We Found Love (13 page)

But fuck, opening that door had left him exhausted, numb, and unable to do anything more than pull Riley into the bed with him and sleep. He hadn’t slept well due to his abused body, but he’d felt more relaxed than he had in a long time with Riley next to him.

He noticed Riley was in his own bed now. Since they hadn’t been called out during checks, he assumed Riley had switched before the orderly of the night did rounds at 3:00 a.m. He wondered what it’d be like to be able to sleep with Riley all night, wake with him. Maybe to spend a lazy day together watching television and laughing while they got each other off.

Sounds like you want more than just a friend, Morgan.
Not that he could imagine it’d ever work out like that. The word
lifer
kept ringing in his mind every time he let his daydreams carry him away.

A loud knock on the door startled Hunter. “Morgan, breakfast. Then you’ve got your first meeting with Dr. Stubbs in twenty minutes.” Jerry’s eyes shifted between Riley and Hunter, usual smile not in place. “Get a move on. Riley, you too. Up and at ’em.”

Riley and Hunter exchanged a glance before getting out of bed. Riley walked ahead of Hunter, brushing his hand gently and discreetly over Hunter’s as he passed by. They waited in the breakfast line, wiping sleep from their eyes. Hunter looked around the room blearily, hoping there’d be a place for them to sit together since the line looked longer than usual, new guys obviously having been brought in during the night.

When they finally took a seat, a third chair scraped as it was pulled out next to Hunter. He blinked in surprise as Bubba placed a chocolate milk carton on Hunter’s tray. “These assholes obviously missed the memo about me being lactose intolerant. Or they just don’t care.”

“Probably the latter,” Riley groused. Hunter shot him a look, imploring him to be nice, even if it was an exercise in futility.

“Mornin’ to you too, Sunshine,” Bubba said, taking a huge bite of his biscuit and giving what he probably considered his most winning grin. Riley snarled, obviously not having any of it.

“I told you,” Hunter said. That got him a death glare from Riley. He didn’t want to get in trouble with Riley again, so he hid his smile, pretending to drink his milk.

“Fuck off,
Bubba
.” The way Riley said the nickname made it sound like a curse word. Hunter snorted into his milk carton. Another glare.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Sunshine.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Will you two please….” Hunter’s scolding was pointless with such mirth in his voice. Riley opened his mouth to say something, undoubtedly something not very nice, but he was cut off by Jerry stepping up to the table.

“Hunter, time for your private session.” His no-nonsense tone didn’t fit his usually chipper demeanor. Hunter frowned at Riley, who shrugged.

“Good luck, bro,” Bubba said, patting Hunter’s shoulder. Hunter snickered when he heard Riley snidely imitate the
bro
. Bubba’s response was lost as Hunter rounded into the hallway, following Jerry, who pressed a button on double doors he hadn’t been through since he’d first come in. A
beep
came from the speaker beside the doors, and Jerry pushed through the heavy wooden monstrosities.

“Dr. Stubbs is excellent. He’s a little intimidating at first, but he’s one of our best,” Jerry said, sounding more reassuring than he looked. “Don’t get angry in there. Okay?”

Hunter gave his most questioning look, which made Jerry soften. He paused at the door he’d been about to knock on. “You seem like a nice guy. You’re the first person I’ve seen get through to Riley Connors in such a long time. I want this program to work for you, for both of you. Just remember that, okay?”

Hunter didn’t know how to respond to that, just nodded. He didn’t like the sound of it, though. Jerry knocked on the door to what Hunter assumed was an office, since there was a brass nameplate next to it that read
Dr. Frederick Stubbs
, along with several letters behind it. When Jerry was told to come in, he opened the door and signaled that Hunter should go inside.

When the door clicked shut behind him, leaving him with a Daddy-Warbucks-looking dude, he figured he was on his own.
Time to get the head shrunk, I s’pose.

