After all of this time, he still loves her.

It's something he's fought so long to shake, but every time he sees her the feelings flood back in.

He doesn't go to meetings anymore, mostly because he's afraid of being recognized, but also because it's been several years since he's even taken a sip. The ridges from the poker chip he's had for so long he can barely remember dig into his skin.

Just one, Deacon thinks as he takes a slow pull from the bottle. He realized long ago that he's still addicted; not to alcohol, but to her.