aching nostalgia and longing. I’d thought all the therapy I’d done had helped me get a grip on my feelings for Tex—but now that he was in front of me, desire pawed at me like a puppy begging for attention. I should’ve been grateful I got to have this at all. I shouldn’t pine for something I could never have.
It was just the intensity of being back with him—it’d fade once we got back to Elkin Lake.
I hoped so, at least.
Jazz/Tex
Jazz
Fishhead’s, to my shock, was still open and standing at the south end of the Monterey strip. It was a rickety old taco joint built on stilts that were definitely not up to modern day building code, with a massive deck out back overlooking the ocean.
We sat out on the back deck, side by side at the narrow outdoor bar. I had chips, salsa, a margarita the size of my head, fish tacos on the way, and Tex’s elbow bumping into mine.
I couldn’t have wished for a better homecoming than this. I’d thought after three years, maybe his resentment and disappointment would have built up too high, and Tex wouldn’t be the mother hen he was in our youth. He’d deny it if I phrased it like that, sure, but it was true. He’d always been a caretaker—couldn’t help it. He’d always looked out for me.
And he’d always had this innate drive that I never did. He was always moving, always looking for the next adventure, always planning some new exciting thing for us to do. He was ever-forward. I was always a little more lost. It’d been easy to just ride the wake of Tex’s energy, especially when we were teenagers and all we had to look forward to was shit work for shit pay for the foreseeable rest of our lives.
That’d been what we did—what I did. Tex made decisions, and I was just along for the ride, happy to be included at all.
I’d let other people make my choices for me for so many years. In prison I had a lot of time to think about that, and I knew it wasn’t Tex’s fault. He’d just been being himself—eager and smart and interested. Ready to take on the world. And I would've been content to be his sidekick probably forever, but what’d started as teen loyalty became a dangerous kind of gullibility: I trusted everyone else’s opinions over my own.
I’d never learned to trust myself.
Now, I knew I had to make my own decisions. I had to set my own path—strike out on my own, somehow. If I just followed behind Tex for the rest of my life, pining after him like a puppy, I’d never be happy. Not really. I had to accept what I felt for him, but not let it get in the way of my own happiness anymore. No more denial. No more waiting for some great stroke of luck to fall from the sky. I was going to make some sort of life for myself.
I just wasn’t sure exactly what that was yet. But hopefully I had plenty of time to figure that out.
“Oh, hell, yeah,” Tex said around a mouthful of chips as the bartender approached holding two sizzling plates of food.
“Here you go, boys.” The bartender set the plates down and flashed a sultry smile at us both. She was young, with sun-lightened brown hair and tan skin—clearly a local girl. She leaned on the bar in front of Tex. “You in town to judge the Tex-Mex, cowboy?”
“Don’t need to judge,” Tex drawled easily, playing up his Southern accent for her benefit. “Been here enough times to know it meets my standards.”
“Oh, yeah?” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “What kind of standards are those?”
“They’re pretty high” —Tex’s gaze flickered down to the bartender’s low-cut shirt— “but definitely attainable.”
The bartender laughed and bit her lower lip. “You boys let me know if you need anything else, all right?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Tex smiled warmly at her as she went to check on her other customers.
I could barely taste my fish tacos.
Finding my own path was all well and good, but it still hurt to see him flirt so easily and openly with women, especially after having him to myself for a few hours—after not having him at all for so long. But why wouldn’t he flirt? Looking the way he did, he got plenty of attention. I was annoyed with myself more than anything.
It should’ve gotten easier to watch,