Wash Out by L. A. Witt

Author:L. A. Witt [Witt, L. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Published: 2018-05-18T16:00:00+00:00

Casey and I spent our days in the office and our nights between the sheets. Sometimes one of us had an appointment in the afternoon—therapy for me, physical therapy for him—but most days ended with us naked and tangled. When I came in on Saturdays, he came in with me to help so neither of us had to feel quite so guilty for the amount of time we spent in each other’s beds.

Sometimes I still wondered if I should have listened to Clint and not dated a coworker, but I really liked Casey. He was smart and funny. We could talk forever or just hang out in silence. We worked great together, and we were even better in bed. And besides, Clint had married a coworker, so his argument was invalid. Diego and Sarah gave us hell for it, but that was just par for the course in the training department. I’d had my doubts about being able to pull off this job without fucking it up, but so far, so good.

On the way back from the conference room with yet another box of records, I overheard some of the guys from another department talking about partying over the weekend. Someone had gotten shitfaced and puked on the wing commander’s front tire outside the officers’ club, and someone else had passed out on the sidewalk in front of the Navy Exchange.

Drinking for fun hadn’t really appealed to me, so I couldn’t relate to wanting to get smashed in the name of a good time, but the conversation did stick with me for some reason. It didn’t give me any nostalgic feelings. No mouth-watering at the thought of getting hammered. No barely resistible craving for a drink. It was strange hearing about people drinking but not envying them or needing to fight any urges.

And then I realized what it was—I hadn’t felt the need to drink recently. At all.

Weird. Because for way too many years, every minute I spent sober was one minute closer to getting unsober. I’d count down until I could crack open my first drink, and even before the hangover had receded, I’d be counting down until I could start pouring beer into my face again. The constant obsession with my next drink had occupied so much real estate in my head that its absence was huge. And alien. And—please God—permanent?

I hadn’t thought there’d ever come a time when I wouldn’t have to fight cravings every minute of every day, but here I was. Maybe it was Casey. Maybe it was the job. Maybe I was just too hooked on the clarity and stability I’d found over the last several months. The nightmares sucked, but the waking hours when I was actually clear-headed and had my shit together? Damn. That was new. And I liked it.

With a renewed sense of . . . hell, pride? Feeling like I was really back on the rails? Well, whatever it was, it made me grin like an idiot as I headed back to the office with the box of records.

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