Maybe that was why I was stuck here. Sobriety wasn’t very exciting, but there wasn’t a single person here who didn’t understand how scary change was for us.
The stock room opened, and Duncan slipped in with a couple of other employees coming back from one of their million smoke breaks. He searched the room, and when our eyes connected, he jerked his head toward the front before leaving.
“Be right back, y’all,” I said, waving at one of the crew to take my spot. “Duncan wants to talk to me.”
A few whistles came in response, and someone said, “Maybe he’ll give you that promotion you’ve been jerking off to. If you get it, take us all out for a celebration on your new pay.”
I walked backward toward the door and pursed my lips. “Are you asking me out? I don’t put out on the first date, you know.”
This earned a bark of laughter from the other guys and a middle finger directed toward me. Our back-of-house crew got away with a bit more brashness than the sales floor and front end, and we often took advantage of it.
We wove through the aisles until we hit Duncan’s office, which was a wreck, his desk permanently covered in stacks of papers and folders. He sank into his office chair with a tired sigh and scrubbed his eyes. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you all day, but I’m swamped with new-hire paperwork.”
I looked over at the empty chair in front of the smaller desk that served as Chance’s area when he came in to help new hires. He was the only person Duncan trusted with them. Chance’s charisma made people feel important and worthy, and it made every new hire trust him, even when their trust in people had vanished. It made sense why Duncan had married the guy.
Bipolar disorder was the devil knockin’ on Chance’s door, filling his days with medications and their adjustments, appointments with doctors and therapists. Some days were harder than others, and everyone felt his absence. Chance got what it was like to be bound to schedules, and he had a system for those bad days when it was impossible for him to be there for everyone.
I owed everything to Chance and Duncan. They’d been there for me when my family and friends gave up on my ass, then continued to support me even when I kept falling off the wagon. They still believed in me, even when I questioned if I should even believe in myself.
Duncan rallied for my sobriety every day, had put aside a lot of his own life for it, even when I couldn’t deal with it anymore. Chance knew what it was like to not want to live, and I owed the breath I took today to him.
Which was why it was hard not to worry about Chance when he was having a hard time. Seeing him at work had indirectly become a part of my routine, and on the rare occasion he wasn’t here, it left me wrong-footed for the whole day. “Did you schedule therapy for him? You know he likes to fight about it when it’s not his idea.”
Duncan reached out and squeezed my wrist. “We got a couple of appointments set up this week. It’s likely a med change. If anything changes, I’ll let you know.”
“Good. ’Cause Chance would be hella pissed if you didn’t.”
Duncan laughed and straightened a tilting stack of papers. “Very true. How’s Walt doing?”
I stared at the photo of Duncan and Chance’s wedding and grabbed the wooden duck next to it. Chance had made it when he was a kid and always found faults, but I liked its rough edges and wonky tail. It was flawed, and that I could identify with.
“Ornery, but he’s doing great.” I leaned on the wall and spun the wooden duck in my hands. “Adjusting well to the pace, and he gets along with everyone else in the back room, which is a plus. I can relax and not have to put out fires.”
Duncan shuffled through a couple of folders, nodding along. “Awesome. Chance is gonna be jazzed to know that he did his placement right.”
My hands stopped, and I slowly peered up at Duncan. “That’s not why you brought me here.”
Duncan shot me a sideways glance, his tongue poking at his lip ring. “Not entirely, no.” He swiveled in his chair and rested his ankle on his knee. “How do you feel about handling the new hires?”
My hands froze, stopping the wooden duck’s dance.
“Chance handles new hires.”
“He does, but how do you feel about handling new hires?”
Twisting my mouth to the side, I hesitated. A random opportunity was rare in my life, but I always felt like I was toeing the line between good and bad. Right and wrong.
Clean or high.
I carefully set the wooden duck back on the corner of Chance’s desk and adjusted its profile to show its crooked lines. I flicked my eyes up to Duncan. “Sounds like it should come with a pay raise.”
Duncan smirked. “It does. The thing is, Chance wants to get back into the workshop again, and he can’t do that when he’s here. So, what do you say?”
Well, so much for quitting. This was a change, so the least I could do was try it, especially since Duncan asked. He was the one there for me when I was lost in my addiction, the one guy I could call after waking up in a random place totally strung out. He got me into programs at the Collective to find the best rehabs, and I walked out on every one of them until the one time I didn’t.
After five years of being clean, he was still around. Chance too. They were my family. And now, Duncan hit me up with a promotion and a pay raise, but that would mean I’d still be bound to this place.
“I’ll think about it,” I said, not willing to disappoint him right away. I pushed myself off the wall and headed to the door but stopped when Duncan cleared his throat and kicked Chance’s chair out from under the desk.
“Hey, where’s the rush? Let’s chat for a bit.”
Narrowing my eyes at Duncan in suspicion, I nodded to the chair. “Am I getting paid to chat?”
“Of course. I need a break from being a businessman, and you’re doing me a favor.” Duncan rolled himself over to his fancy coffee machine and started up a fresh cup. He tapped a mug in offering, and I shook my head. Duncan went back to preparing his drink. “So, how’s the new place?”
“Really good. The neighbors are chill,” I said, which was true. It was nice to have a place to call my own and be able to afford it, but I still couldn’t meet his eyes.
Duncan nudged at the wheel of Chance’s chair. “But?”
I shrugged. “But nothing. Things are good. Really good. I keep to my schedule. Go to work, sit in my support groups, show up for therapy. Picked up pottery, which is a hobby I’d never guessed I’d like. It’s just . . .” I glanced at Duncan for a moment before I huffed a humorless laugh. “Where’s the group that talks about how being clean can be boring as fuck?”
“I wish I knew,” Duncan said, his voice calm and smooth. It was what I deemed his Mentor Voice. He’d been one for more than enough people, including me and quite a few who worked on the floors of his business. No matter how many times I heard it, I always felt at ease. “Maybe taking on this responsibility will help shake things up for you a bit. Give you something else to look forward to.”
Duncan always had a million ideas for me, and I rolled my eyes, but the smile playing on my lips won. He wouldn’t quit until I gave him an answer.
The door busted open, and Duncan’s cousin Destiny barged into the office. She always showed up at a place like that—like she was breaking into a house with a SWAT team, forgetting the importance of a good knock.
She was in her work uniform, her long black hair clipped up halfway. She flicked a finger flicked between Duncan and me and said, “I have to talk to both of you.”
