as Sarah still wanted him, he had a shot. If he could get her in bed, addict her to him, he’d have the time he needed to prove to her that he was no longer the man who’d hurt her so badly.
There were no drugs in his system, no alcohol. Only healthy food and a boatload of determination. He’d also stopped picking up women. The guys didn’t know, but until the explosive encounter in Sarah’s kitchen, he hadn’t been with a woman for months. Specifically since that night during their last tour when he’d shoved so much alcohol into his body that he’d almost ended up in a coma.
After sobering up—and quietly getting help to stay sober—he’d consciously confronted an ugly truth: that he found no pleasure in the meaningless hookups that had filled his nights since his and Sarah’s divorce. The sex had simply been another way to drown out the things he didn’t want to think about, the things that haunted him: Tessie’s death and Sarah’s absence from his life.
Hell, he was such a world-class bullshitter when it came to the most painful events in his life that he’d even managed to convince himself that he didn’t love Sarah, had never loved her; he’d carried that belief like a talisman against the pain of losing the right to call her his wife… until the moment he laid eyes on her at Zenith.
The second he’d heard her voice, met those dark eyes that had once looked at him with unhidden love, he’d been slapped in the face with harsh reality: that he’d tried to bury what he felt for her, bury who she was to him, because he couldn’t deal with the unforgiving fact that he and he alone was responsible for the destruction of his marriage.
Because Abe had only ever loved one woman: Sarah.
He’d fought it, lied to himself, told his friends he was over her, but his love for Sarah was woven into every part of his fucking heart.
“Hey.” David nudged his shoulder, his eyes incisive. “You good?”
David and Abe had been best friends since they were thirteen. The other man had always had Abe’s back—even when Abe was an asshole. He’d earned the right to ask Abe that question, as had Noah and Fox. “Yeah, I’m good.”
“You sure?” David kept his voice low, their conversation sliding under the other men’s discussion about a controversial call in a recent basketball game.
Abe ran a hand over his shaved-smooth head. “Sarah,” he admitted. “She’ll be there.”
No surprise in David’s expression. “I figured. You’re still hung up on her.”
Abe didn’t bother to deny it.
“Look, Abe, I know all about being hung up on a woman.” A deep grin. “But you and Sarah… Something toxic happened when you were together.”
“No.” Abe sliced out a hand. “I’ve forced myself to be brutally honest this time around—only way my sobriety is going to stick.” His sponsor was a hard-nosed vet who’d understood that just in time to save his own marriage and who’d held on to his sobriety for twenty-five years and counting. “It was me, David.”
No excuses, no bullshit.
“I was fucked up and I took that out on everyone, Sarah most of all.” His friends thought they knew what he’d been like during his worst days, but they had no idea how many times he’d hurt his tough, sweet wife with his words and his lack of care, until even her generous heart couldn’t love him. “All Sarah did was try to love me.”
David nodded, his golden-brown eyes dark with the awareness that no one outside a marriage or relationship ever truly knew what went on inside it. “Whatever happens,” he said, “I know you’re going to stay sober this time around.” No hesitation in his tone, nothing but absolute confidence. “You’re different.”
“Yeah, I am.” It was as if a switch had been thrown in his brain. He finally got it: he was in charge of whether or not he lived a life that made him happy. And he understood that any self-destructive choices he made had a profound impact on others: David and his other bandmates, his dad when Gregory Bellamy had been alive, his mom… Sarah.
“Isn’t it time to head over?” David’s voice drew him back to the here and now. He glanced over to see that Noah had picked up an acoustic guitar.
“No, we still have a half hour.” Noah strummed aimlessly, still managing to create music. “Small session to settle Fox’s nerves.”
“Fuck you.” Fox’s grin made it clear