Ryan

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Five Years Ago

She's crying, and it's my fault. As the tears glide down her cheeks, I can't begin to comprehend why I'd ever put us here. Just weeks ago my life was on the line as the surgeons worked to alleviate the pressure on my brain, and the truth is, I barely remember the events leading to the accident.

A fight with Henley. The itching in my belly, the angry beast of addition crawling beneath my skin, begging to be fed and draining me of all common sense. Killing me slowly and threatening to destroy everything good in my life. I don't like to admit it, but there were moments when my addiction was stronger than me and soothing it meant more to me than anything, even more than the heartbreak in Henley's eyes. Yeah, I've had a lot of time to think about my choices and the things that led me here. I'd like to think the reality alone would've been enough to make me quit, but I know that's a lie. I was in too deep. If I hadn't crashed my car, I'd still be wrecking our lives with those pills. I just wonder how long it would've taken for her to realize I was never going to stop. For her to leave me.

While I don't understand the schematics of it, I'm told had I hit that wall any other way, I wouldn't be here today. I don't let myself think on it too much, because I'm guilty as hell as it is. It kind of leaves me wondering what I did to earn a second chance, and I'm not just talking about breathing.

"Questions for me?" The thin, red-headed woman's voice pulls me from the troubled corners of my mind. I've been waiting for this day for what seems like forever, but now that it's here, I'm starting to worry. What if I can't do this?

"Ryan?" My God. I don't know if she's crying because I've accomplished something and she's happy we'll be together again or because she's worried I won't make it, too. I offer her a smile that I hope tells her how grateful I am she's mine. I've been overlooking and ignoring so much good in my life; I half wonder if this was the only way I'd ever really wake up. And while it's messed up to say it, I can't help thinking my accident was somehow a blessing in disguise. "You okay?"

"Yes. I'm fine. No questions," I say on an exhale and squeeze her shaky hand.

I'm sitting at a table next to my wife at my rehabilitation center, signing a shitload of paperwork that states I'm cleared to leave the substance abuse rehabilitation center I've been at since leaving the hospital. It's been months.

Her eyes sparkle, glisten as I scratch my signature over the final line, and her warm hand slides comfortingly along the top of my thigh. I don't know how in the world I ever sought comfort in anything but this woman. Now that I'm clear-headed again, I know no chemical reaction to a pill could ever come close to the love of my wife. I'm a fool for ever letting it try.

The clinician gives me a standard smile, and I wonder how much of what he just told me is true. I wonder how many faces he sees walk through these doors more than once, and if he warned me in the ways he just did me. I refuse to be another statistic or end up worse off than I was when I came in. Unlike most, I was still on painkillers when I walked into this facility. This time they were prescribed and regulated, and I wasn't allowed to touch the bottle. No one had to fight me to get me to agree to treatment, because I knew I was doing the right thing by giving it up, I just needed to be sober to accept that. I wanted to quit, to be the man Henley deserved and needed. I wanted to stop wondering if the tears on her pillow every night were because my shit has been eating her alive or because she regretted marrying someone who would only end up being another disappointment. I knew the withdrawals were going to be hell, but this was the hardest damn thing I've done in my life. I hope I can look in the mirror in two months and still see the sober, hopeful man I did this morning. I hope I can finally be what she needs.

The clinician's chair slides out and she's gone, leaving us alone with nothing but time. A future.

As I slip my hands into my coat sleeves and feel Henley's warm hand slide into mine, I know I've got a struggle ahead of me. Rehab was ruthless on my nerves; as soon as I went off the painkillers, I lost it. I experienced what I imagine everyone else does in these types of places. The things people fear the most. I heard plenty of stories from peers while I was here, and I came to realize I've got it a whole lot better than most. Some guys in here don't have anyone to go home to. Don't have reasons to stay clean, or live or dream. But I do, and I'll be damn sure I let Henley know how very sorry I am and how precious every moment I spend with her will be from this point forward.

We haven't really talked...not about what happened. I apologized in the hospital, and it wasn't just for the reckless actions of the night that got me here. I apologized for everything. Her eyes were so full of tears and she simply shook her head and silently plead me not to go any further into it. I know she forgives me and seems willing to move one without a grudge, but I know her better than I know myself, which means I know the thoughts swimming in her mind are a lot darker than the smile she wears. Someday it's going to come out, and I want to hear every single thing she thinks, because I can't bear to know she's holding something in for fear of hurting me.

She doesn't want to scare me. I was right beside her as the clinicians walked us through the steps of recovery. I felt her hands squeeze my leg as they rattled off how important a stable environment is to this all, how vital family and a support system is to my success. To my future. So it's a damn good thing I've got an amazing family, because for as much as I pushed them away from me and out of my life recently, they're welcoming me back into theirs so easily.

Hello, normal.

"Ready to do this?" She asks softly. I'm relieved as hell to be beside her again, out in the fresh air without the eyes of many keeping track of my every move. I tell myself it was only painkillers, not heroin or crack or meth or anything really hard. But I know in the scheme of things, it really doesn't matter. A drug is a drug, and an addiction is dangerous regardless of its source.

"Yeah," I say simply as my eyes float over her every beautiful feature, soaking her in. It's not like I haven't seen her while I was in rehab. I was allowed visitations, but I guess I always felt there was still something standing between us. Like my apology wasn't enough. Like I needed to work up an amazing, honest speech for the day I finally came home to her. But I know home means something different now-somewhere different, and now that it's here, my words are as dried up as my first clean day.

