“How does that make you feel?”

The million-dollar question, one I’ve heard countless times this past year. I get asked some infuriating shit, day after day, night after night, but nothing gets under my skin quite like that one. “How do you think it makes me feel?”

“Deflection helps no one, you know,” he says. “It’s a defense mechanism that keeps us from acknowledging our problems.”

“Don’t shrink me, Jack,” I say. “If I wanted to be psychoanalyzed, I’d be talking to my actual fucking shrink right now.”

“Yeah, okay, so you feel like shit,” he says. “Less than shit. You’re dog shit on the bottom of a shoe that’s being scraped off on a curb because nobody wants anything to do with shit on their shoe.”

“Pretty much.”

“That sucks.”

I laugh at the casual way he says that. “Remind me again why I called you?”

“Because you’d give your left nut for a drink right now and you need someone to call you on your bullshit.”

Sighing, I run my left hand down my face.

How right he is…

It’s a quiet night in Bennett Landing. Most nights seem to be. The sun goes down and the town gets dark, and I’m left with nothing but my thoughts, which is a damn dangerous place to be. Last time I felt this isolated was back in rehab when I was struggling to get clean. I like to think I’ve made some big strides since then, but some nights test me.

I’ve been wandering around outside for the past hour, strolling toward the waterfront, through Landing Park beside the inn, spilling my secrets through the phone to a jackass that sums them up as 'sucking'.

“We all have bad nights, man. You know that,” Jack says. “Try to remember why you’re there. Drinking sure as hell won’t help you make amends.”

He’s right. Of course he is.

But Jesus Christ, I would give my left nut to drown in a bottle of whiskey right now.

“I’m trying,” I say, walking along, glancing up when I reach the small picnic area. My footsteps stall when I catch sight of movement, someone sitting on top of one of the picnic tables, staring out at the water.

I blink, getting a glimpse of her face in the moonlight as Jack starts rambling, telling me to go find a meeting.

I didn’t expect anybody to be out here at this hour, but certainly not her. “Kennedy?”

She turns my way.

She doesn’t look as surprised as I expect her to be, her eyes guarded as they watch me, but her posture is relaxed, so I guess that’s something.

“You listening to me, Cunning?” Jack asks. “Or am I wasting my breath?”

“I hear you,” I tell him. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good,” he says. “I know it’s not easy, trusting people, but I think it’ll help you.”

“Yeah,” I mumble. “Look, I gotta go.”

“You sure? You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Call me back if you need anything.”

“I will.”

I end the call. Kennedy is watching me, but she’s said nothing yet, so I’m not sure if I should stick around. I’m not sure why she’s out here or what she’s doing, if she’s even alone. I don’t see anybody else, but that doesn’t mean she’s not waiting for someone to show up.

“Let me guess,” she says after a moment. “Your manager?”

"No." I shove the phone in my pocket. “My sponsor.”

“That’s nice… I think.” She pauses before adding, “Not really sure what to say to that.”

“It is what it is.” I take a few steps closer, gauging her reaction. “He’s a good guy. Doesn’t treat me like I’m a star, which I appreciate. He actually thinks my movies are shitty.”

She laughs at that—genuinely laughs.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh at you, but well, that’s kind of funny,” she says. “I mean, you have to admit they can be a little hokey at times.”

“Hokey.”

“I’ve only really watched the first Breezeo, but come on, some of the dialogue they added? I think there’s something wrong with my eyes because I can’t take them off of you. What kind of cheesy crap?”

“Yeah, that one was pretty bad.”

“And what was it Maryanne said to him in the hospital, when he first got sick and they were looking for the cure?”

“Our love will make you better.”

“That’s it!” She rolls her eyes. “Because it’s the most powerful thing in the world.”

“I liked that one,” I admit, taking a chance and climbing up on the picnic table, sitting down beside her. There’s some space between us, so we’re not touching, but she’s so close I can feel her warmth and smell a hint of her perfume. “Their love didn’t save him, but it did make him a better person.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “He was laying in a hospital bed, he thought he was dying, and that’s what she says?”

I smile at the cynical tone in her voice, letting her have that one. She has a point. It grows quiet. She’s staring out at the water, arms wrapped around her chest like she’s holding herself together. She’s shivering, so maybe she’s cold, or she might be shaking because I’m here. I don’t know.