The man stood, holding out a hand as he moved around his desk. “Good morning, Mr. Morgan. I’m Dr. Stubbs. I’ll be your psychiatrist while you’re here.”

Hunter took the guy’s hand in a firm shake. He didn’t know what Jerry was talking about. The guy didn’t seem intimidating. He was only slightly taller than Hunter, maybe hitting six foot one. He seemed businesslike but grandfatherly. “Call me Hunter.”

The doctor gave a nod. “Very well, Hunter. Take a seat.” He gestured to a floral print armchair that looked much more comfortable than the ones he’d been stuck with in the common room in their wing of the hospital. Hunter sat down. Dr. Stubbs pulled over a rolling office chair and sat across from him, pen and pad in hand. A sturdily built African American woman of indiscernible age came in from a door Hunter assumed led to an adjoining office.

“This is my assistant, Phylicia.” She gave a friendly smile and hello before sitting on the couch on the far wall of the office. “She’ll be sitting in on your sessions. She’s just here to help me with diagnoses and notes. You’ll see her spot-checking you during the week, versus me, who you’ll only see once per week. That okay with you?”

“I have a choice?” Hunter didn’t mean to sound like such a smartass, but he couldn’t quite stop it.

Dr. Stubbs and Phylicia smiled. “No, ’fraid not, Hunter,” he said.

“Well, then I guess it’s okay, huh?” He threw in a shrug for good measure.

“So, tell me why you’re here.”

Hunter sent a bland look Dr. Stubbs’s way. “Y’all think I tried to kill myself and apparently also think I’m crazy and a drunk.”

“You don’t think so?”

“Well, I know I’m a drunk. I’ll admit that. But the rest, no way.”

“So you don’t believe your overdose was an attempt to take your own life?”

“It wasn’t. I had a bad night, got too fucked-up, my sister took it upon herself to spin her own tale. She’s always been good at that. It was just one of those things Hollywood types die from all the time. Accidental OD.”

“Was it?”

“Definitely,” Hunter said, nodding earnestly.

“Do you remember speaking with me in the hospital?”

Hunter searched his memory but came up empty. He didn’t remember much about those days except for that damn catheter. His dick still hadn’t forgiven them for abusing it like that.

“No, sir,” he replied. “Can’t say as I do.”

Dr. Stubbs flipped through his notes. “You and I spoke for a while before I spoke to your sister. You mentioned long-term abuse of alcohol, as well as recreational use of prescription pills. You did mention, when asked, that you were depressed.”

Hunter grunted, unable to refute that fact. He assumed a total lack of willingness to give a shit about himself wasn’t exactly the sign of a completely stable mind.

“The reason you’re still here, rather than released after your seventy-two hours, is because you received your second public intoxication charge. Your overdose presented itself when you vomited in the officer’s presence. A judge took into account your current circumstances. Now, you’re perfectly free to leave against medical advice, but you will go to jail. The judge ordered thirty days here for detox and psychiatric care, as well as drug and alcohol counseling. Or sixty days in county.”

Hunter stared. That was all news to him. “Did I not have to be in court for this?”

“Your previous attorney did visit you in the hospital to tell you these things. The drugs still in your system or detox symptoms may have affected your memory, though. Do you object?”

“No. No way.” Fuck if he’d go to jail. Even parish jail was not a walk in the park. Two days almost made him go crazy, wandering in the same dorm as thirty-two other guys with no outside time, no sunshine. Thirty days. Fuck that.

“Excellent. So, before we go further, I want to tell you, we will be doing drug therapy for you. How are your detox symptoms?”

“A little better. Just some shakes. I keep food down fairly well.”

“That’s good. Very good.” He made a note on his pad. “We’re going to start you on Celexa tonight. We’ll let it get in your system. Then you’ll come back to see me and report how you’re feeling next week. If you have any issues with it, feel any of the side effects listed in this pamphlet”—he pulled one from the desk behind him and passed it to Hunter—“let a nurse or orderly know immediately. Phylicia will get with you ASAP to adjust dosage, etcetera, until I can come in.”

