"Nikki, I mean it. You don't have to do this."
Stopping by the front sign, she spun on her new heels with an old spunk that she refused to lose now. "Do you even want this to work? Or are you hoping walking in there will discourage me? You've talked about the genetics involved in patterns repeating themselves. Well you decided to break that cycle and sober up. Do you know how freaking outstanding that is? I think it's tough and heroic."
Shaking his head, he swiped aside her hair blowing in her face. "You're seeing things in me that don't exist."
She blocked his hand. "Stop that condescending BS. I'm seeing things in you that you've never allowed yourself to see. You even tried to hide them from me, but I said heroic and I meant it."
Was he subconsciously trying to sabotage this before they even made it through the door? And why? She touched his elbow. "Are you going to walk with me into that meeting, or do I go by myself? Because like it or not, I'm involved with an alcoholic."
"Believe me—" his jaw went tight "—I understand that well or we wouldn't be here. I just don't want you to get your hopes up for some magic pill answer tonight."
"There you go with the fatalism again." She couldn't stop the irritation from seeping into her voice when she knew this wasn't the time or place. Backing up the steps, she held up a hand. She refused to cry. "Hold on. I don't want to fight with you before we even get started. Just...just let me freshen up."
And pull herself together.
She spun away and shoved through the front double doors, head ducked as she made tracks past people to the restroom, Carson's stark, resolved face imprinted in her mind, his oh-so-calm, logical—depressing—tone echoing. He almost sounded like Billy Wade Watkins, always expecting the worst.
Wait.
She gripped the edge of the sink, staring at her face paler than the white porcelain in her grip. Carson sounded like the child of an alcoholic, who'd numbed himself to expecting good things because then nobody could let him down.
Ohmigod. Why hadn't she seen the pattern before?
Because she hadn't been objective—like a teacher—when it came to Carson. Instead of picking a fight with him, she needed to hold firm and simply show him through her steadfast actions. He was right in saying she'd been unrealistic to expect everything to settle out because of one meeting.
A toilet flushed, announcing an end to her solitary haven. She smiled in the mirror at the stranger stepping from the stall. Resolute and ready to find Carson, Nikki yanked open the bathroom door and into the now-packed entry way.
So much for a small gathering. Where had all of these people come from? And why did so many of them look familiar?
Billy Wade—along with his father. She hadn't realized the teen's father was getting help for his drinking, and gambling, too, apparently. Vic Jansen stood at their side in what seemed like a supportive role when she hadn't even known Vic had a problem, either. Beyond them, more military acquaintances milled around.
Had each of them been told to put on their perfect face when on base, as well?
She'd been so judgmental of her home life problems growing up, never once realizing all the other military families in pain...drinking, gambling, even some parents supporting teenagers kicking a drug habit.
How many times had she told her students she wasn't looking for perfection, just their best effort? Something Carson needed to hear, as well, for both of them, because there would be no perfect reactions to all of this.
Just a very human, fallible best effort.
She retraced her steps through the lobby looking for him so they could enter the meeting together. She shouldered through, searching. She peeked into the gathering area, rows of folding chairs and a refreshments table, but no sign of Carson.
Maybe he'd gone outside to take a cell call. She stepped through the double doors into the parking lot, her heels crunching on gravel as she pivoted to look...
She bumped against someone, a hard-bodied guy. "Carson?"
A hand clamped on her arm, steadying her as she came face-to-face with…Kevin Avery? His cologne stung her nose, his blond hair glinting under the street lamp. "What are you doing here?"
Her question slammed around inside her brain, words spoken now and echoed in her mind from a night nearly three weeks ago.
His grip bit into her flesh. "I've been looking for you."
The ground spun under her feet, memories ricocheting around inside her head. Memories of him, a man she'd once dated because he resembled Carson.
She opened her mouth to scream, but he cut the shriek short with a hand clamped against her lips. Hard. Unrelenting. And horrifyingly familiar. She struggled, wrenching to the side, kicking out.
Releasing her arm, his hand swung down. A dull pain crashed through the base of her skull, once, twice. The edges of the parking lot fuzzed, narrowing along with consciousness. Her dream-vision of the night Gary died now made total sense as she remembered...
Kevin Avery standing over Gary Owens's dead body.