Al stuffed the card in his front pocket. For how quiet he was, I knew his mind was working overtime. Al looks like he operates a forklift for a living but he was once one of the more successful commercial builders in the southeast. Lost out on a bid to build the old Atlanta Braves stadium by a ball hair due to shady backdoor dealings. Everything Al does is above table and face to face. “You’ve got one thing right,” he said, turning so that he and I were now dealing face to face. “This is crazy as fuck. Craziest shit I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard it all.”

“You and me both,” I said. Despite how hard my head was pounding. Despite how ashamed I felt by what I’d seen in those pictures, I forced myself to meet Al’s eyes and hold them. My ability to have him believe me depended on what he saw there, squiggly bloodlines or not. “Hell, I’d be better off lying, Al. But I’m not. Someone is fucking with me. Still. Or maybe this is the end of it, I don’t know. But I would never do this had I not felt like I was being forced to. I give you my word as a friend and a brother. I need you to believe me, man. Because if you don’t, then I’m stuck dealing with this all alone and I don’t know if I can do that.” That was the pure truth right there. Without Cassie and Rox, there would be nothing left to live for. And fear would follow me every day. “I really don’t.”

Al reached out and took my hand in his. Rough and strong and made for fixing things, building them from scratch. “I’m on your side, Jess. No matter what. Okay?”

It hit me, then. Relief from unvented stress, comfort in the face of fear and shame. My eyes prickled and burned, my vision turned blurry. Every time I’ve fallen, he’s been there to pick me up. “Thank you,” I said, and he squeezed my hand. That pushed me over the edge. A wave of emotion hit me. Broke me like the flood walls that failed New Orleans. And I unleashed an ugly wail, crying tears that burned like hydrofluoric acid, chest heaving like I’m having a seizure. This took some time to pass, and Al waited patiently, holding my hand through it all.

When I was finally able to get ahold of myself, I felt fifty pounds lighter and cleansed. Not clean, but no longer mired in filth. I had been repressing those tears for the past several years and they had grown toxic.

“Drink some coffee,” Al said, and I did. It had cooled, but still had a kick. He had made it AA strong.