There was silence as what she had just said slowly sank in, and when it did, Jordie came unglued.
“What the fuck! Rehab? There is nothing wrong with me! I don’t want people thinking I’m a fucking druggie. Or an alcoholic! I like to drink. There is nothing wrong with that!” he yelled, unable to fathom why they thought he needed rehab.
Elli’s eyes went wide as Bryan shook his head at Jordie’s outburst. Soon Charles was talking fast. “It isn’t a real rehab place, Thomas. It’s private and residential—no one will ever know you are there. You can even keep your phone. But when people come to see you, they will be searched, and you can’t leave until your time is up.”
“That is fucking stupid!”
“Those are our terms,” Elli said. “When you are done, you will go to group therapy two times a week and one-on-one therapy once a week. All your therapists and PT have to clear you before you can come home.”
Looking between each of their faces, Jordie’s mind was reeling. Surely, they were joking… But their faces were like ice, and he didn’t understand why this was happening. “I don’t need rehab,” he reiterated, and he truly believed that. “This is extreme. You haven’t even given me the chance to clean up my act.”
“Because I don’t think you can,” she answered and his face scrunched up.
“What?”
“You’ve changed, Jordie. The injury has really messed you up.”
It isn’t only the injury, he thought, but he didn’t say that. “Yeah, it hurts, but I’m fine!” he said, his voice rising. “I’m still me.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I can hear it in your voice when I speak to you weekly. You are hurting and becoming so withdrawn. People are saying you aren’t returning calls and texts. You’ve gone to PT drunk more times than sober. You’ve changed. You aren’t my Jordie, and we all really feel this will help.”
He wasn’t?
He wasn’t.
He knew he wasn’t.
Looking into Elli’s green eyes, he could see the truth staring back at him. His face was reflected in her eyes, and he almost didn’t recognize the man looking back. Usually a confident, carefree person, he was now scared. Carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Scared his career was hanging in the balance. Scared that his feelings for her meant more than he thought. He was confused and he was hurting and, yeah, he was using alcohol to help that. It numbed everything. But he honestly saw no problem with that. If he wanted to stop, he could.
“I can clean up, I promise.”
Looking up at them, he could see the doubt in their eyes as Elli said, “Fine, humor me then.”
“I don’t want to humor you. I don’t want to go.”
“It will be good for you. They are really good there, and this will nip it in the bud before it blossoms into something that can’t be fixed.”
Looking away, he ran his hands through his hair. It had gotten longer. Usually, he kept it pretty clean and cut short since his beard was so long, but lately he didn’t care. Which was very unlike him. He was letting himself go and, fuck, what was he doing? God, he was stressing out, he could really use a… Shit.
Letting out a long breath, he shut his eyes tightly and sucked in a new breath before opening them again. “And then the suspension will be lifted?”
“It will be lifted as soon as you do the ninety days,” she informed him and he nodded. “But I’ll put you right back on if you don’t honor the therapy agreement.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, he honestly wanted to scream. He wasn’t a share-your-feelings kind of guy, and he knew what therapy consisted of. He’d gone for four years when he was younger. They dissected you and wanted to know your deepest, darkest thoughts. He wasn’t one to share them then, and he really wasn’t in the mood to share them now. He’d probably needed to back then, but now, he had no inclination to do that. He was fine. Maybe he had gotten off track, but this was a bit extreme in his opinion. He could quit drinking if he wanted to.