"Do you have something for Thomas, yet?" I ask T.J. I can't help but smile at the gesture as he kisses my hair. He's got a tenderness about him that I don't think I've experienced since my father died. At least not without somebody wanting something in return. That's one of the nicest things about T.J. I know he'd never hurt me the way that Randy's son or even Sutter did.

Although I guess there is a different kind of hurt, one that he has in common with my dad. It's nothing I can judge him for, though, as I stumble down that path myself with each passing day, each temptation I avoid a meagre stay. It seems inevitable that it'll happen again, but I can't let myself think of it. Not now, at least. If an addict always lives in fear of their next relapse, isn't that its own disease?