rafe cameron [smut collection]

[ x barry ] 12 steps

[8600 words]

Rafe hadn't done much to be proud of in his life but getting clean had to be one of his greatest accomplishments, no, the greatest, maybe.

Not that anyone else saw, how hard it really was, how brave he was for every single fucking day he spent in sobriety—Rafe suffered mostly in silence, on his own—but at least he knew what he did there, he and that counselor he saw every week since leaving rehab.

So Ward might not have fucking understood what it meant to resist a drink, or a line, even a goddamn joint, when this was all Rafes life had been for months, when this was all Rafes friends did, all he knew, all he wanted, but goddamnit that shit was probably harder than building an entire fucking company out of nothing.

There was a certain kind of honor, even, in doing it all by himself, minus some 30k for rehab and a couple hundred every week for that counselor and a stable support system and a home to come back to and no responsibilities whatsoever and all the other little side effects of being rich.

By the time Rafe got to rehab, he'd tried to stay away from coke so many fucking times, and it was mostly alcohol that made him go back. In evaluation they told him he'd either have to cut both out of his life, or he could walk right out that door he came in. That wasn't true though, he couldn't. Where was Rafe supposed to walk to? Home to his father, who's only comment this morning had been; it's about time? Or to his sisters, who had high fived at their three month vacation from Rafe? Or Rose, who'd dropped Rafe off checking her phone. I'm gonna be late for an open house.

Rafe tried AA before, but those weren't his people. They'd suffered, like really suffered in life, and listening to their stories in the basement of a church on the Cut made Rafe itch for a drink more than any other time. No one said it, but he knew he wasn't welcome. When some Tommy talked about loosing his job at Cameron Development over his drinking habit, Rafe got up and walked out, getting himself a bottle of tequila at the next store. Some people actually had a reason to drink.

Worst part about sobriety was probably the loneliness. All Rafe had done in his free time was drink, or do drugs, at the yacht club, at the beach, at the golf range, all he did for fun with friends was on drugs, and nothing seemed worth it without.

Rafe spent most of his days alone at first. Only his closest friends knew about rehab anyways, Ward had tried to keep it a secret and strictly ordered Rafe to do the same, telling a bunch of lies of where he'd been instead. Officially, Rafe had been managing business in the Bahamas, unofficially, Ward would never trust him with that kind of responsibility.

These days, he worked out, stayed inside, went for a run, a swim, and to the meetings with his counselor, who suggested sober activities with his friends, as if Rafe had any who would wanna put up with shit like that.

He also talked to the guy about the event coming up at the Country Club. Being sober might make him feel like he was no longer part of this world, the counselor had said, but he was. Told him to still attend these kind of things, just sober now.

Rafe wasn't asking whether he should go or not. Ward had made it pretty clear his appearance was expected. He was just asking how to cope, how to make it through, and that counselor didn't have an answer to that.

The guy Ward was talking to was on the city council and Rafe put up the utmost effort to keep up with the conversation, nodding, agreeing, laughing, sweating in his suit when a waiter walked by with a tray of sparkling wine and the man stopped him.

"No thanks", Rafe declined as politely as he could. He knew his dad would scold him later if he didn't keep up the image of a well mannered son.

"Come on, your old man can turn a blind eye this once", the guy joked, winking at Ward.