“Do you want me to leave?” I ask.

She doesn’t answer, eyes flickering to the ground in front of us. It’s not a 'no', but it isn’t a 'yes', either. I know I should probably leave her alone, not risk pushing her too far, too quickly, but I’ve missed the fuck out of her these past few years. I don’t deserve her time, not in the least, but I’m so desperate for some part of this woman back that I’ll steal every second that I can get.

“What are you doing out here, anyway?” she asks quietly. “You don’t really have a good streak being in this park after dark.”

“With you, no less.”

She smiles at that.

“Just needed some air,” I say. “Couldn’t keep sitting in that house, staring at those walls, with that woman always there. Needed to take a break. It’s late, so I figured I’d be alone out here.”

“Sorry about that…”

“Don’t apologize to me,” I say, shaking my head. “So, you still hang out here?”

“Sometimes,” she says. “Not usually after dark, though. Maddie likes it here, likes playing on the swings, hanging out by the river.”

Maddie.

This makes twice in one day she’s talked to me about her, twice she’s brought up our daughter. I’m trying to not get my hopes up, but after years of slamming face-first into a brick wall, I feel like I might finally be headed in the right direction.

“So she likes the water? I seem to remember you hated it.”

“I never hated it,” she says. “I’m just not a fan of bugs.”

“And ducks.”

“And ducks,” she agrees with a shudder. “Which is funny, because Maddie loves them. She loves coming down here and feeding the ducks every chance she gets. She always worries they’re not eating enough. She’s, uh…”

“She sounds perfect.”

“Yeah,” she whispers, “she is.”

I don’t know what to say, afraid to push her so I just sit here, my eyes scanning her in the darkness. She’s wearing a little black dress, a pair of red heels kicked off on the ground by the picnic table.

“You look nice,” I tell her.

She glances down at herself, making a face. “I had a date.”

“A date.”

That word is a thump to the chest.

I’m not a fool. I know she probably moved on, and I’d be the worst hypocrite to be upset by that after some of the shit I did these past few years in an attempt to numb my feelings for her. She has an entire life outside of me, without me, a world she built for herself where I don’t even exist, and I don’t blame her for it. Not a bit. It’s not like I could expect her to sit around and wait. I never asked her to. Never gave her a reason. I haven’t just been a shitty father; I was also a terrible boyfriend.

But still, there’s a flare of jealousy burning in my gut, my shame dousing it like gasoline on a fire.

“You do a lot of that now?” I ask. “Dating?”

She cuts her eyes at me. “Not as much as you seem to do.”

Touché.

“You’ve had, what... six, seven girlfriends? Hell, they say you’ve even got a wife now.”

“They say, do they?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me you don’t read that shit, Kennedy. Tell me you don’t actually believe…”

“I don’t know what to believe,” she says. “Not that it matters. Your life, it’s yours. You’ll do whatever it is you want to do. You made that clear a long time ago. But Maddie? She’s what matters. And I can’t have you around her if…”

“I’m not going to hurt her,” I say when she trails off. “I know that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“Yeah, well, didn’t think you’d hurt me, either, but the moment I became an inconvenience…”

I want to tell her it’s different now. I want to tell her that I’ve learned my lesson, that I’ve grown up. I want to tell her that I’ll never make those same mistakes again. I want to tell her she’s never been an inconvenience. I want to tell her a lot of shit, but none of it will make a difference. They’re just words, and I’ve said a lot of words over the years, including a few that have hurt her.

“I’m here,” I say. “I’m sober. And for the record, I’m not married. I’m not sure where they even got that story, but there was no wedding. Most of what they print is bullshit.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” I argue. “You’re never going to let me see Madison if that’s the kind of man you think I became, if you believe the shit they say about me is real. I mean, I don’t even know what she looks like now. I could pass my daughter on the street and I wouldn’t even recognize her. And that’s my fault. But the shit they print, if that’s what I’m up against? I’m fucked.”

Closing my eyes, I run a hand through my hair, gripping onto the locks as I let out a long exhale. She says nothing, and after a moment I reopen my eyes, seeing the glow of her cell phone lighting up her face.

