New Life by Bonnie Dee Page A

hand job. But that sort of negated the
no-hands-below-the-waist policy. Maybe next time.
    Next time. Did I want there to be one? Was I
up to the challenge of the baggage Jason came with? Or maybe I was
exaggerating his issues. And anyway he might not be interested in
seeing me again. The heat of his kisses suggested yes , but it would be arrogant of me to assume.
    “Summers on a lake. Sounds like a great way
to grow up.”
    “It was pretty great.” I realized how true
that was. My parents may have been demanding, but my life had been
pretty great overall. “What about you? Do you have any childhood
stories to share?”
    “Watching my sister on the field the other
day brought back a memory of playing soccer; the smell of the air,
my feet pounding over the ground, a stitch in my side. It almost
hurt, how sharp the memory was.”
    I rested my chin on my folded arms on Jason’s
chest and looked at him. “I think we all get those flashes. You
hear a song you haven’t heard in years, or smell a scent and some
memory comes crashing into your day like a wrecking ball. There was
this guy I dated for—well, for longer than was good for either of
us. Since we broke up, sometimes I’ll pass some man wearing Tim’s
cologne and get choked up. I don’t know why. I certainly didn’t
want to be with him anymore, but the scent reminds me of our early
days together. It smells like hope.”
    I pressed my face into my arm, embarrassed by
the cheesy analogy. Blurting things out without considering how
they’d sound wasn’t cool for someone whose career included public
speaking.
    But Jason nodded. “Yeah. That’s exactly what
soccer smelled like—hope. Dirt and fresh-cut grass and sweaty kids
who think they can run forever and their legs will never give
out.”
    The rawness in his voice painted a picture of
the loss he’d suffered, the potential wasted, the upheaval of an
entire life because of one bad night. I felt Jason’s pain just
then, not with the sympathy of an outsider but as if his pain were
my own.
    “I guess we all have regrets,” I said.
     

Chapter Nine
    I wasn’t an addict in a twelve-step program,
but I figured it wouldn’t hurt me to do the “making amends” part of
one. After my amazing weekend with Anna, I was flying high and
feeling great, and I wanted to drop in on my therapy group and
patch things up.
    Rob glared when I walked in the door. “Look
who’s back.”
    “Hey, Rob,” I greeted him as I sat on one of
the folding metal chairs. Before he could work up a good head of
anger and Maxie would have to smooth things over, I added, “Sorry
about last time.”
    I looked around at the people who were seated
and the latecomers drifting in. “Sorry to everybody for making shit
up last time I was here. It was rude and wrong. I know you all
share really important things—deep things. I’ve been holding back
and floating on the surface, but I think I’m ready to face up to
some stuff now.”
    “Oh yeah? Like what?” Good old Rob,
confrontational as always.
    “Rob, let’s wait for everyone to get
settled,” Maxie said. “Then, Jason, you can speak first if you’d
like.”
    Oh joy. But I’d come here determined to make
things right with these people, and the only way I could do that
was by sharing something about my survivor’s guilt.
    Pretty soon, things quieted down, and Maxie
started the meeting by talking about the groups’ purpose for any
newbies. “Whatever you say here is in confidence. We’ve all gone
through some type of extreme situation, but although our
experiences vary widely, no one needs to fear sharing with the
group. There’s no judgment here.” She shot Rob a look before
addressing me. “So, Jason, it sounds as if you’d like to talk
today.”
    “Uh, sure.” With all eyes on me, I was
suddenly a lot less buoyant than I’d felt walking into the room.
Then I remembered everything I’d confided in Anna—on a first date
with a girl I wanted to impress, not drive away.