Camille booked for me in advance and sipping on the coffee we'd stopped to get along the way. We've been swapping stories the entire time, her sharing about Lilli and me telling her about the things I've learned at Greenview.
I'd just told her about Aiden, the nineteen-year-old boy I helped nearly nine months ago, when she asked, "How is he doing now?" A proud smile curls on my lips at the question. I was thrilled to learn that he had successfully completed his program and went into a sober living house. Two months ago, he was able to return home to his mother's house, and she'd welcomed him with open arms.
I was surprised to receive a letter from him one day while at Greenview, but after that first one, I received a new one from him every week. He told me all about his program and new sober life and how he hopes I get to enjoy the same things he gets to experience by being sober.
Seeing him thrive was part of my motivation.
I realized that I had a lot of people in my corner who were rooting for me to succeed.
"He's doing great. He'll be enrolling at community college and one day wants to focus on his music, but for now, he's content with getting his education." I don't share that I'm paying for his schooling because that's private. Aiden doesn't even know. As far as he's aware, he received a grant.
"I'm so happy for him. You did something amazing for that kid, Declan. You gave him a future."
I shake my head. "What I did was easy. It's all him. He's the one who will have to go through the hard shit every day. He's the real badass here, not me."
Camille clicks her tongue. "Always so modest." She stands, grabs her laptop from her bag, sets it on her lap, and begins typing, her fingernails tapping against the keys.
"I want to tell you something, and then I want to show you something." She sets the laptop on the coffee table in front of us; the screen pauses on a dark video.
"What is it?"
Bright green eyes meet mine, her hands reaching across for mine.
"Declan, I want you to know that I am sorry for how I acted that day at the café when you told me what you'd done that night." My lips part, breathing labored as I remember that day. That was the day I used as an excuse for myself to fall to the one thing I've always run to whenever the going got rough.
Shifting to face her, I take her hands in mine, "You are not the one that has to be sorry, Cam. I do. That night fucking haunts me." Her emerald eyes swim with unshed tears. "You're the one I need to apologize to. I was the worst fucking husband to you. I lied to you, left you alone when you needed me the most, and was a selfish prick. You didn't deserve any of that. And for that, I'm sorry. It makes me so happy that you have Dean now."
"We were both too young to be married. I've forgiven you a long time ago, and I've never once regretted our time together. Sure, we had our ups and downs, but for four years I had my best friend by my side. It wasn't a waste, and I don't regret it." I bring our hands up to my lips and place a soft kiss on the backs of her hands.
"I've been working on forgiving myself for a lot. I'm not there yet, but one day, I'll forgive myself for being a bad husband to you."
She shakes her head, one hand moving to my face, her thumb stroking my cheek gently. "You have so much to forgive yourself for." She inhales, eyes closing, as she says, "You are not responsible for what happened that night. Dean hired someone who could obtain the traffic footage from that night. It wasn't your fault, Declan. The other driver ran a red light and hit us. It was an accident." Her eyes open, bright green hues staring back at me as I absorb her words.
"What?" My mouth hangs open, head shaking as I attempt to comprehend her words, “Why?”
“Because I’ve been angry with you for so long. I’ve blamed you, and ever since that day we met up in Seattle, Dean had wanted to look into the accident, but I wasn’t ready. After I gave birth to Lilli, I decided it was time to confront the past and let go of my anger. So, I let him look into it, and you need to see what happened. ”
I shake my head, my heart beating in my chest. “No, Cam. I can’t watch it. I can’t watch myself destroy our lives again.”
“You need to see this,” she says, pulling away from me, and reaches toward her laptop, pressing play on the paused video.
It begins to play, our SUV from almost five years ago coming into view. Despite the rain and dark skies, the footage is clear.
Sinking to the floor in front of the coffee table, I bring the laptop closer to my face, eyes wide as I watch, not wanting to miss a moment.
I watch as our car travels through the intersection, the green light shining bright. The moment our vehicle goes through, the camera angle switches, revealing a glow from a red light and a semi-swerving through the lanes at an increased speed.
The semi collides with our SUV, causing us to spin before flipping, my limp body flying away from the destruction as I land on the pavement, away from the car that held everything precious to me.
I hadn't realized I was shaking and had tears streaming down my face until Camille sits down beside me and wraps her arms around me. "It wasn't your fault. You thought you ran a red light, but you didn't. The other driver did. There was no way the accident could've been prevented. You are not to blame," she whispers slowly, her voice filled with emotion. “If I’d been paying attention, I would’ve spotted the semi and could’ve yelled or done something. Anything.” She sniffles, regret of her own shining in her green eyes. Luca had been whining about getting to open one of his new toys during the drive, so Camille reached back to grab the firetruck from him, and that’s when we collided. Seconds her eyes were away, but mine never left the road. For years I’ve tortured myself, blaming myself for running the red light, when I hadn’t.
My heart hammers in my chest, and my body shakes as I replay the video, reviewing it carefully to ensure she's right.
After the sixth time watching it, I shut the device, bring my knees to my chest, and bury my face in my hands as I allow sobs to wreck my body.
It wasn't my fault.
I didn't kill my son.
It was an accident.
I didn't fucking kill my boy.
"I'm so sorry I ever blamed you," she says through sniffles, rising on her knees beside me as she wraps her arms around me, holding me tight against her warm body.
"Forgive yourself for everything, Declan, because I do." Her head rests against mine. "It was an accident. You are not responsible for what happened."
Her words replay in my mind long after she's gone.
You are not responsible for what happened.