Charity Case - The Complete Series - Piper Rayne Page 0,152

it when I come here.”

“Oh.”

There’s an awkward silence between us for a few seconds before he speaks. “I’ve been sober three years now.”

“That’s great.” I hope he can hear the sincerity, and if I’m honest—relief, in my voice.

He nods slowly, his head moving up and down, his eyes on me the entire time. “Do you want to stay?” The cocky twinkle that’s always in his eye is replaced with a timidness I’ve rarely seen.

“No, I shouldn’t hear their stories and private thoughts.”

“They don’t care and plus, I’m talking today, and I want you to hear it. I think it will help us move forward.”

“I can’t, Dean.” Panic wells up inside my chest until I feel like I can’t breathe.

He’s already shaking his head. “Don’t worry, I promise it will be fine.”

Both his hands slide down my arms and he links our fingers, pulling me away from the wall. “I want you to see this part of me.”

He leads me down the hall, both of our dress shoes clicking on the linoleum floor. When we enter, the instructor eyes the two empty chairs.

We sit in them and I feel all the eyes on me. I’m not one of them…in fact, I left one of them while he was in the deep throws of addiction. They can’t see me as a good person.

“This is Chelsea,” Dean says.

Everyone says hello.

“It’s been almost three years sober for me.”

Everyone claps, including me.

“It took me forever to seek the help I needed. Chelsea and I divorced five years ago and as much as I hate to admit it, our marriage was probably my idea when I was half blasted. We were in Vegas on a trip with some teammates of mine and we tied the knot on impulse. Chelsea was only eighteen and I was twenty-one.”

I knot my fingers together in my lap. It all sounds so stupid when you tell other people. At the time I’d thought it was romantic. No wonder my family looks at me like I’m a complete moron.

“I used to play baseball…slated for the big leagues. But I was also drinking too much, and I had a temper. After some guy hit on my wife, I got into a bar fight and messed up my shoulder.” He glances my way. This was the start of our demise. “If I hadn’t been drinking that night the fight might not have even happened. Who knows. After baseball was ripped away from me, the drinking only grew worse. I’d be out half the night, roll in long after Chelsea was in bed. I never called to let her know where I was or who I was with. At first, Chelsea tried to keep up, but when she wouldn’t join me, I’d tell her she wasn’t any fun to be around. I’d say she was wasting all her good years.”

I’m staring at my hands in my lap and I don’t have the heart to look up, to see all the faces looking at me with what’s probably pity. I’m sure our story isn’t foreign to them but rehashing our sordid love affair reminds me how stupid I was.

“I stopped communicating with her. If she ever called me out on my bullshit I’d resort to fighting with her as a way to keep from discussing what was really the problem—me. I treated her badly over and over again. In the end it probably felt like she was married to a stranger.” He heaves out a deep sigh. “Just so we’re not here all night, I’ll condense it.”

Thank God. There’s only so much I can handle.

“She did the right thing and stopped enabling me, eventually leaving me one night.” I look up to find him looking at me. “Morning probably.”

I nod more to myself than him.

“It took me two years of just barely getting by to seek help and three years clean before I could actually face her.” His hand seeks mine out, entwining our fingers, gripping tight. “We’re trying to move forward, start something new, something better.”

Tears prick the corners of my eyes and I attempt to slow my beating heart. There he is, my Dean Bennett, the side of him no one else saw in college. The side of him I denied existed after we parted—as if the kind, honest side of him was a mirage and had never really been there.

“That’s great, Dean. Congratulations on three years sober and remember, it’s just one day at a time,” the leader says. “Chelsea, you’re welcome anytime