When I Was Theirs

61. Jared

61

Jared

I make one final stop before I go back to her.

Following directions on my phone, I head down the street and cross at the sidewalk, approaching a small, two-storey brown brick building tucked slightly away from the main road. My duffle bag is over my shoulder, packed with enough clothes for the next fortnight.

And the communal recycling boxes at my apartment building are crammed to the brim, full of empty glass bottles.

“Are you coming in?” The easy words make me jerk my eyes up. I’m standing in the middle of the path, and people stroll past me, disappearing through the blue door. “No pressure either way.”

My hands are sweating. The guy leaning against the door looks to be a few years older. Friendly-looking, with dark blond hair and a sweatshirt depicting the local college football team logo. “I don’t know yet.”

“Fair enough.” He looks over his shoulder, nodding to someone. “We’ll start soon, but come in at any time. There’s no pressure to speak if you don’t want to. I’m Mike, by the way.”

“Jared.” I slide my hands into my pockets. “Do I need to register? Make it official?”

He shakes his head. “We’re not a formal group, but there’s someone here every day, so just come when you need to. I do a token scheme for anyone who wants one, though. Sometimes it helps.”

I frown. “A token scheme?”

“For sobriety,” Mike says quietly. He pulls a small, round coin from his pocket. “This is my latest. Two years sober.”

It feels like a lifetime. “You quit two years ago?”

“Seven, actually. But this isn’t a magic fix.” He lifts his shoulder. “You’re always working at it. Why are you here?”

He takes a seat on the step as I lean against the railing.

Because my brother died.

Because Emmy doesn’t like alcohol.

Because she deserves better.

But none of that comes out of my mouth.

“Because I have a problem with alcohol,” I say roughly. “And I want to be better.”

Without feeling like I need it to breathe. To be someone Emmy can depend on.

But not just for Emmy. For me too.

I inhale. “I think I’d like to come in.”

“Great.” Mike grins and pulls something else from his pocket, tossing it to me. “The coffee’s really bad, just to warn you. But it’s a good group.”

My lips tilt up as I turn the coin over in my hands. “I can work with that. What’s this for?”

He hold the door open for me. “Everyone here started somewhere. It’s for your first twenty-four hours. Take it day by day.”

My fingers curl around it. “Thanks.”