CHAPTER 64

west

I felt like fucking crap. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the all-night breakdown until I passed out laying on Jackson. Either way, I just wanted to crawl into a fucking hole and never come back out.

My emotions were so all over the place. Guilt. Shame. Fear. I was drowning in memories I didn’t want and I realized I was actually afraid of the future—afraid of what would happen with Jackson. With my horses. With my fucking life.

I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t do my damn job, but mostly that was because Jackson wouldn’t let me near the horses until I called Bobby and went to a meeting. I resented him for that shit.

Admitting I drank again to Bobby only made me feel even more like crap. Instead of being mad or disappointed, he was empathetic and understanding. The man fucking invited me to dinner.

I borderline hated his kindness. Anger I could handle. I knew what to do with that. I didn’t know what to do with the man eating soup across from me .

“You know, this program gave me my life back,” Bobby began, “but this program isn’t the end all. Everyone who goes to AA, we all drink for different reasons. For me, it was social. I started drinking when I was fifteen. My friends and I would sneak out to drink all night long. I was an addict before I even knew what the word meant.”

“That’s young,” I commented mostly because I knew I was supposed to say something but what was beyond me.

“It is,” he agreed. “My question for you is—and it might be a hard one—why do you drink, West?”

That wasn’t a hard question at all.

“I don’t know how to survive without it,” I admitted quietly. I’d relied on it for years to silence the demons in my head.

“Do you have other coping mechanisms?” he asked. My gaze flicked in his direction. “When I first got sober, I didn’t know how to be the guy who didn’t drink when we went out. It was my whole personality. At first, I just tried to fake it—pretend my drink was alcoholic and still act like an idiot. It wasn’t until I relapsed that I realized this wouldn’t work unless I was honest with myself and with others. Did I lose some friends along the way? Yes, but they weren’t friends to begin with. What I did gain was the confidence to stand up for myself and a support group outside of this program—friends who were more than happy to help stave off the temptation. We picked up golf. Do you know how much someone has to love you to take on a four-hour sport that requires that much walking?”

A faint smile turned the corner of my mouth but that was it.

“My point is, you can’t just work the program and think the rest of your life will change as a result. You have to change your life, West.”

“I don’t know how,” I replied.

“I don’t know what you’ve been through,” he told me. My breath hitched in my throat. I didn’t want to talk about that with him. “And you don’t have to tell me—I’m not asking you to—but if it’s the root of why you drink, you need to find a way to work through it.”

“I don’t know how,” I repeated.

“Have you considered therapy?”

“No.” I didn’t want to consider therapy. I could barely handle AA. The idea of sitting down and telling someone all my crap? That shit would be the end of me. And for what? It wouldn’t fix me. Nothing could .

“I have some great resources if you want them,” Bobby said. What was the nice way to say thanks but I wasn’t about to do a tell-all with some fucking stranger? “I know the idea of it is daunting, but therapy can be extremely beneficial.”

I said nothing because I didn’t have a clue what to say. I was beyond anyone’s help.