Better (Stark Ink Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page A

didn't seem fair. I don't have much, but I had these two hands, and that was enough. I could do great things with them, build houses, build furniture, make beautiful things. So when I couldn't, I did terrible things with them instead. I signed for a loan I couldn't cover and my brother nearly lost everything he owned trying to pay it back for me. I put them on a woman whose name I don't even remember and threw away the best thing I had going for me, the only thing I had going for me. By the time my mom died I was spending every day wasted. I couldn’t even stand up at her funeral. I should have built my mother's coffin, but I was too drunk and feeling too sorry for myself, and now she's spending eternity in a steel and pine mousetrap. She deserved better. A better coffin and a better son.”
    He cleared his throat again, wallowing — out loud at least— was not really his thing. “Anyway, I'm working on it, making up for what I can.”
    He quickly stepped away from the podium and began carefully re-folding the letter. It had the added bonus of keeping him from having to make eye contact with anyone else in the room. It was awkward, sharing his story with other people, especially since it was pretty mild in comparison to some others he’d heard, tragic tales of busted up families, kids not speaking to their parents any more, stories about long prison sentences where even after you made it out, the world you left behind when you went inside didn’t suddenly stop moving and wait for your return. Dalton had only been in rehab a few weeks, when he’d emerged his older brother had taken over as head of the family.
    Dalton made his way to the back of the room. Jig had vacated his seat and followed him to the refreshment table.
    “It was a good one,” Jig declared. Dalton didn’t know what else to do but nod.
    As Dalton’s sponsor, Jig knew about Mom and how she’d died. He knew about Pop and the ever-present threat of an episode. Dalton had never mentioned Zoey, though. He still didn’t like talking about her.
    “So,” said Jig as he picked up a stale doughnut. “Any chance of fixing things with your woman someday?”
    Dalton frowned. It seemed what he liked was of little concern these days. “No,” he told Jig. “She’s done. Gone.”
    “That why you don’t want a plant?”
    “Your plant is three years old,” Dalton pointed out.
    Instead of being offended, Jig laughed. “I’m pushing fifty and I’m missing a few of my teeth. I’d like to date, but they aren’t exactly lining up.”
    It was on the tip of Dalton’s tongue to ask how Jig stayed so optimistic after all this time, how he kept the dog on a leash, so-to-speak, but it didn’t seem right to ask.
    “You’ve got all your teeth, though,” Jig replied. “And you’re looking pretty good.”
    Dalton scoffed. “I think maybe you were inside too long.”
    Jig cackled loudly. “I know that’s right!” More calmly, he said, “I’m not pushing you. I’m just reminding you that there’s a world out there aside from punching a time clock. Your life is not over, Dalton. You drop anchor now and you’re going to sink straight to the bottom.”
     
     
    The meeting concluded with the usual prayer. Dalton stayed to put the chairs away and so he was the last to leave. He turned off the light before trudging back up the basement steps. A chilly blast of night air hit him as he stepped outside. He crossed the parking lot quickly toward the warm (warmer, anyway) cab of the truck. As he zipped his jacket higher, his phone rang. He looked at the screen and saw it was Ava. He groaned. It was Friday night, after all. It wouldn’t be the first time his little sister had gone out late after dinner, had a few drinks, and called Dalton to get her home.
    The first time, Dalton had been horrified and angry at her behavior. His barely sixteen year old sister had gotten hammered at a football game. At least she’d been smart enough not to accept a ride home with