I start to say something, to tell her I’ll stop bothering her tonight, when her eyes meet mine. She holds the phone out to me. My gaze flickers to the screen.

My heart nearly stops.

It’s a picture of a little girl with big blue eyes, dark hair and chubby cheeks, flashing the brightest smile I’ve ever seen. She’s posing, hands on her hips, head cocked to the side. She’s a spitting image of her mother, fuck, but those eyes are all mine.

“She looks just like you,” I say.

“Yeah, well, she acts like you.”

I smile at that, grabbing her phone.

“There are a few more pictures on there,” she says, “if you want to look at them.”

“You sure?”

She nods.

A few more turns out to be one hell of an understatement. It feels like hundreds as I scan through them. I’m getting a brief glimpse of the time I lost—birthdays, holidays, the first day of school. A flipbook of memories I’ll never have, the what-could’ve-been, the what-should’ve-been, the time I would’ve had if I hadn’t been so fucked up. She looks happy. They look happy, both of them.

I flip to another picture and pause, stumbling upon another familiar face.

Meghan.

“You see Meghan?” I ask, surprised—although, I shouldn’t be. If anybody would be there throughout the years, loyalty unwavering, it would be Meghan.

“All the time,” she says. “She’s babysitting right now.”

“Meghan babysitting? You sure the kid’s still alive?”

She laughs and snatches the phone back, pressing a button so the screen goes dark. “I’ll have you know, your sister’s great with children.”

“My sister,” I mumble. “Don’t let her hear you call her that.”

My sister. Another amend I have to make.

She won’t make it easy.

“On a scale of one to ten,” I say, “how pissed off at me would you say she still is?”

“One to ten? I’d say she’s about a seventy-three.”

I cringe. “Figures.”

“Anyway, I should get going,” she says, standing up from the picnic table. “Need to get home before it gets too late.”

“Did you drive?” I ask, realizing I haven’t seen a car anywhere out here.

“I got dropped off. Figured I'd walk.” She hesitates, looking at me, like she isn’t sure she wants to continue. “I have an apartment.”

“Oh.”

Oh. That’s all I say, like a fucking idiot, as she grabs the shoes from the ground, not bothering to put them on. She takes a few steps away, barefoot, eyes still guarded.

“Can I walk with you?” I ask.

“I can make it there myself.”

“I don’t doubt that, but…” I hesitate. “Do you mind? I’d like to walk with you. Not to be some misogynistic asshole, but I just…”

“It’s fine,” she says. “But you don’t have to.”

“I know.”

We’re dancing around the fact that I want to, that she’s doing me the favor here and not the other way around, but she motions with her head for me to come along, so I shove to my feet and fall in place at her side.

“So, this sponsor of yours,” she says as we start to walk.

“Jack.”

“Jack,” she repeats. “Must be one hell of a guy if he’s kept you clean.”

“I wouldn’t say he’s kept me clean. He helps, but he’s not why I’m sober. You are.”

“Me?”

“And Madison,” I say. “This. That’s what has kept me clean.”

She’s quiet, her face twisted in concentration, like she’s considering my words, but she doesn’t seem to be buying it. After a moment, her footsteps stall. We haven’t even made it out of the park and she’s already stopping.

“What did it?” she asks.

“What do you mean?”

“What makes this time different?”

“I, uh…”

“Most of the stories they print about you might be lies, but I know you’ve been to rehab a few times, I know they’ve held interventions and detoxed you but you went right back to it. And we were here. We’ve been here. That hasn’t changed, so what did?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “The last time I came here… last year… when your mom died, I wanted to be there for you, but I showed up drunk and I knew you were grieving, and you looked at me like…”

“Like what?”

“Like nothing had ever hurt you as much as me being there did,” I say. “Up until then, I only saw your anger, but that day I saw your fear, like you were afraid of how much more pain I was going to cause you, when I wanted nothing more than to make it all better.”

She starts walking again, her voice quiet when she says, “I wish I could believe you.”

“Yeah,” I mumble. “Me, too.”

“I’m glad, though,” she says. “Whatever did it, I’m glad you’re sober, and I hope you stay that way. For Maddie’s sake, yeah, because she deserves to know her dad, but for your sake, too. I know I was never enough for you, Jonathan, but I hope you find something that is.”