I made Skye a promise to give her time so she would know I was serious. To go slow—to go day-by-day. That seems to be how I live my life these days. It’s something this support group that Dani hooked me up with has taught me. I look at the round medallion I got tonight. Six months clean. It doesn’t sound like much. In the grand scheme of things, it’s probably not. Still, it means a hell of a lot to me. It’s a milestone. I’m slowly getting my life back together. It didn’t take long to fall into the gutter and maybe I wasn’t there long, but it felt like a lifetime.

Losing Red to Dancer was a fool’s game. I knew as I was falling for her that she was in love with him. I just couldn’t help myself. I was drawn to her. Like a moth to a motherfucking flame, the heat and the color catches your eye, and even though you know it’s bad for you, you keep going towards it—unable to stop. Hell, I’m not sure I was in love with her. She represented something I wanted, something I’d never had. An innocence that shone even in the darkness that surrounded me. I grieved her loss, even though I didn’t have a right.

I came close to dying, and even that didn’t bother me. The fact that I let Red down, the fact that Dancer had to save her, and that he and Drag also saved my sorry ass, that hit me. It hit me down into my gut and set up a poison there that ate at me. I’m the club enforcer. The strong arm that is supposed to make sure shit like that doesn’t happen, and I got my ass handed to me while I was lying in bed drunk, dreaming about another man’s woman.

It’s stupid, but I know that was the beginning. The beginning of my fall into hell.

In my mind, I deserve the migraines I’m plagued with and the tremors I get in my hands. They are my punishment for being the weak asshole that let down his family, just when they needed him most. The pain is bad. There are nights I can barely function from the headaches, but they don’t outweigh the bitterness in my gut.

Then Jay, a buddy from service had his sister contact me. Cancer. He was dying and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. He needed me, and I let him down. All the fucking shit with Nicole and Dani went down. Hell, Nicole got kidnapped while I was on the phone with my buddy begging me to come to him. I felt guilt tearing at me through both ends, but in the end I chose my club over Jay. Dragon pulled his fucking stunt, and Jay died before I could even get there to see him. He became yet another person I let down. Just like I let Red and the club down, just like I let Nicole down. My failures kept piling up, one right after the other.

I fell a little deeper.

The thing about falling into hell is, that the fall is quick. The fall happens before you even fucking realize it. You wake up one morning, popping pills to avoid the pain, to numb the guilt. You’ve given your dick to a bitch you should have never touched, in exchange for a fix, and you can hear the devil laugh. He’s laughing, because he knows …and you know, that you’re in so deep you’ll never find your way out.

Except, I did.

I pinch the medallion between my thumb and forefinger. Six months. The brothers have no idea. That was on purpose. They already knew I had been fucking up. Hell, Dragon bypassed me completely when he should have depended on me the most. I understand why he did it, it doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt like a motherfucker, and help push me a little further down. In his shoes, I’d have done the same fucking thing. Still. In my shoes, it was just another sign that I had failed so many times even my brothers, my family, didn’t trust me.

All that leads to now. Standing outside the local community center, holding a medallion that to me is a big accomplishment, with not one person to share it with—well Dani, but all I could do was text her and have her congratulate me. She’s been a rock, though. Letting me pour my heart out over the phone and not judging me, even when I’m craving a fix. She gets it. Hell, she even lets me go on and on about Skye.

Skye. We’ve been taking it slow. A few kisses and holding hands, Jesus, I’m like a regular boyfriend, and my dick hates me for it.

I text or call her every day, and most days we at least have lunch together. I haven’t seen her at all this week though. She knows some of what I’m doing, and I think she’s scared. No, I know she’s scared, but she is also cheering me on. At least from a distance—that was on purpose. I need to give her time to prepare, because I had Poncho from the club run some more tests today. The minute those come back tomorrow, all bets are off. She’ll be out of excuses, and I’m not allowing her to think of more.

I pick up my phone, punch in the numbers and wait.

“Hello?”

Her voice soothes every nerve ending I have and brings me more peace than I probably have a right to feel.

“Hey, Doc,” my voice sounds hoarse, raw, and I clear it. Too many memories are surrounding me tonight. Too many wounds are uncovered, but I couldn’t not call her.

“Hey, Bull,” her soft, warm voice comes back at me, and I picture her sitting on the sofa curled up in that ugly ass afghan she keeps on the back of her couch, drinking hot chocolate and reading. I know that’s most likely what she was doing before I called. “How did it go?” she asks, because she knows what tonight was, and where I’ve been.

“Six months down, got the medallion to prove it.”

“That’s good. I’m proud of you. I would have been there if you let me, you know.”

She would have. I do know that. Not like I want her to be though. She’s offered her friendship over and over. That’s not what I want. Well, it’s not all I want. I want all of her. Every last damn bit, and I haven’t pushed her this last month (well not too hard), because she was right in some ways. However, now that I am seeing daylight, now that I’m climbing out, and know I can leave it all behind, I’m tired of waiting.

“I know.”

“Bull…”

“I don’t want to fight, Doc. Not tonight. I told you where this is going. I wasn’t lying.”

She sighs, but she doesn’t argue. It wouldn’t do her any good if she did. “You’re a stubborn man,” she says finally.

“Why do you think they call me, Bull?” I joke. “What are you doing?”

“Just got Matty down, getting ready to crash.”

“I’ll let you get back to it. I’ll see you soon.”

“Bull, we really should talk about…”

“I’ll see you soon, Doc, and then you’ll be out of excuses,” I warn her as I hang up the phone. I’m not joking. Once I have my test results back…

All bets are off.