Hunter just nodded.

“They’ll give you your first dose tonight before bed. Any questions?” Dr. Stubbs made a final note on his pad before looking back up at Hunter, face bland.

Hunter looked between the doctor and his assistant. She nodded, encouraging him to speak now or forever hold his peace. “Is that it?”

“Did you want to discuss something else?” Dr. Stubbs asked, tone as bland as his expression.

“Are we not gonna do the whole head-shrinking bit?”

Dr. Stubbs simply grinned at that. “Only if you feel like talking. That’s what group is for, mostly, until you get your meds settled. The counselors helping you here are excellent. I’m in charge of your case officially, but the process takes an entire team. As they say, it takes a village.”

Hunter snorted. “Clever.”

“I like to think so.” He winked at Hunter, and Phylicia tittered from her perch on the couch.

“Okay, then. Um, thanks?”

“Phylicia will take you back after I get her the order for your prescription to take up with you. Two quick things, though.”

Hunter crossed his arms over his chest, figuring he’d reached the part of the session Jerry seemed to think would piss him off. “What’re those two things?” He heard the attitude seeping into his own voice, but the doctor didn’t show any reaction to it.

“First, you’ll start going to the inpatient A and D counselor twice a week. Once alone, once with a group. They’ll pass notes to me that we’ll give to your judge at the end of this, so you should try your best to cooperate. Cooperating in your own recovery for both alcoholism and depression is vital. But it’ll only work if you want it.”

He wondered if he’d reached that point yet. Did he want it? Did he want to stay sober? In the hospital it was so simple, but what about outside? He nodded, as he’d done more than he liked since he’d stepped into the office.

“Second, I’m sorry, but you and your roommate will be separated.”

Hunter didn’t register the declaration at first. But once the pinball hit the high score and ding, ding, dinged in his brain he leaped from his chair. “What the fuck?”

The doctor still didn’t react, continued sitting. He set his pad and pen down in his lap. “Hunter, you both have needs that can lead to codependency. Right now is a time to be selfish, think of yourself only.”

“What are you talking about?”

“During rounds last night, an orderly found the two of you in bed together. While he said there didn’t appear to be anything sexual about it, we cannot allow fraternization.” He held up a hand to stop Hunter’s protest. “You can still be friends; we encourage socialization. I hear you’re polite and good with other residents, and you may continue to see your friends… in the common areas. If you are caught together again, it’s loss of privileges. Third strike, Mr. Connors goes under twenty-four hour watch while you lose your place in the program and have to explain it to the judge.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Is this going to be a problem?” The doctor had risen from his chair now, looking as no-nonsense as Hunter had seen him.

Hunter stared him down but capitulated. He did the one thing he didn’t want to do. He nodded, and something inside him broke. And fuck, did it hurt.

“Can I go now?”

“Phylicia will take you back. I’ll send the prescription order later.” They looked to Phylicia, whose expression was sympathetic.

“Come on, darlin’. We’ll go get you something to drink.” She took him by the elbow and led him out of the office, down the hall. He couldn’t even look at her as they stepped back into the patient wing.

Oh, Riley. What was Hunter going to do? What could he do?

Chapter 13

R
ILEY
LEANED
against the farthest wall, arms crossed over his chest, gripping his elbows with the tightest fists. His fingers ached, and the skin burned as though it wanted to break under the pressure. Burning worse was the knot in his throat. He was doing his best to keep his expression stoic and not give in to the heartbreak brewing inside him. He absolutely would
not
break down. Not in front of Jerry.

“You know I don’t wanna do this, kid,” the big guy said as he shoved Hunter’s clothes onto a cart. Jerry turned back, and his expression looked as sympathetic as any one person’s could be.

Riley shrugged, turning his head so he didn’t have to subject himself to Jerry’s sorrow. “It is what it is,” he said flatly—a common expression he’d used over the years.