Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
He’d remained dry since everything fell to shit one week ago. Daily AA meetings helped. He still craved the oblivion that alcohol provided, but he was clear-headed now. Being detached from life hadn’t solved any of his problems, it just created new ones. Not just for himself, but for his friends too—the people he cherished. He wouldn’t do that to them again. They’d earned better treatment.
“So what are your plans for the rest of the afternoon?” he asked.
“My shift doesn’t start until six, why?”
He placed his fork on the table while smoothing down the paper napkin. “There is a...well.” He cleared his throat and started again. “I’m going to speak at my meeting today and I was wondering if, maybe, you’d come to support me.” He snapped his eyes up to catch her reaction.
She breathed through parted lips and brought a hand to her heart. “You’ve been going to AA meetings?”
He tilted his head and lowered his eyes. “Ever since you left. Thank you for the pamphlet.”
“Oh, Ansel. I’m so proud of you.” She touched his hand again and her smile was so wide it reached her shining eyes.
“You were right. I need help.” He clutched Ray’s tags in a loose fist. “So, will you come with me?”
Incredibly, her grin grew. “Are you kidding? Of course I will.”
They finished their meals, chatting about Ange’s work and his plans for finding a new place. They paid and started down to the station to catch the train.
“What will you do about all of your furniture?” Ange asked.
“You won’t believe it. Mr. Policek actually offered to let me keep stuff in the basement until I find a place.”
“Seriously? I thought the guy hated you.”
“I know, me too. Turns out he’s actually got a tiny heart beating in his chest. He saw me tossing stuff on the sidewalk and I guess my sad story was enough to melt the ice inside.”
“Too bad he didn’t find enough heart to let you stay.”
“I burned that bridge, no one’s fault but my own. He was right to kick me out. I’m just sorry you got caught in the middle.”
They made their way to the West Village, Ange smiling the whole way. She held his hand and gave him encouraging squeezes. They arrived at the meeting just as everyone was starting to take their seats. Ansel led Ange to his usual spot, near Susan. He made the appropriate introductions and sat back to wait for his turn.
About half an hour later, Susan nodded at him and he walked to the podium. He gripped the edge of the wood and looked out at all the faces in the room. He’d heard most of their stories, felt their pain, gotten to know bits of their personal struggles.
He puffed out a breath and looked at Ange. “My name is Ansel and I’m an alcoholic.”
Chapter Thirty
Ansel hurried from the subway station to his apartment on Saturday night, the evening air colder than usual for late April. His AA meeting went long and there was some kind of delay with the trains so he only had thirty minutes to get ready if he wanted to make it to the club in time. He turned the corner and stopped.
Fitch sat on the concrete step leading to the apartment building’s front door. His arms rested on his knees and his head sagged forward, but Ansel didn’t need to see his face. He had everything about Fitch memorized—his build, his stance, the way he moved, the way he smelled. Every detail was etched in his brain like carvings in stone. He must have made some noise because Fitch looked up and their eyes clashed.
Ansel’s breath hitched and he tightened his grip on the bag strap over his shoulder. “Fitch.”
“Angel.”
He flinched at the nickname even while his tired heart perked its head up and took notice of the relief and desperation that tinged Fitch’s voice.
“What do you want?” Lifting his chin, Ansel crossed his arms. It hurt to see Fitch again. He was just getting used to not hearing that deep, sexy voice, to not looking into those brown eyes. Now he’d have to start the withdrawal all over again from the beginning. One taste of Fitch was more addictive than any drug, and more devastating than alcohol had ever been.
Fitch stood. “To see you again.”
The words weren’t meant to punish him, but they did. They were like feeding crumbs to a starving child when he knew there wouldn’t be anything else to eat. Ansel hugged himself tighter and stiffened his spine, reciting in his head the affirmations he’d learned at AA.
“Well, mission accomplished. Goodbye.” He moved up the stairs staying comically close to the railing to avoid any possible contact.
“Ansel.” The longing in Fitch’s voice was so sharp it made him stall just inside the door, his hand clutching the handle.