They took the long way to West Linton, Scotland. Three hours into the ten-hour journey, Scottie considered abandoning ship. The dare in Gray’s eyes kept him in the passenger seat of the Range Rover that had been borrowed from Hamish.

The quiet companionship gave Scottie time to consider rehab. Fear and anger swirled around in him. I don’t fucking need help. How many times had he heard those same words from various members of his family?

Shit.

When they finally drove into the visitor car park at the castle after spending the night at a hotel, fear had completely trumped anger. Scottie gripped the seat belt across his chest so tightly it dug into his palms. He didn’t want to face the truth of his problems.

Gray pulled the keys out of the ignition then reached a hand out to carefully ease Scottie’s hand away from the belt. “You can do this.”

“What?”

“Whatever it is you find behind the castle walls to help.” Gray hadn’t pressed him through the long hours to get to Scotland. They’d talked about their lives, past relationships, and anything but Castle Craig. “The first steps are always the hardest, kitten.”

Taking a moment to appreciate the offer of comfort, Scottie shoved the hand away from him and got out of the car. He inhaled deeply and touched a hand to the ground as he’d always done for good luck before stepping onto the rugby pitch. I’m only here to see the facilities. They can’t fucking make me do anything.

“Mr. Monk?”

“That’s me.” Scottie resisted the urge to smack himself in the forehead for the pointlessness of his statement. He dragged his fingers roughly across his head. “You the tour guide?”

“Something like that. I’m part of the admissions team. If you’d follow me?”

Too late to fucking book it for the border now.

A call from Taine’s adoptive father, a Scottish priest, had helped Scottie make it into the program. After initial assessments and what felt like an overload of information, they allowed Scottie to attend a group therapy session. He’d mentally written off checking into Castle Craig, convinced it wasn’t for him. Listening to the pain and anguish of stories that felt so familiar they could’ve been his own, he stopped lying to himself.

I need help.

My drinking’s out of control.

It’s affecting my business, my friends, my brother, and… whatever the fuck this is with Gray.

I need help.

He couldn’t lie anymore about using alcohol as a way to cope with his anger and pain. Maybe he wasn’t addicted, but his behaviour was just as self-destructive. Time would tell if stepping outside of his life in Cardiff for a few months would actually change anything for him.

What the fuck do I have to lose?

Nothing.

Plenty to fucking gain if I can learn something from all this zen shit and therapy.

Twenty-four hours later, Scottie only slightly regretted the decision. Gray had returned to Cardiff. And he’d started on the “road to recovery.”

He spent the first five days in detox. His personal therapist met with him several times the first week and prepared a plan for his three months in rehab. She wanted to focus on helping him deal with the underlying cause of his drinking. He faced his family demons head-on, though not always gracefully or willingly.

Exercise Three: Write a letter to someone expressing your fears.

Gray,

This is a stupid fucking exercise.

I’m afraid this place is pointless.

Scottie

Scottie,

Be a good boy, and I’ll come visit you.

Gray

Scottie ignored the response for almost a week before his want to see Gray exceeded his annoyance with the man. He wrote a reply, talking over his worries about failing rehab and hurting Silus, his younger brother, in the process. Writing it out helped enough to bring him around to being more open to the process.

Still fucking hate this shit.

As the therapy continued, Scottie found himself delving deeply into childhood trauma. It hurt to remember. He’d been astounded to discover how much sharing his story, and listening to similar ones from others healed some of the old pains.

Less than two months into his stay, Gray came up to visit him for the third time. They sparred together in the boxing ring for a bit. Scottie had a hard time keeping his body from responding to the closeness.

Don’t get hard in the gym at your fucking rehab.

“See you missed me.” Gray, as always, missed nothing. “They told me I could have lunch with you. Why don’t we clean up and grab a bite to eat?”

The quick shower allowed Scottie to get rid of his erection. Thank fucking God. Gray in his USMC T-shirt and tight jeans brought it back. Damn it. He dropped into the chair across from Gray with a frustrated groan and grabbed one of the sandwiches in front of him.

“How are you doing?” Gray asked. He held a hand up to stop Scottie from immediately offering a knee-jerk response. “Keep in mind that I actually care about you, kitten. How are you doing?”

Scottie found it difficult to meet the intensity in Gray’s gaze. He did offer an honest answer. “Coping. Better than I’ve probably ever been, but it’s the fucking hardest thing I’ve done in my life.”

“Good.” Gray switched over to sit directly next to Scottie, dropping a hand on his knee to squeeze firmly. “Are you proud of yourself?”

“Fu—” Scottie bit off his instinctive angry counter. He breathed out and smirked a bit sheepishly at Gray. “Not yet, but I’m getting there.”

Three months in Castle Craig hadn’t changed him at the core. Scottie still felt like himself. The world did seem clearer and slightly less annoying, though.

It seemed obvious now, looking back on everything, but he’d never realised how much the violence in his family truly affected him. He’d spent long weeks within various sessions all designed specifically to his issues and personality. All of the effort and time spent had helped him, but emerging from Castle Craig at the end of his three-month stint left him feeling worn out.

