Will & Patrick Wake Up Married
this before, but Ryan can’t be your definition of recovery. It’s too much to put on him, and a dangerous place to put yourself. Your recovery should be defined by something you can control, Will. And you can never control another person.”
    Will’s throat aches. “I know, I know. It’s just that I love him.”
    Why does love hurt so much? Why does it never lay soft and easy against his skin like a comfortable sweater? It’s unfair that love is so hard.
    “Is it because of that young man I’ve seen Ryan going around town with?”
    Yes.
    “No, it’s me. It’s always me. I’m weak and too needy.” His list of flaws and failures is long, but weak and needy is always at the top. “Ryan says if he stays with me I’ll drag him into addiction again. He’s been sober so long. Nine years this past fall. He can’t risk it.”
    Owen’s silence speaks volumes. But he’s Will’s sponsor, not Ryan’s, and his loyalties are clear. “All right. Let’s talk about our first priority here: getting you to a meeting. Can you make it to one today? I can look up locations in Vegas. There have to be dozens of groups.”
    “I can’t. I’ve got something else going on.”
    Owen’s voice is like the granite steps of the public library in Healing after a day in the sun: warm but rock solid. “I feel strongly that a meeting is what you need most right now.”
    “There’s no danger of me drinking again any time soon, Owen. There’s a bigger problem to solve.”
    “The marriage problem,” Owen says with a twist in his tone that makes Will’s heart break with shame.
    “Yes,” Will whispers. “I got drunk and married someone last night.”
    “Dear God, Will.” Owen’s voice is raspy. “Who?”
    “A doctor. A neurosurgeon I met, actually.”
    “Was he someone Don encouraged you to ingratiate yourself with?”
    Will wishes he could say yes. “No, I didn’t even know he was a neurosurgeon until this morning. Well, I don’t think I knew.”
    “Were you drunk when you met him?”
    “Already on my way.”
    “I see.”
    “Yeah. One thing led to another.” Will makes a helpless noise.
    “Will, this is… I don’t know what to say. The consequences of this could be immense. You know the stipulations of the trust are ironclad in the legal sense and as rigid as they are absurd.”
    “I know, I know.” The light from the window falls harshly over the hotel room carpet, illuminating the swirls in the design.
    For a moment Owen sounds just like a real father when he asks, “What were you thinking ?”
    “I wasn’t. Obviously. I’d gone into the bar to look for a few of the neurologists on my list. I figured they’d be drinking in there and I was ready to be strong and just have club soda.”
    Owen sighs.
    “Then, while I was sitting there trying to put names with faces, Ryan called to break up with me. The next thing I knew I’d downed four shots of whiskey and was working on a cocktail of some kind or another. It’s all a blur.”
    “Will, hold on. Yes, Marcy, thank you. Please close the door again behind you.”
    Will hears Owen shifting the papers around. “There can be no divorce, not even one instigated by your spouse, or the money reverts back to the Molinaro family.”
    “I know.”
    “The criteria for annulment are tight. No fraud, no immoral grounds of any nature. We can discuss them in more detail, but there’s another stipulation that surely you haven’t forgotten. It’s the strictest of all. And, I have to admit, I’ve never understood how the Molinaros could possibly prove or disprove it, but it’s a doozy and a huge problem in your situation.”
    Will’s throat is dry, but he manages to swallow. “Just tell me.”
    After Owen spells out the terms in excruciating detail, Will sits on the bed, his chest tight and even his blood is screaming.
    “I can fly out this afternoon,” Owen says. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
    “No, I’m coming home today. I can’t stay here. I know
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