Chapter 7: Good Behavior: Chapter 7

Justin and I walk out of our Saturday morning AA meeting, a little emotional. One of our friends had a relapse, and we didn’t even know it.

When he came in and asked for the twenty-four-hour chip, it was a real gut punch.

I’ve come to learn that falling down is often part of getting up, and it was a reminder to not take my own sobriety for granted. We found out after the meeting that he’d been arrested for a DWI and was feeling horrible about it.

Justin and I stayed a little later, and Justin walked through some of the legal issues with him, letting him talk through his guilt about doing something so dangerous and irresponsible.

“I could’ve killed somebody,” he says, tears streaming down his face.

“I’ve been in the same situation,” Justin says. “You and I got real lucky. Real fucking lucky. We know the deal—when we’re struggling with ourselves, we can’t make it dangerous for everyone else. But it’s hard to maintain sobriety while beating yourself up. You can’t hate yourself sober.”

“What if I can’t help but hate myself?”

“Go back to the basics, learn the lesson. Use it to propel you forward.”

We sit with him while he cries, then walk him out to his car, where his wife’s waiting. They switch places, and she goes in for her Al-Anon meeting. It’s tough, like seeing a vision of the future and how my alcoholism can impact somebody I love. Like a lot of folks in AA, I struggle with the idea that I’m even worthy of a relationship to begin with, and days like this one make me question even more.

More shit to plow through, but I’ll save that for a different day.

Justin and I get into his truck and head back toward the ranch. When we hit the highway, I decide to go in on the subject that’s been bothering me all week.

“So am I supposed to know you and Charlie got married?”

“Shit,” he says under his breath. “I keep meaning to talk to you, but we got busy as soon as we hit the ground, and then it feels like I haven’t even seen you until today. Hell, how did you even find out?”

“Erik told Ant.”

He lets his head fall back to the headrest. “Why would he do that?”

“I dunno, man. Maybe he thought it was important information.”

“Fuck. I’ve gotta let Charlie know.” Turning to me, he says, “You know we weren’t trying to keep it from you, right? We just…wanted a few days with it all to ourselves.”

“I get it, man. I mean, you don’t have to tell anyone a damn thing. But finding out secondhand wasn’t…great. It’s a real good way to make somebody feel like they don’t matter that much to you.”

“You matter,” he says, sending me a pleading look. “You and Ant matter so much to us. Charlie and I… I don’t regret getting swept up in the moment and flying off to Vegas. Honestly, it was the most romantic thing ever.”

“And see, man, I love that for you. I don’t know anyone who’s worked harder for his happily ever after. It’s just…words like brother and family are sacred to people like us. Me and Ant…we can’t go back to our families, right? You know how that last visit with my mom went. So, it’s real tender, you know?”

He drops his chin to his chest, and…argh. Bram was right. I hate that he feels bad.

He responds with absolute sincerity. “I promise it doesn’t mean we don’t think of you as family. We genuinely do. You’re incredibly important to us, both to me and Charlie and to me and Jason. When you start a business, those first employees can make or break you so fast. You were the best decision we ever made for our business. Though I hope you know you’re more than an employee to us.”

“I do know that, but it is nice to hear.”

After driving silently for a while, I bump his shoulder. “So, tell me about Vegas. Don’t leave out any details.”

“Oh, there are some details I will definitely be leaving out. But Saturday morning, we were just…”—he pauses to blush, which cracks me up—“…making love, and there was a moment where we were looking into each other’s eyes, and I knew I’d never want my life without him. Aaand at that same moment, he just sorta blurted out, ‘Marry me. I’ll get Erik. We’ll go to Vegas. Marry me. Today.’”

“Oh, . That’s romantic as .”

His grin lights up the inside of the truck.

“It was. When we got there, we had to go to the courthouse and wait for the paperwork, which sort of sucked because everyone around us was drunk and sloppy. After a while, we decided it felt kinda like a party.”

I laugh at the visual.

“And even though we were looking for anything but, the only places with availability had Elvis officiants.”

I laugh even harder, and he continues, “So we just got the classiest-looking one.”

At this point, I almost have to pull over. “Fucking classiest Elvis impersonator. Fuck, dude, that’s hilarious.”

“He had a good voice too. Most Elvis impersonators are just about the cheese factor, but he was, like, weirdly sincere. I couldn’t tell if it was cool or sad.”

“We’ll go with cool,” I say as a thought occurs to me. “Oh shit, dude. How is Charlie’s taking this?”

He grimaces. “We didn’t tell them until after we got home, and it didn’t go well. It’s probably gonna take a family wedding or reception before she forgives us.”

“You should do it in the therapy barn. It worked well for the grand opening, and you know the horses will behave during the ceremony.”

“Wherever we do it, it’ll have to be sooner rather than later, or we will absolutely never live it down.”

“Especially after all that shit y’all went through just to get her to accept you.”

He drops his head back on the headrest. “Yeah…that was brought up.”

“You know, I feel a little better now.”

“Why? Because we managed to piss off and hurt everybody we love?”

I grimace. “I didn’t even ask—how is Jason taking it?”

“Considering the fact that he and Patrick already went and got married, pretty well.”