“Ready to head home?” Remi stood outside in the parking lot waiting for him, with Taine leaning against his Range Rover. “It’s a bit of a drive so we thought we’d keep you company.”

“Ten hours is more than a bit of a fucking drive.” Scottie flung his bag into the back when Taine opened the rear gate. He was glad the others hadn’t come along; BC and Caddock meant well, but he wasn’t ready for their special brand of teasing. “Am I driving?”

“Not a chance in hell.” Remi kept his keys clutched in his hand. “How many of our vehicles have you wrecked over the years?”

“Forgiveness is an important step to recovery.” Scottie grinned when the Frenchie glared at him.

“Sarah sent you some of her shortbread.” Remi grabbed a tin from the dashboard once they’d all piled into the vehicle, and tossed it into Scottie’s lap. “Do you feel any different?”

“I don’t feel like bashing your French forehead into the steering wheel. That’s progress, right?” Scottie tugged on the seat belt to get a bit more room to slouch down. He worked his nail under the lid to pry it off the container to reveal a mixed batch of homemade biscuits. “Why the fuck did Sarah marry you again? Couldn’t she have done better than your ugly old arse?”

Remi stretched his hand out to steal one of the cookies. “I was charming.”

Taine leaned forward between the seats to grab one of the biscuits for himself. “When did you learn how to be charming?”

“Rugby finishing school.” Remi retorted sarcastically.

While they fell into the familiar teasing of one another, Scottie breathed an internal sigh of relief. One of his greatest worries about returning to his normal life had been his friends walking on eggshells around him. The three months hadn’t so much changed him as given him the right tools to deal with everything going on around and inside him.

His main therapist had counselled him to set clear boundaries for himself in relation to work at the Sin Bin. Scottie had no intentions of spiralling out-of-control again, but he had to live his life. His goal for now was to find a way to create a healthier balance in his life.

With everyone who worked with him at Castle Craig, they’d created a plan for him to put to work in Cardiff. He’d continue to see a therapist locally, once a week at first. It would hopefully keep him on track.

One of the things that had helped him greatly was getting into boxing. After his rugby career ended, Scottie hadn’t found a physical outlet. Working out didn’t do as much for him as a release for his emotions as being in sports had. He’d been surprised when his therapist suggested getting into the ring.

It worked, as well.

One of his goals upon returning to Cardiff was to find a boxing gym. Scottie was enjoying being clear-headed. He didn’t want to lose it by throwing away all of his progress.

“Heard from Gray?” Remi drew him out of his thoughts.

“Why?” Scottie snapped defensively.

“Don’t be so testy.” Taine snagged another biscuit and scooted back into his seat. “Freddie said our marine chef drove up to see you a few times.”

Scottie stared pointedly out at the passing countryside and ignored the sniggering coming from his two friends. “I thought leaving BC and Caddock at home meant I wouldn’t have to deal with idiotic twats. Yet, here you two are taking the mickey out of everything.”

“Is Remi the idiot or the twat?” Taine asked after a prolonged silence. “Just for clarification purposes.”

Rubbing his forehead with a groan, Scottie couldn’t help joining his friends in their laughter. Being at Castle Craig had been all about focus, quiet, and calm, three things he wasn’t particularly skilled at doing. He appreciated all the help, but he was genuinely ecstatic to find some semblance of normalcy, without the getting absolutely sloshed every night and hopefully without the constant mind-numbing rage.

“Brought your mobile.” Taine tossed it up to him. “I had to turn it off because it wouldn’t stop buzzing all night.”

Since Scottie’s release came in the morning, his friends had driven up a few days earlier. The two had gone to visit Taine’s adoptive father for a day before making their way to the castle. They’d all wanted to get an early start on the trip back to Cardiff.

Turning on his phone, Scottie was stunned to find over sixty calls and messages from his family. What the fuck? He scrolled through the increasingly panicked texts, ignoring the voicemail altogether. Those would be better listened to in private without his eavesdroppers hanging on every word.

The general gist of the messages all indicated his father had gotten sick. They didn’t say with what, most just focused on calling Scottie an arse for not responding. Fucking typical. He decided to drop by his dad’s place once he arrived in Cardiff.

Scrolling through all notes from his family, Scottie found the most recent text came from Gray. It wished him a safe journey home. He pressed his lips together to keep from grinning.

Over the course of his treatment, Gray had been the one to visit him most frequently during visiting hours on the weekends. Given the six-hour journey, Scottie hadn’t really expected anyone to come up to see him. His friends—and Gray—had surprised him a great deal.

Gray: Have any plans for supper?

Scottie: Making sure my flat hasn’t been broken into or destroyed.

Gray: It hasn’t. I rode by it a few times a week to make certain.

Scottie: Nosy fucker.

Gray: You’re welcome. Be at my place for supper at 8pm.

Scottie: Most people get asked out for a meal. Not told.

Gray: We’re not most people.