Max blinked. Well, shit.
“But you’re not stagnant, Max,” Elliot urged. “The changes I’ve seen in you in the past couple of weeks have been remarkable. You’re opening up.”
Max pushed his hands into his pockets. “It doesn’t feel that way.” With a sigh, he meandered back to his chair and sat down, heavy and weary. He fidgeted under Elliot’s unrelenting silence, and tried to hide under his hood. “I want Carter to be happy,” he said finally, picking at the cuticle around his thumbnail. “I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more.”
“Who is he marrying?”
“Kat. They met when he was inside Kill. It’s a long story but they also have a lot of history. Saved her life when he was, like, eleven.” He laughed without humor. “He’s crazy about her, totally fuckin’ gaga.”
“Like you were with Lizzie.”
Max flinched, although the pain he was so used to had numbed considerably. “Yeah, just like that.”
Elliot shifted in his seat. “And this is the problem.”
“Maybe,” Max confessed quietly.
Maybe he was envious that his best friend had found what Max had been so desperate to have. Maybe he was angry that Carter was living his life while he was stuck in East Bumfuck nowhere. Maybe he was a shithead for thinking anything other than congratulations for the man who had always had his back.
“I don’t want my past to excuse my resentment. It’s shameful,” he murmured.
“But you need to handle it instead of pushing it away,” Elliot replied. “Deal with the jealousy and move on. When you get home, you can celebrate with him, enjoy his happiness; things will feel different, better.”
Max wasn’t so sure, but he could hope.
“Besides,” Elliot added brightly, “you’re young; you could meet someone, fall in love again.”
Max’s eyes widened while his heart galloped and pounded behind his ribs. “No way,” he hissed.
Elliot shrugged, nonplussed. “Why? Life moves on, Max, as Carter is showing. You, too, can have love and joy again.”
Max shook his head firmly. “Fuck that. I’m never giving myself to someone like that again. Ever.”
It’d kill him for certain.
Besides, all addicts were discouraged from getting involved in romantic relationships in the first twelve months of their recovery. Relationships were too unpredictable and the ups and downs were potential triggers for hitting a luscious Baggie of white powder or a large bottle of Jack. Not that Max could contemplate having a serious relationship ever again. His interactions with women prior to his admittance were fleeting and emotionless. He was a red-blooded male with needs, after all, and his merry-go-round of eager ass was exactly what he needed: detached and simple.
Elliot regarded him thoughtfully before dipping his chin in acknowledgment. “Maybe that’s a conversation for another day.”
Placing his legal pad on the arm of his chair, he stood and crossed the office toward his elegant bespoke desk. “I have something for you.” He opened a drawer, retrieving something from inside. He held out his hand. “Here.”
Max lifted from his seat on drowsy legs and approached his therapist. “What?”
Elliot reached for Max’s wrist and placed a small round piece of metal into his palm. It took Max a moment to recognize what it was. “It’s your first chip, Max. Congratulations. Thirty days clean and counting.”
Max stared at the unassuming medallion, punctuated by the “1 Month” in the center and surrounded by words he knew by heart from group: “freedom, goodwill, self, God, society, service.”
Jesus, had it really been thirty days since he’d been admitted?
“Thirty-three, actually,” Elliot said, as though reading Max’s thoughts. Slowly, he placed his hand over Max’s, curling their fingers around the chip. His expression was not one of a doctor, but of a friend, kind and reassuring. “With the new year only days away, let this, your determination and strength, prove that happily-ever-afters are achievable, Max. This, right here, is a symbol of hope. It can happen. Even for you.”
Max knew the sentiment should have made him all warm and cozy inside, should have backhanded the fear and pessimism out of his head, from around his bruised and scarred heart, and although he was quietly proud that he held his month of struggle away from his friends and all he knew in his palm, he stubbornly shook his head.
“Thank you, but happily-ever-afters don’t exist for me, Doc,” he said quietly, lifting his head to meet Elliot’s stare. “With all the people I’ve lost in my life, I know that’s the real fuckin’ truth.”
The bar Grace walked into was not what she expected.