“I’ll try the blueberry thing,” he eventually said.
Dash shook his head as they approached the center and wondered what Sophie would think of this whole situation. She’d probably love knowing that a chicken was keeping him on his toes. He wished he could tell her about it, but he’d been on a tech freeze for the last two weeks. Today was the day, though, when he’d finally get to check his phone and talk to her.
But first, he had therapy.
“Is there anything specific you want to work on this morning?” his therapist, Jerome, asked.
Since Dash had entered rehab, he and Jerome had worked on the painful memories that had triggered him to want to drink again. Along with forgiving himself for all of the damage he’d caused while drunk. But part of his therapy involved reliving those memories so that the pain and trauma from them lessened each time he brought them up.
Of course, most of his memories involved situations with his parents, being on set, and some very specific instances with Reece. But today, he wanted to talk about what life outside of rehab would look like and, more specifically, what a life with Sophie could be.
“I brought in my Looking Forward worksheet.” Dash reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out the piece of paper he’d been given a few days into recovery. It asked him to imagine what he wanted to accomplish upon leaving and how the center could help prepare him to meet those goals.
Jerome took the paper and began to read. “You’d like to sell your ceramics.”
“I would.” Dash looked down at his hands in his lap, which clenched and unclenched. Sophie had told him that he could sell what he made, and those words had stuck with him and become a fantasy all their own.
“You want to forgive yourself for relapsing.”
“That would be nice.”
“And you want to try to have a relationship?”
“Yes.” Dash exhaled sharply. “I don’t know if I’m ready to be the person Sophie needs me to be, but I want to be who she thinks I am.”
“Who does she think you are?”
“A good person.”
“And you’re not a good person?”
Dash didn’t love these chats, where he made a statement and then it was, essentially, repeated back to him, but they were effective. “She made me feel like I could be a better person.”
“Did she ever ask you to change who you were?”
Dash thought about that, but she never had. Not once. “No.”
“Maybe, then, you’re putting unrealistic expectations on yourself. It sounds like Sophie has accepted you as you are, but you’ve decided that she’s wrong to love you. Remember what we’ve been talking about. You need to forgive yourself. You’re not defined by your mistakes.”
Dash exhaled as he took those words in and knew they were true. He needed to allow Sophie to love him if he ever had any chance of having her in his life.
When Dash got back to his room, which was more like a suite at the Four Seasons—complete with California king bed, a soaker tub, and floor-to-ceiling views of the mountains—he thought about whether he could be the man he needed to be for Sophie. Sophie, who’d never specifically asked him to change any part of himself. Sophie, who’d seen him at an incredibly low point, and was still there for him. Sophie, who never judged him.
But that was then, and now that they’d been apart for two weeks, maybe she’d had time to reevaluate whether Dash was worth all the effort she put in. Maybe she’d reconsidered her time with Carla, or just decided to be on her own and give up Dash completely. Whatever her decision, he wanted to hear what she had to say, and he was ready to open himself up fully to her.
A knock on his door made him stand. He went and found Geon holding out a bag. “Cell phone time. You’ve got thirty minutes to make calls and text. We restrict emails and browsing, so this will just be to connect with your people. And, uh, sorry, there’s no porn either, but if you need something for that, we can arrange.”
Dash chuckled as he took the bag. “I’m all good. Thanks for looking out, though.”
“My job is so weird sometimes.” Geon shrugged his big shoulders and turned to walk to the next door of the center’s residential wing.
Dash closed the door behind him, took out his phone, and swiped it open. There were lots of text messages and voice mails. He looked through the call list and didn’t see anything from Sophie, then went into his texts and saw her name there with a string of Richard the Squirrel photos and a new message waiting.
Sophie: Can I come visit you?
He let out a shuddering breath and braced his hand against the wall. Yes, he wanted to see her desperately, but what kind of a visit was this going to be? Was she mad at him? Would she be happy to see him? He needed to be truthful with her—that much he knew—but he didn’t want to put her in an awkward position either. He treaded carefully.
Yes, please come. I miss you. Are you doing okay? Are we okay?
He hit Send and waited for a reply.
As he waited, he went through the other messages he had.
There was a voice mail from Poppy.
I really miss you, you dumb asshat. I know I’m supposed to be supporting you right now and, for the record, I am. I went in on Kitty and Reece and Dad so aggressively that I lost my voice. But I wish you were here and not at some unreachable place. Can you please get better and come back and never do this to me again? Please?
A voice mail from his dad. Dash, I just want you to know that I love you. I…I didn’t know your mother leaked the story to the press. If I’d known…it wouldn’t have happened. I am so sorry, my boy.
Something about his dad’s voice made Dash believe he was telling the truth, though that didn’t necessarily make him feel any better.
There were voice mails, plural, from his mother. He almost deleted them before listening, but some sick curiosity got the better of him.
Voice mail 1: I know you told me not to call. But your sister tells me you’ve checked into a facility. I’ll make sure to keep this out of the press. And…well, I’m sorry.
Voice mail 2: As an update—I’ve set up family therapy sessions for myself, your father, Poppy, and Reece. They’re replacing our weekly dinners and will hopefully allow us to better support you when you return. I do hope you’ll forgive me.
Voice mail 3: We had our first family therapy session which, as expected, did not go well. Your father is not keen on opening up, and I’m not particularly used to it either. Poppy seems to be enjoying herself, and Reece is doing his share, too. Dad and I will continue to work on this.
Dash hesitated, but then deleted her voice mails. He was glad she was getting therapy—long overdue—but ultimately, he wasn’t ready to give her another chance, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be.
And then there were many, many texts from Chris.
I’m helping your family transition into support mode. Set them up with an Al-Anon counselor. They seem open to the suggestions.
Just so you know, your family is sort of…wild.
Poppy offered to give me Reiki?
I know this will probably not help, but Reece is very dreamy. Did you know that?
Your mom has intense momager energy.
Your dad is very quiet, which I was not expecting!