I want to be tempted by alcohol and resist.
I want to experience pain and overcome without a single drop of vodka.
I want to prove to myself that I can make it in the world as a sober man rather than one driven by the need to drown my emotions and insecurities with a temporary fix.
People clap like I just won the Stanley Cup.
A few more individuals introduce themselves. While one man is sharing how he is officially one-year sober, the door behind me opens. Everyone turns toward the sound.
The one person I never thought I would see at one of these meetings walks in, shaking an umbrella in one hand while juggling a briefcase in his other.
My father’s eyes connect with mine. He doesn’t look the least bit surprised to see me here, but me on the other hand?
I’m floored.
“Look who finally decided to show up,” the chairperson calls out.
I think he introduced himself as Jeff? Jim? I don’t remember much except that his job is to defend the worst criminals in all of Chicago.
No wonder the asshole drank.
“Sorry I’m late.”
Sorry I’m late? My father doesn’t apologize for shit.
Because he is faking it.
Since fate couldn’t be any more of a bitch lately, he takes the only empty seat available—right next to me. I’m grateful that I look more like my mother because I’d hate for people to connect the two of us as anything more than strangers.
After all, that’s all we will ever be.
The group turns to look over at my father, and he stands with a sigh. “Hi, my name is Seth, and I’m an alcoholic. I’ve been sober for 640 days.”
What. The. Fuck.
I must have said the words aloud because everyone turns toward me with a range of expressions. My father’s soulless gaze lands on me, making my skin crawl.
“Have something to say?” His low tone is a warning similar to that of a rattlesnake.
“Plenty, starting with why?”
“For the same reason you’re probably here.” He takes a seat and unbuttons the front of his sports coat.
Brady motherfucking Kane.
If my grandfather weren’t dead already, I would have made sure he didn’t live to see tomorrow.
I spend the rest of the meeting processing his reason for being here. Grandpa must have wanted him to get sober in exchange for something, but what? Six percent of the company? Twenty-five billion dollars?
Yet he didn’t ask you to get sober. Just him.
I can’t fathom why my grandfather would go through all that trouble of emphasizing the importance of sobriety being a journey, only to force my father into attending AA.
It doesn’t matter. If I earn my shares, then the math will never be in his favor regardless if he earns six percent or not.
I mull over every detail, searching for clues over the last two years, only to be drawn back into the meeting by the chip person slapping a chip into my hand.
“Congratulations on being sober for twenty-four hours.” The person in charge of passing out chips based on everyone’s level of sobriety continues on to the next person.
I spend the rest of the meeting flipping the chip between my fingers. It’s not until the metal legs of chairs scrape against the floor that I look up to find a majority of the members have already left.
My father rises from his seat, completely ignoring me.
“Did you ever want to get sober before the will?” I ask the question that has been festering in the back of my brain.
His beady eyes drill a hole into my head. “I never had a reason to.”
The piercing sensation in my chest intensifies. “Not a single one?”
“No,” he says in a flat tone.
“What about your kids?”
“What about them?”
To think you actually believed you were similar to this man.
In reality, the only thing my father and I have in common is an addiction. Because where he finds his family expendable, I find mine irreplaceable. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to ensure I make them happy, which is something he couldn’t even begin to understand, let alone reciprocate.
“Why did you drink?” I blurt out before I have a chance to filter my question.
“Because I didn’t know how to stop.”
“And now you do?”
“I was heavily motivated to learn.”
“Because of money.” I don’t bother tampering down the disgust in my voice.
“Who are you to judge? It’s not like you’re any better than me.” He gives me a once-over glance that would make anyone else feel two inches tall.
“I’m here because I want to be.”
“Because of money.” He repeats my same words back to me.
I shake my head and stand. “Because I’m worth the effort.”
His quick glance couldn’t be more dismissive if he tried. “Are you sure about that?”
A bitter laugh explodes out of me. “You have always found me to be lacking, but I have something you never will have.”
“A heart?” His mocking smirk deserves to be punched.
“A life worth living.” I walk away. The heaviness pressing against my chest lessens with each step in the opposite direction.
“I have a life worth living,” he calls out with an air of desperation bleeding into his voice.
“Then enjoy it while it lasts.”
Once Declan becomes CEO and we all earn our shares of the company, my father will become the one thing he spent his entire life making sure I felt.
Insignificant.
I wait until I get in my car to call Lana. I’m not optimistic about her answering, but I hold my breath.
The pit in my stomach only stretches with each ring. My finger hovers over the red end call button, but I stop myself at the sound of her voice.
“Cal?” Lana’s slight rasp tugs at my chest.
God. I missed the sound of her voice.
“Lana.”
“You’re out,” she says before a door shuts on her end of the call.
“Yeah. Just left this morning.”
“How was it?”
“The closest I ever hope to get to jail.”
Her laugh is soft yet eases the tension in my shoulders better than any massage.
“How are you?” I ask before thinking against it.
“Fine.”
“And how’s our girl?”
The silence following my question is unbearable, but I refrain from filling it. There is nothing I won’t do to show her that I want her and Cami, even if it means reminding her every chance I get.
Lana releases a heavy breath. “She misses you.”
My chest tightens. “How about you?” It’s a stupid question, yet I can’t stop myself from asking it.
“I’ve missed you too.” She whispers it like a dirty confession.
I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear those words from her until she said them.
“I plan on coming home.”
“When?” Her voice has a certain edge to it.
“I’m not sure.” I bite down on my tongue. Until I have my shit sorted out, I don’t want to return because Lana deserves better than that. She deserves the best I have to offer, and a twenty-four-hour sobriety chip isn’t going to cut it.
“Then why call?”
“Because I wanted to let you know that I’m going to find a way to make everything right.” Post-rehab me is motivated by a single goal: show Lana and Cami that I will spend the rest of my life proving how much I love them.