“Fucking shit, I’m not scared of anything,” he said, but even he didn’t hear conviction in his voice. He knew it was a lie. There was something—no, someone, that he was scared of.

Himself.

“The point of my job is to help you, and I think you forget that I’m the signature you need to get out of here.”

His brows crashed together as he sat up higher in his seat. “Are you threatening me?”

She chuckled softly. “I don’t threaten—I remind. And I suggest that you open up to me before it’s too late. Only forty-five days left.”

Yeah, forty-five days of fucking hell, he thought as he shook his head, looking down at the ground. He hated hearing his past; it needed to stay where it belonged—in the past. But he also hated how right she was. What happened to his boy Robbie was what started the drinking. It was the way he got rid of the feelings and fear. There wasn’t a time when he did allow himself to think about Robbie that he didn’t wish it was he who had died. Robbie was a good guy and the only other person, along with Angie, whom he’d trusted. But then Angie betrayed him and Robbie was dead, so all he had was the bottle since his mom was too busy looking for another man to love her. She was constantly fighting for love and looking for it that it scared Jordie to even try for it. It never seemed to be attainable. So why try for something that would never be his?

Running his fingers through his hair, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen this before. Hearing his past wasn’t easy, knowing the sure signs of his issues didn’t settle in his stomach right. Maybe he wasn’t a full-blown alcoholic, but he was tiptoeing along the line and he wasn’t sure what side he’d end up on. He did know that he didn’t want to end up facedown in a ditch, suffocating on his own vomit, before losing his life to the sickness. He also didn’t want to be like his mother, so unhappy by herself that she needed a man.

Was he doing that with the bottle? Because he couldn’t trust women, he only used them for sex, but a part of him was getting so tired of that. He had really wanted to try with Kacey; a part of him had felt like love was actually realistic when he was with her. But the other part of him knew he wasn’t ready for that. He wanted to trust her fully, or trust anyone for that matter. He wanted to allow himself to truly love someone. He wanted more from his life, but he didn’t know how to get it.

Something had to change.

He had to change.

But did he want to?

And could he?

Jordie didn’t say anything else during the group meeting.

As he sat there, reevaluating his life, he couldn’t be more disgusted. He hadn’t lived the life he wanted, minus the hockey, and he really didn’t have any good memories.

Except Kacey.

Kacey was every good memory he had in his whole damn life, but then he did the dumb-ass thing of letting her go. Letting go of the light in his life. Another bad choice. As he walked back to the closet they said was his room, each bad choice he’d made stared back at him and he hated it. It was like he was living a lie. Everything he did wasn’t what he wanted, and most of the time all he thought about was drinking. How pathetic. He couldn’t name one good thing in his life at that moment. No, wait, his game was good when he actually got to play it. But off the ice, what did he have?

Nothing except his Jack.

Fuck. Maybe he was an alcoholic.

Man, that therapist had really gotten to him because all he could do was think of his life thus far. He hated the pain he’d caused people, the people he’d lied to, and most of all, the love he’d thrown back in so many people’s faces. He honestly didn’t understand why Karson was still his friend. He was the only one who stood strong beside him, no matter what. For the first year of their friendship, all Jordie did was drink and Karson was the one picking him up to take him home. Covering up why he didn’t go to practice. It took a month of that before Karson shook him hard and told him to clean it up before he didn’t make the draft, something they both wanted. So he did, but that only lasted until he was in the NHL. Then most the time he slept because he was so tired, only binge drinking on the weekend.

Then there were three years that Jordie ignored Karson’s calls. All because he called Karson on a drunken night and spilled the beans about everything. The rape, Robbie’s murder, and all the other craptastic things that he had done. The nights when he would make himself puke just to get the alcohol out of him so that he could get on the ice the next morning. Or how he would sell his roommate’s things to get money for booze.

Shit, he was an alcoholic.

Slamming his door, he wobbled over to his bed and slowly lifted his leg onto the mattress. It was rehabbing great but, for some reason, being here, the pain was overwhelming. Since he was trying to prove that he wasn’t an addict, he was forgoing his pain meds, though he still craved a drink. Just a small one, something to take the edge off. Closing his eyes tightly, he shook his head.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Before he could analyze anymore, his phone rang. Not looking at where he was grasping on his nightstand, he finally took his phone in his hand and brought it out so he could see who was calling.

It was Karson.

Hitting Talk, he brought it to his ear. “What’s up, bro?”

“Hey, how ya doing?” he asked in his carefree way. Karson had the life. Beautiful wife, great home, and a baby on the way. The American dream. Something that, at this point, Jordie was convinced he couldn’t have.