There was the one in Santa Barbara that focused on healing through meditation and spirituality, another in Austin with an emphasis on equine therapy, and one in the hills of LA that operated as a working farm with combined group and individual therapy. Dash had always been someone who needed to keep busy as part of recovery, so he’d chosen to be a farmer.
When the car was loaded, Dash hugged Poppy, who assured him of her plans to disown Kitty, despite his protests that his problems weren’t hers. Then he turned to Sophie and held her close. Sophie slipped a piece of paper into his hands and whispered into his ear, “Open that when you need some company.” She gently pecked him on the cheek, and he closed his eyes to savor the feel of her against him.
He slipped the paper into the pocket of his jeans as he got into the car with Chris. In a way, he was relieved to be in a safe place: he couldn’t have another drink if he was with his sponsor or at rehab. And he didn’t trust himself not to drink now that he’d slipped.
“Did you and Sophie get a chance to talk about visitation at the rehab center?” Chris asked as he pulled out of the driveway.
“We didn’t exactly have a lot of time.” Dash shot Chris a look. He wanted to glance back to see Sophie, but watching her fade into the distance would be too painful. “I’m not sure what’s going to happen. I told her I loved her. But I’m not sure she feels the same way.”
“I once got hit in the eye with a foul ball, but even I can see that she’s in love with you.” Chris smirked.
“She didn’t say it back.” He knew, logically, that Sophie had a problem with saying those three words, but it didn’t stop the pain he’d felt when she hadn’t returned the sentiment.
“You know that annoying saying, actions speak louder than words?” As they hit a red light, Chris turned in his seat to look at Dash. “Sophie stayed with you in your room all last night to watch you sleep and make sure you didn’t get sick. Did you know that? If that’s not love, then what do you call that?”
Dash had not known that she’d stayed up with him the night before, but of course she had. She was Sophie. “She said she needs time.”
“Then, be a good listener and give her time.” Chris shook his head. “You think Mira was just convinced to spend the rest of her life with me because I have The Rock’s pecs and Christopher Meloni’s ass? No. I had to work every day to convince her that life with me would be fun. Hell, I learned how to make latte art so I can surprise her every morning with a new drawing. And you know I’m not artistic!”
“Well, I’m pretty sure that by relapsing, I did the opposite of showing her how fun I can be.” Dash landed back against the seat with a thud.
“Okay, I’m about to pull some action-movie shit.” Chris dramatically turned the wheel of the car and pulled over to the side of the road.
“What are you doing?” Dash asked as Chris killed the car engine.
Chris clapped a hand on Dash’s shoulder with a grip firm enough to remind him he’d once played major league baseball. “You are not your drinking. You don’t have to live the rest of your life alone just because you made a choice to drink yesterday. You’re always going on about choosing. And guess what, you can choose to allow yourself happiness or to be miserable. That is your choice. But don’t say Sophie doesn’t love you. She does. Love is a word, but more importantly, love is action. She has shown you over and over again that she loves you. What she did these last twenty-four hours? That is love.”
Dash’s mouth pinched closed as he held back all the reasons why he wasn’t good enough for Sophie and never would be. Instead, he deflected. “You and Mira are different. You are a better person than I am.”
“If you want to tell yourself that so you can feel good about shutting Sophie out, then be my guest.” Chris held his hands up in surrender. “But you forget that I didn’t retire from the Dodgers, I got fired. And not just for drinking—for being so drunk that I pissed in the mascot’s uniform.”
“Sort of funny,” Dash admitted.
“And then shit in the umpire’s hat.”
Dash held back a laugh. “Still funny.”
“We are not different, Dash. I’ve just worked to forgive myself, while you’re not there yet. You continue to punish, but don’t be like Kitty. Be your own best friend. You have to be, otherwise you’re going to lose the woman you love.”
Dash stared at Chris and knew his friend wasn’t just saying these things to try to make him feel better. Chris genuinely believed in Dash. But Dash couldn’t yet see a world where he’d believe in himself.
When they arrived at the rehab center, a valet placed all of Dash’s luggage on a cart. Dash and Chris hugged goodbye and made promises to see each other at the first open visitation. As his friend’s car drove off, Dash reached into his pocket and pulled out the folded piece of paper Sophie had given him.
When he unfolded it, a shirtless Richard Gere stared back.
37
SOPHIE
It had been over a week since Dash had left for rehab, and Sophie hadn’t been able to communicate with him during that time. Not because she hadn’t wanted to, but the center required a tech detox for the first half of the stay.
So she’d buckled down on writing and poured every single feeling she’d had for Dash into the book she’d started at the spa with him, when they’d first begun to like each other. She was almost to the end, just past the all-is-lost moment, and should’ve been able to see her way to the happily-ever-after finish line…
But she’d gotten stuck, again, and couldn’t seem to write her way out of it. Instead of wallowing in the self-pity she’d grown used to whenever the writer’s block hit, though, she got out of the house and took herself on the bookish date of her dreams to try to clear the debris.
Sophie got off the subway at the Culver City stop and made her way down the stairs to the street, where she’d take a short walk to the bookstore she loved most. The Ripped Bodice was just off the main downtown street, with a pink storefront and an enormous glass window with rotating and impressive displays. Their current summer window was no exception, with the bottom covered in sand and book-sized beach chairs holding copies of recent summer releases. A glittery rainbow sun hung over the top and twinkled in the afternoon light.
The door of the bookshop dinged as she walked through, and the familiar warmth of the place made her smile. A few shoppers browsed the aisles as Sophie walked through the store. She allowed her fingers to skim the spines of the fantasy-romance section and stopped at a copy of a new Regency romp she’d seen a lot of chatter about on Instagram. She decided to take the book home with her and brought it to the register.
“Sophie?” The woman behind the register recognized her, and Sophie instantly brightened as she set the book on the counter. “It’s been a while!”
“The window display is fantastic,” Sophie said.
“I’d love to have your next book up there.” She waved to the window as she rung up Sophie’s purchase. “When can we expect another from you?”
“Hopefully soon.” Sophie nodded, and she felt those words so deeply that it sent a rush through her. Her book was technically due the next day, but she’d already prepped her agent that the book she’d agreed to write—the meteorologist who falls for the storm chaser—wouldn’t be what she was turning in. If she was lucky, she’d find a way to finish the new book and cross her fingers that her editor would like this unexpected surprise.