Hollow (Heaven Hill Generations #4) - Laramie Briscoe Page 0,18

their presence known outside.

Two things I can smell. That damn coffee pot burning and the horrible, horrible cologne of the guy sitting next to me.

One thing I can taste. The butterscotch candy I put in my mouth before this group session started. I’m thankful for it now.

Before I’m ready, before I’ve steeled myself, I hear the words.

“Mandy, your turn.”

And I wonder if it’s okay to go ahead and pass out. Speaking in a group isn’t my favorite thing to do, neither is laying myself bare, but here I am about to do both.

“Not allowing my husband to be with me while I was miscarrying our child. I called my twin brother because I knew my husband was busy doing something else, and by the time my husband got there, I had already miscarried and they had me back for surgery. Then I didn’t take his feelings into account. Everything was all about me and my pain. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever asked him how he felt about it. Then I pushed him away, asking him to leave our home, and I didn’t invite him back - even when I knew I needed help.”

I stop because I’m getting emotional, and I’m not one to show emotions in public. But isn’t that why I’m here?

Deciding to let myself be vulnerable is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but it feels good as I purge myself of all the feelings.

“He told me he loved me, and I told him those words didn’t fix anything.”

There are some audible gasps through the room.

“The gasps you heard aren’t just for what you said to him,” another person in the program says. “It’s for the pain you must have been in, in order to say it.”

My lip trembles, so I pull it between my teeth and look down at my hands, nodding profusely as those tears come and they don’t stop. “I was, I was in so much pain, and it felt like nobody could see it and everybody could see it at the same time. I hated myself, I hated him, God, our child that didn’t make it, our child that did - I hated everything, and I just couldn’t seem to make myself stop.”

I take a deep, cleansing breath, feeling the weight that’s pushed my shoulders down for far too long lessen.

“Do you still hate?” the therapist asks quietly.

“No, not anymore. Clarity has been slow in coming, but I’m beginning to learn we’re all on a path. The directions we choose on the path determine our reactions, and my reaction has always been about me.”

There are murmurs all around the group.

“That’s a hard thing to admit.”

“You’ve come to that conclusion early; you’re doing great work here.”

As I sit back against the chair, watching and listening to everyone else talk about what they’ve gone through and why they’re here, I can’t help but feel proud.

Of myself.

Of these people.

And of the way I’ve given myself over to the program.

Old Mandy would have rejected all of this, but this Mandy? She wants her family back, her life back, and she wants to go home an improved version of herself.

Chapter Nine

Dalton

My hand shakes violently as I pull the envelope out of the mail slot at the clubhouse. It’s addressed to me, and I can see Mandy’s feminine scrawl across the white paper. Not looking around at anyone else, I put the envelope in the pocket of my leather jacket and beat feet to my dorm.

If she’s going to ask me for a divorce, I don’t want anyone to see me going through the five stages of grief all in three seconds. I’ll take the time I need to digest if, if that’s what she’s asking for.

Closing the door between mine and Walker’s room is hard. It hasn’t been closed since he came here to stay with me, but I need privacy. Thinking twice, I lock it, pressing a hand against the wood, making sure it’s shut all the way. I’ll need to prepare him if we’re going to go our separate ways.

Sitting down on the bed, I take the envelope out and put it on the bed in front of me. I stare at it, for what seems like an amazingly long time, both needing to open it and dreading to at the same time.

There’s noise in the hallway, letting me know everyone is up and at ‘em, which means I should be too.

“C’mon, D,” I chide myself. “Open the fucking thing and get on with