My jaw drops to the floorboard. “When did that fucking happen?”

“About a month ago,” he says, laughing at my expression.

“Yeah. Y’all owe us a major party.”

“I think we can arrange that,” he says, his smile dimming. “Hey, Nacho? Do you think Ant will ever forgive us?”

I take a moment to organize my answer. “I don’t think it’s about forgiveness. It’s not that it just sorta hurt his feelings. Speaking for myself, it made me doubt my place in your life. I don’t know if y’all understand that y’all are his world.”

“Shit,” Justin whispers softly.

“He shared a little bit of what he went through, and the way he talks about Charlie walking into that hotel room and pulling him out of there? Ant worships him. The way you taught him all about fencing? He worships you too. He spent a lot of years feeling like a throwaway and has been working really hard to rebuild himself brick by brick. And I swear I’m not trying to make you feel bad, but this? He said it made him feel disposable all over again.”

“Double shit.” Justin leans forward, putting his head in his hands.

“Look, I think what he needs right now more than anything is reassurance. But…” I stop, thinking over what I’m about to say next. “I know this probably sounds stupid coming from me, but Ant needs to be in therapy. I think he’s got so much anger that he doesn’t know what to do with it, and sometimes it turns back inward on himself. Like, he’s hurt, but at least a part of him thinks y’all didn’t include him because something’s wrong with him.”

Justin shakes his head. “I hear you. I hear you. Me and Charlie are gonna make this right for him. I also think we’re going to have to push the issue on the therapy. He deserves support for all the shit that must be in his head.”

“And,” I say, tapping my thigh, “if you’re going to go to the Goodnights’ every Sunday without including him, call it something other than a family dinner. Or stop talking about it.”

Justin’s eyes go lunar as his jaw goes slack. “Fucking . I didn’t even think about that.”

“I know. Nobody’s excluding anyone on purpose, and not everyone can be invited to everything, but he brought it up.”

I decide not to let him know how it makes me feel, but he’s a pretty smart guy.

“I do that to you too, don’t I?”

I scratch my neck and admit, “Sorta.”

Gesturing between us, he says, “I promise it’s an oversight and not anything else. I’m going to bring this up to Trip, and the first thing he’s going to do is call and apologize. He’s been so busy, we’ve been so busy…it’s not purposeful. I fucking promise it’s not.”

“I . But it nice to hear.”

We pull into the ranch, and he gets out, coming around to my side. Opening the door, he pulls me into a hug. “I’m genuinely, genuinely sorry.”

“No more apologies,” I say, patting his back. “It’s just…if you’re gonna be bringing in delicate people, you have to be aware of the things that can set them off.”

He kisses the side of my head, cracking us up before he hugs me again. “Thank you for saying something.”

“Anytime, brother.”

I wave as he makes his way into his house, then head back to my trailer, grateful I listened to Bram’s advice…er, order. Orderly advice, maybe?

After parking and making my way inside the trailer, I pull out my phone, letting myself in while texting him one-handed while I shuffle out of my jeans.

I fall back onto the couch in my T-shirt and boxers. Absentmindedly stroking my belly, I consider his words.

.

I could leave the conversation there, but, of course, I don’t.

There’s a pause on his end, and I wonder if I haven’t pushed it too far.

Fuck, that’s so good.

I release a sigh, seeing where he’s going.

It’s my turn to hesitate because the visual of Bram walking through the front door and pulling me into a deep kiss has me sidetracked. God, I bet he loves like crazy. I bet whoever he ends up with will feel so protected and…never mind.

I can protect myself, of course. But I’m learning there’s a difference between being able to throw a punch and being safe in your thoughts around someone else, to feel safe with them emotionally, mentally.

Needing to shake off the visual feeling a little mischievous, I take off my T-shirt and take a selfie with the RV park framed in the window behind me. The con who did most of my tattoos loved flowers and Mexican history, and his work on my chest is a gorgeous black and gray Aztec collar piece adorned with roses that wind up my neck. Those same roses encircle the Aztec warrior that adorns one arm and the Mayan skull and headpiece which adorn the other. Each series of tattoos trails from the top of my shoulders down the back of my hands and onto my fingers.

I traded him regular blowjobs for his work and have zero regrets. I suppose some people would find that distasteful, but considering he was a genius with a rigged tattoo machine and had a hair trigger, I think I got the better end of the deal.

And his artwork makes for a damn good picture.

I do as asked and then send him a clothed selfie to prove I complied.

Thank you.

I crack up, knowing he’s gotta be dying to call me a at this point.

My boxers were never off, of course, but this little back-and-forth has me in a state of half-chub, a fact that the thin material does little to conceal. At all. I fire off another selfie.

A minute later, he texts me a selfie. He’s sweaty and unshaven, and it looks like he might be in a hospital. Most important, though, is his displeased expression. His eyebrow is cocked sky-high, and he’s giving me his best look.

I wanna lick the sweat from his neck.

I stare at the screen for several minutes, but he doesn’t text back. I can’t tell if I’m disappointed or pleased that I got to him. Either way, I can’t wait to see how he handles me at Friday dinner.