Chapter 54
Fifty-Four
Ihang up with Virginia Remington after getting the latest update on Remy. His parents are my only connection to how he’s managing rehab, and I’m relieved to hear he’s doing the work and progressing.
But I also learn they’ve moved him out of his apartment, cancelled his lease, and effectively chopped off his balls.
Once he’s out of the Betty Ford Center, they expect him to live under their suspicious, distrusting stares and locked doors until…
until they relent, I guess. While it’s totally underhanded and fucked up, I can’t completely blame them after all he’s put them through. Trust issues abound.
When I relay this to Jax, she flips out, purporting she’s screwed. I’m not saying that’s not valid, but I don’t get worked up over what ifs. You can’t cross a bridge you haven’t even approached yet.
That bridge towers as mightily as the Golden Gate when I learn my best friend’s due home in a few weeks.
I wonder what a clean and sober Remy looks like.
And I wonder if he expects the three of us to pick up where we left off, which is as unappealing to me as being on the receiving end of fifty consecutive prostrate exams.
The phone trills, and I’m betting it’s Jax.
“Hey, dickhead,” Remy says in greeting.
Damn, it’s good to hear his voice. This is the longest we’ve been separated since the day we met. “What’s up, loser?”
He huffs out a laugh. “I’m home.”
“Fucking finally.”
“Tell me about it.”
“You miss me, sweetheart?” I ask.
“That pretty face of yours? Every day.”
I’m grinning, happy and relieved for this verbal confirmation he’s okay…and still himself. Swift on its heels, an undercurrent of anxiety sparks. “You in Piedmont?”
“Yeah. Come see me?” He’s under house arrest of the parental kind and probably will be for a long while.
“Sure thing. Tomorrow?”
“Perfect, brother. It’ll be good to see you.”
“Same. I missed your stupid ass.”
My grin fades as soon as we say goodbye.
My hand’s braced against the receiver, poised to call Jax, but I fucking dread it.
She’s heading into finals week and studying for exams. This news will totally send her into a tailspin, but I can’t avoid it—unless I want to bring on ire of the female kind… and no thanks.
The unknowns loom, far more concerning than anything else. I whoosh out a breath, crack my neck, and punch in her digits.
“Hey, baby,” I say gently.
“Hi.”
“How goes the studying?”
“It’s buckets of fun, are you kidding?”
A snort leaves my lips. I don’t miss forced studying and test taking one bit.
“And I miss you.”
I pause, knowing I need to rip this damn proverbial bandage off and stop making small talk.
“What’s wrong?” she says, her tenor shifting.
Bracing a hand on the counter behind me, I sink into it. “Remy’s home.”
“Where?” Her voice sounds smaller, and I’m sure she’s reeling.
“Piedmont.” We both understand what that means—a house where she is not welcome.
“When can we see him?”
And there’s the kicker. “I’m heading over there in the morning.”
She pauses. “You…talked to him?”
“Briefly—just long enough to make a plan to see him tomorrow and tell him I’m glad he’s alright.”
I can almost see her deflating. “This sucks.”
“I’m sorry, Jax. I know this hurts. I’ll suss things out, see what I can arrange. But don’t let it derail your studying.”
“Fat chance. It’s already blowing up my brain.”
“This is why I debated even telling you.”
Her incredulous huff punctuates the silence. “That’s totally messed up, Mick.”
“You know I would never keep something of this magnitude from you. But can you hang on to your patience a little while longer…and not allow it to fuck up your finals?”
“Yeah, sure, whatever,” she mutters, and I ignore the placating blow-off.
“Good girl.”
“You’ll call me tomorrow?” she rasps.
Fuck. Is she crying? “As soon as possible. I promise.”
She sniffles. “Tell him I love him?”
“Of course.”
“And Mick?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“I know, baby. I love you too.”
Remy’s out the door before I’ve parked the Mustang in the circular drive. He’s wearing a big grin, and the bastard appears healthy and happy. We share a brotherly hug complete with extended, vigorous back claps.
“It’s been a minute,” he says.
I nod, taking note of his clear eyes and shaggy hair. “You look good, man.”
“You checking me out, Callahan?”
That garners an eyeroll. I pull out my cigarettes, flip a couple from the pack, and offer one to Remy. “How was it?”
He’s quiet for a beat as lights up and sucks in a deep drag. “Probably the best damn thing that ever happened to me.”
I jolt at the admission, my eyebrows hiking. It’s not what I expected him to say at all. “No shit?”
“I shit you not. Initially, I was one pissed off motherfucker. But as time wore on and my mind cleared, I realized how off-track I’d gotten.
How often I was dragging ass. How lousy I felt most days.
Straightening up reminded me what it’s like to be clear-headed.
But there’s a lot more to it. Come inside, and I’ll fill you in. I’ve got a crap ton to tell you.”
Rick and Virginia greet me with hugs, treating me like the unofficial son I basically am. Remy and I grab sodas and settle in chairs by the pool. Thankfully, his parents give us our privacy because I don’t want the censored version of his rehab experience.
He launches into his early, drying-out days, segues into what he learned about himself through working the Twelve Steps, participating in one-on-one and group therapy, and attending class and lecture sessions.
He shared a room with a guy named Hal, who was a decade older but still relatable, and it sounds like he served as a port in the storm.
“What are the steps?” I ask.
“They were founded by the guys who started AA but are used widely by all the recovery programs now. In a nutshell, you admit you’re not in control, you need help, figure out your flaws, and discover you’re a bona fide asshole.”
I chuckle but arch a brow. Is Remy really admitting all that?
“From there, you’ve got to make a list of people you’ve screwed over and make amends.”
My head cants as I light another Marlboro. He’s already smoked three. “Apologize, you mean?”
“Technically, it’s more than an apology. You’re supposed to right the wrong, if you can.”
“How do you do that?”
He shrugs. “Don’t have it all figured out yet. The first obvious thing I can do is stay clean. But as far as some of the other shit goes, that’s what sponsors are for…to guide me through these steps. I’ve got to go to meetings around here and find one of those soon.”
“A sponsor is like a mentor?”
“Yeah, a guy who’s already worked the program, preferably one with some time under his belt. Someone I can talk to if I’m dealing with cravings or slippery situations and help me through all those goddamned steps.”
Like a guardian and a safeguard. “Sounds smart.”
Remy bobs his head, taking another drag, the cherry flaring brightly.
“I’m proud of you, Rem. You may not have wanted to wind up in rehab, but you’re on the up and up. It was all for the best.”
“Thanks, man. And that’s not even the big news.” A slow smile spreads across his face, his blue eyes buzzing with a secret.
“Yeah? What else?”
“I’m engaged.”