Just like you, Lill. Except that he’d been sober a whole year longer than she had.
Of all the empty seats on this bus, why had he chosen the one beside her?
He held out a hand. “Gabe Sheffield.”
“Lillie Rourke,” she said, taking it.
She’d learned in rehab that to truly come to terms with drug or alcohol dependence, addicts had to admit their own culpability in the addiction. Lillie had managed to take full responsibility with the staff at Rising Sun, but wasn’t at all sure she could pull it off with the people she’d hurt.
For one thing, her parents and siblings would have questions, and so would Jase. She owed them straightforward answers. What better way to practice dealing with the ugly facts than by confessing them with someone she’d never see again?
“I was in rehab, too.”
“Yeah?” He studied her face. “You could have fooled me.”
“Why?”
“You don’t look desperate, or like you have something to prove.”
During her final group therapy session, that was exactly what a fellow patient feared most. Until that moment, she hadn’t given it a thought. Funny, because she felt both right now.
“Sixteen months ago,” she continued, “I signed myself into Rising Sun. It was a really intense time.”
“How long?”
“Seven weeks.”
Gabe’s brow furrowed as he considered her words. “You beat the addiction in less than the normal amount of time?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Rising Sun, huh? Isn’t that the place where movie stars go?”
Lillie knew how fortunate she’d been to have had Pete in her corner; his steady and generous contributions to the facility helped allow her to take advantage of the facility’s groundbreaking treatments.
“Actually, a friend pulled some strings. I did odd jobs there in exchange for room and board and sessions with the staff.”
“Cool.” Then, “Did you get any autographs while you were there?”
She’d met a major-league baseball player, a well-known country singer and half a dozen Broadway stars. But she felt protective of their anonymity.
“All that matters is that I’ve been out for a year now, working pretty much nonstop, and saving to repay...everyone.”
“Yeah, we tend to rack up some big-time debts, don’t we.”
Lillie bristled. She hadn’t minded being treated like every other resident at Rising Sun, so why did it bother her when this guy assumed he and she were alike?
“So is Baltimore home, or just a payback stop?”
“It’s both.”
Lillie had grown up in the big old house that had become her parents’ B and B. They didn’t know it yet, but Lillie had no intention of accepting a salary for helping out in the kitchen, serving meals and cleaning guest rooms. And although they’d try to talk her out of finding another job to fill the hours when they didn’t need her, that was exactly what she intended to do. Sending money to her siblings, the guys in the band and Jase’s mother had been easy. Earning back their trust wouldn’t be.
Jase? Jase would be another matter entirely.
She thought about what Jase had said that last night. If only there had been venom in his words, or if he’d ordered her to leave. Slammed a door. Something. If he had, she might have learned to live with it. Instead, when Jase found out that she’d stolen the band’s money for a handful of pills, he had looked...
After all this time, the only word she could come up with to describe it was wounded.
Lillie closed her eyes and remembered how she’d gone through the well-rehearsed list of apologies he’d heard far too many times before. Promises that nothing like this would ever happen again. Claims that this time, this time, she’d get help. For the longest time, he’d just stared, grim-faced and slump-shouldered, then quietly ground out, “The guys have bills to pay, too, you know. When are you gonna realize your needs aren’t more important than everybody else’s?”
“Say, Lillie,” Gabe said, breaking into her thoughts, “maybe you can help me make a tough decision. You know, since you understand things.”
“I stink in the advice department.”
He shrugged. “My older brother lives in Florida, too. It’s the main reason our mom moved down there. He owns a landscaping company. Offered me a job and a place to stay. You know, until I get on my feet.” Gabe paused. “But I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. I’m godfather to his thirteen-year-old son, see, and not to toot my own horn, but the kid’s crazy about me.”
Lillie thought of her brother’s twins, who’d once lit up at the sight of her, and wondered if Sam had told the girls that their beloved aunt was a drug addict.
“You’re worried that if you spend too much time around your nephew, you’ll be a bad example?”
“Bingo.”
The bus merged with traffic on 28th Street, and Gabe shifted in his seat.
“Your brother told your nephew...everything?”
“That’s just it,” Gabe said. “I don’t know.”
He looked as distraught as she felt. Disappointing people was tough. She’d certainly learned that the hard way.
“Well, even if the boy knows, that’s not such a bad thing, is it? I mean, you made a mistake—”
“Lots of mistakes.”
“—but you made things right, and stayed clean for a long time. What better example can you set than that?”
Who are you trying to convince, Lill? Gabe? Or yourself?
“Maybe...” And then, “So how’d you get into, ah, trouble?” He held up his hand again. “If I’m poking my nose where it doesn’t belong, say the word.”
Lillie reminded herself that this was the perfect opportunity to practice the difficult “I was a mess and I’m sorry” speech before she had to deliver it yet again...to Jase, the one person she hadn’t repaid. Yet.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “A little over three years ago, my car was T-boned by a city bus.”
“Holy smokes. How badly were you hurt?”
Lillie stared at the jagged white scar that crossed the back of her right hand, and instinctively covered it with her left. “There were seven operations...” To repair her shattered left leg and arm, and the ribs that had punctured her lung. Even after all this time, nightmares about the impact still had the power to shake her from deep sleep.
“Then I spent a month in an inpatient rehab center—the physical therapy kind—followed by months more of outpatient work.”
“Holy smokes,” Gabe repeated. “That’s one brutal story.” He paused. “Did the transit system pay the medical bills?”
“Yes, they were very accommodating.”
“So the trouble started when your doctors put you on pain meds?”
“More like when they decided I didn’t need them anymore.”
“And?”
Admittedly, the pain had been excruciating, making it next to impossible to climb to her second-floor apartment—especially when hauling groceries—or to stand onstage for hour-long intervals or sleep more than an hour at a time.
“There