Stanton's Sins

1 Stanton stood inside the double doors of the entrance to the rehab center, tugging at the collar of his button-down shirt and adjusting his tie. Normally he’d have worn something more casual, but his mother was arriving any moment. Since he hadn’t exactly been in a position to drive himself to Tully Drug Rehab a month ago, she insisted on driving up to retrieve him. Or, rather, being driven there. In the family limo, that is. One of the reasons he’d chosen this place was that it had a name among professionals and law enforcement, of which he was both. A close second was its reputation for privacy and seclusion. If he was going to do this thing, he needed to be as far from Poughkeepsie and his father as possible. Not that his father would have visited. The very thought of him and his accompanying barrage of recriminations would’ve been distracting, to say the least. But there was no getting around the fact that he was an addict. Not some guy with a little cocaine problem. Not a guy who partied too much or had a bit of a control issue. Nah. He was a fucking addict, through and through. Stanton twisted the family signet ring on his finger as he peered through the frosted glass pane of the front door. He drew his cashmere coat collar up to cover his neck from a brisk draft coming from the entranceway. An addict who wouldn’t snuff white powder up his nose again is who he was now. After four weeks in this place, and the hard work he’d put in, he had no intention of backpedaling and ending right back where he started. Not. Fucking. Happening. If for no other reason than that he didn’t have it in him to take a month off work again. Being a high-powered, respected prosecutor did not allow for that kind of lapse of time. He shuddered to think of the state of his files when he got back to the office tomorrow. Besides work, the thing he missed the most was the lack of fucking. Thank Christ he was back at court tomorrow. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have too much trouble finding a soft woman he could sink his cock into real soon. His sponsor, who was about as much of an asshole as Stanton, did make one stipulation. Find a new woman. Cut off the old ones because they were potential triggers. Which meant no speed-dial party girls. Gregory made him delete every last female contact on his speed-dial list. Brutal. Unfortunately, that didn’t include Melanie, the one he most wanted off his phone. He’d taken her off the cheat list during his miserable attempt at monogamy. He sighed inwardly. What a clusterfuck that had been. Old family friend turned other woman turned jilted fiancée. He’d have to make amends to her at some point in the future. It was a one-day-at-a-time program, so he didn’t need to dwell on that hellhole right this moment. Or so Gregory told him when his thoughts tumbled down the rabbit hole. His sponsor was a man who’d been through exactly what he had been through and was willing to waste his time with Stanton to bolster his own recovery. Go figure. He never thought that was how shit would go down. For Stanton, sacrifice was sacrifice, without expectation of anything coming his way. Not approval. Certainly not an ounce of relief. A limo rolled up to the curved driveway. He checked his Piaget watch. Just on time. Waving goodbye to the receptionist, he stepped out the door, towing his Rimowa rolling baggage. Anthony hurried out of the limo, rubbing his gloved hands together as he walked around to open the back door of the limo for him. “Welcome home, Mr. Prescott,” he greeted as he stood at attention in the frigid air of January in Upstate New York. Nodding to the older man, he replied, “Thank you, Anthony. It’s good to be out.” That’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Handing Anthony his baggage, Stanton slid into the seat beside his mother and placed a kiss on her right cheek. She squeezed his hand, giving him a quick but thorough once-over. “How are you doing, darling? You look well.” “Much improved from the last time you saw me, I’m sure,” he said, squeezing her hand back. “Now, now. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” “Oh, Mother, only you would say that. You found me plastered in my own vomit, shielding Amy from getting a good look at me while calling nine-one-one. I think we’re past suggesting that I was anything but a fucking mess.” “I see they didn’t get you to stop cursing,” she reproved mildly. His mother. Always working to better others. She was tenacious that way. Never gave up. Certainly didn’t give up on his father after Jax’s death, and God knows he wouldn’t have given the bastard a second chance. Then again, cast in his father’s image, Stanton shouldn’t be one to talk. “You know your father can’t handle anything irregular. It is the only reason he didn’t come with me today,” his mother said. Yeah, right. Excuses, excuses. “For an alcoholic—” “Former alcoholic,” his mother interjected. “There’s no such thing, Mother. One of the many things I learned back there.” He jutted a thumb in the direction of Tully. His mother turned her face and gazed out the tinted window as the car started. “He stopped drinking quite a long time ago. That’s past history.” If only past history stayed in the past. “He never stopped raging,” Stanton threw back. “Or controlling everything.” He expelled a weary breath. This was an old argument and he should know better than to go down this dog-eared, worn-out path. But dammit, he’d spent the past four weeks dredging up family ghosts. Outside of detoxing, which was the ultimate kick in the balls, he was done with burying shit or circumventing issues. His mom turned back from the window, and her startling cornflower blue eyes locked on him. “In any case, I’m glad you’re better and that you’re home. I’ll do whatever’s necessary for you to remain clean. Anything,” she vowed. He grasped her hand again and she weaved her fingers tightly between his. If nothing else, Marie Bethany Prescott, née Astor, was a good woman who’d go to any lengths to keep her family together. Convincing his mother that he was better off going home and preparing himself for court tomorrow instead of swinging by his familial birthplace to see his father hadn’t been as difficult as Stanton had expected. Marie had probably been too afraid to push, but he’d be damned if he wasted tonight on his father. He dropped the perfunctory kiss on his mother’s cheek and exited the limousine. There was next Sunday brunch to serve as catch-up on his session of torture. Waiting for the elevator, he heard a ping and checked his cell phone. AMY: What’s up? Sorry I wasn’t there to pick you up with Mom. Yeah, right, like I’d put her through that for my ass. STANTON: Stop apologizing. I specifically told you not to come. I wouldn’t subject you to 4 hours in a car with Mom. 2 hours is one thing. 4 hours is to be avoided. AMY: [Laughing crying emoji] You’re my hero. [Winking kissing emoji] STANTON: Always got your back, little sis. AMY: How’d it go? STANTON: Manageable. It wasn’t bad. AMY: I’ll be there for Sunday brunch to act as buffer. STANTON: I don’t need you to do shit for me. I protect you, remember? AMY: I like to help. STANTON: Don’t need you here. Take care of your life in the City. AMY: You big brother. Grunt. Pound chest. Me little sister. [Winking emoji] STANTON: Now you got it. Stanton walked out of the elevator and down the hallway. He’d put in the effort to develop a different relationship with his sister, but the you scratch my back, I scratch yours way of life was ingrained in them so young, he routinely had to remind her of the difference in their roles. AMY: You’re so protective! The best big brother a girl could have. You’re going to make a great father one day. [Winking kissing emoji] STANTON: Yeah, not going to happen. Ever. Hope you find someone soon to fill Mom’s need for grandchildren. AMY: Ugh. Whatever. I miss you, asshole. STANTON: Can’t wait to see you either.