Stealing Taffy (Bigler, North Carolina #3) - Susan Donovan Page 0,72
knew to do it.
Tanyalee squirmed. She pushed her hands against his body, but Dante simply held on to her, steady and strong, not going anywhere, and waited for her to do whatever it was she needed to do—scream, cry, rant, cuss, punch him …
He’d been in her position before. He knew what it was like to have to find a way of being in the world without relying on something to numb the pain. Dante’s go-to remedy had been booze. Tanyalee’s might have been a little more subtle than his, but the withdrawal process had to hurt, just the same.
After a few moments, Dante realized Tanyalee was not going to cry in his arms. Then, without warning, she took a huge gulp of air and let go with a nonstop outpouring of information, her words muffled by the fabric of his shirt. “They just got back from their honeymoon … I need to apologize for all the horrible lies and I’m scared to death that … that Cheri might not want to try to be my sister, and why would she? All I’ve ever done is be mean and lie to her, steal her man and tear her down out of jealousy … and J.J.? Oh, Lord! That man will hate me until the end of time, which he has a right to after everything I’ve done to him, especially how I tricked him into getting me pregnant and marrying me, then lying when I miscarried. But I’m afraid J.J.’s hate will become Cheri’s hate, and neither of them will ever forgive me when all I want is to find peace with my sister, my family, my … my … myself!”
“I understand.” Dante placed his lips on the top of her head, inhaling the sweet, sugary scent of her. “I know how this feels.”
That’s when the dam broke. Tanyalee’s sobs were the silent, gut-wrenching kind, long stretches of airless silence punctuated by gasps for breath and more silence. After a time, he felt her body crumple. Her knees gave out. Dante kept her standing.
“It will be all right, Tanyalee.”
“How can you say that? You don’t even know—”
“I do know, baby. I know all about it, which is one of the things I wanted to tell you tonight.” As Tanyalee began to lift her head from his chest, Dante decided it was as good a time as any. She was already upset. Why not get it all out at once?
Two pale blue and bloodshot eyes peered at him through mascara-smeared lashes. “You know all about what?”
“Twelve-step recovery.” Dante set her a few inches away but kept his hands on her upper arms. “I go to AA. It’s a long story and I’d rather tell you while we’re sitting down instead of standing by the door, if you don’t mind.”
Tanyalee tipped her head to the side and frowned. “You’re in recovery?”
“Please, come sit with me.” When he guided her to the sofa she went without complaint. He grabbed a box of tissues from the kitchen counter and brought them along.
“Here you go.”
“Thankyousoverymuch.” Tanyalee pulled out three tissues in quick succession and began to dab her eyes. “But … you’re an alcoholic?”
“I am, and I’m in recovery one day at a time.” He sat down on the sofa, a polite distance from Tanyalee. “I started drinking to deal with the isolation and ugliness of undercover work, which I now realize only made it worse. Within a few years I had let it get out of hand. Then, when I got shot in the back—”
“Oh, my God, when was that?”
“Four years ago in California. I’m fine now, but I spent most of my medical leave drinking, and I was headed down a very dangerous road. My family was sick with worry, and just before my father died, he made me swear…” Dante stopped a moment to refocus. He needed to keep his story short and sweet, since this conversation wasn’t really about him. When he met Tanyalee’s gaze he saw that she was surprised. “I swore to my father that I would stop before it was too late. That very night I showed up at my first AA meeting. I got a sponsor and I’ve been sober for three years. My dad lived long enough to see me get my ninety-day chip.”
Tanyalee cast her eyes downward and concentrated on twisting the tissues in her hands until they began to shred. “I am glad you brought yourself back from the brink, Dante. You are a