Stable means giving up racing, traveling. It means the days of getting in a car and driving from one city to the next are long gone, and life as Henley and I know it together will never be the same. There will be no more long, hard nights or crappy motels. We'll finally be doing the one thing I wasn't sure we'd ever do-settling down. It's not that I'm afraid; I just always pictured it being under different circumstances, if it did happen. We'd make a mutual decision, not by force, and it would be so good when the time was right. When we'd worked the wildness out of our bones and were ready to understand what a good, solid life would mean. I think the drugs in my system made it easier to believe that she felt the same way, but the time alone without them has made me realize I was only telling myself that because it was easier.

She did want to settle down; there was no denying the flicker of joy in her eyes when she told me she might be pregnant. She was happy, somehow, even thought I was a colossal screw-up who was in no way prepared to be a father. I was scared of what something like that might mean, but I heard her sobbing in the corner of the hospital one night and begged her to tell me what was wrong. She told me her late period was due to stress-that she took a test and it was negative. "It's probably better anyway", she said, but I'm still left wondering if her tears were of sadness or relief, because things could've turned out very differently for us. A little harder on the wheel and I could be gone. I few more pills in my belly and I could be a ghost, and that's a shitty story for a mom to have to tell a child.

I climb into the passenger side of my Mom's four-door silver sedan and reality hits; Henley's about to drive us to my childhood home. It's only been a few years since I lived at home with my parents. Before my Dad died. Before I just wanted to get away and forget. I spent a few months over the summer at home, but it never felt the same as it did when I was a kid. It was temporary and I could feel the difference. The only home I've really known lately is Henley, and I'm so happy she's by my side.

I try to put myself in her shoes, but it's hard. I try to picture her lost, gone, away...but I can't. I just can't imagine my life without her. All I see is darkness, and I hope I never have to go through it. It's this thought that makes me realize why she stuck by my side; we love each other dangerously. Fully. Unconditionally, and I know if I were her, I'd have done the same thing.

"Whatcha thinking about?" She asks. I know I've been quiet the whole ride. The rehab center is two hours out of Eagle River and we're nearly home. I've said all of two sentences the whole way, and I can tell she's worried. I know this isn't the way she dreamed it would be - a perfect reunion where nothing is wrong and nothing hurts.

"Everything," I lick my lips and run my hand through my hair. Wisconsin is beautiful in spring; it's green and blooming and I focus on the scenery passing me by through my window. I owe her the truth, every part of me. I owe her things I fear I can never give her but want so badly to try. "Just a little weirded out by it all, you know? Living with my Mom again..."

Nothing like loud sex with my wife when I know my Mom's a few hundred feet away scrapbooking or baking brownies. Not to mention the fact I'm up for the asshole-son-of-the-year award.

"And then there's Harlow..." I add, picturing my twin sister...my first friend, my forever best friend.

"You don't have to worry about them being angry with you," she assures me, and a grin finds my lips because she's so damn good at reading me. I don't have to say a word and she gets it, and it's just one of the thousands of things I love about her. "We're all just happy you're safe and coming home."

Home. It's so strange to hear that word come off her lips so naturally. My family welcomed her into their lives and their home from the moment she made the call to Harlow. I'm beyond grateful for what they've done for her and ultimately, us. They comforted my wife when I could not. Cooked for her and gave her a place to stay and did all of the things I should've been doing all along. She looks healthy and happy and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to repay them for loving a woman they'd only met once and accepting her into our family as if she were born into it.

"Henley, look..." I begin, unsure of what I'm even about to say. I know what I want to say, what I need to say. But I'm not sure how or if she'll believe me. I need her to know I'm completely dilapidated, down to my heart. Devastated that we're even here right now. I'm more disappointed in myself than I can even understand. I feel raw and hollow and desperately need her to fill me up with warmth and love. And that's the thing that hurts the most, because regardless of whether or not I deserve it, she'll do it without a second thought.

"Don't, okay?" She smiles sweetly as we pull into the driveway. She reaches for the knob of the stereo and silences our distraction, leaving us alone with our thoughts, the ones I want to get out there before we set foot in our temporary home. "I'm not even worried about anything right now except getting you settled into our room and eating a big dinner. The rest will work itself out."

I offer her a disbelieving look, and her fingertips ghost along my hairline. "It will," she repeats softly. She's been fighting our demons alone. She's the bravest woman I know to have overcome it on her own. There was a time she was right beside me, popping the cap of that bottle and reveling in the sweet haziness of Oxy. And though she's working hard to be strong for me, I know she still blames herself for giving me that first bottle, but I don't see it that way at all.

"And if it doesn't...what if it doesn't or I freak out or," I didn't realize my hands were shaking until she stills them with hers. I look up into her soft brown eyes and I believe her. I trust her. "I won't hurt you again, or us. I don't want to, you know that right?" My voice shakes, riveted with emotion. I'm about to crack, break, sob like a baby because I can't remember being so afraid in my life. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

We were just supposed to have fun. Finish growing up. No one was supposed to get hurt.

"I know you won't," she bites her lower lip and leans across the console to kiss me softly. Somehow, it feels new. I taste her lipgloss and that damn sweetness that could only be Henley. The kiss isn't angry or laced with hidden disappointment. It's not desperate but not robotic, and the motion of her lips against mine reminds of me of how great life with Henley really is. How she warms me and wraps me up in her arms until the rest of the world and all of my problems just fade away.

"Thank you," I whisper against her lips. "For...for staying. For not leaving me," I'm humbled, completely.

"I love you, Ryan. You," she says again before pressing her lips to mine. "Everything that you are and everything you'll be. Everything we'll be from this point forward. And I'm not going anywhere, okay?" Her fingers run though my hair, calming me completely. I want to fall into her, love her the way I always meant to. I need her in a way I never knew I could. "I'm yours. Forever."

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