Winter Solstice in St. Nacho's (St. Nacho's #5) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,20

played you. That’s the nature of the beast.

You can’t trust an addict.

At that point, it didn’t matter much what I did. I got my keys and went for a drive, figuring he’d leave without me too. If he disappeared while I was gone, that just meant I could go home to my own bed and save myself another night in that crappy motel room. If he left, I wasn’t bound to drive him to the facility in Stockton the next day.

I could get back to my life and be the wiser for it.

Built-up resentment made me stop for a bottle of Jack, a big bag of jalapeño potato chips, and a few lottery scratch offs that were worthless except to remind me that betting on a one in a billion long shot was a stupid fucking thing to do.

On the way back to the motel, I picked up some Popeye’s chicken.

I got enough for Tug, although I still didn’t know how I was going to handle the situation.

I could ignore his little game. Go along. Pretend I didn’t know, drop him off at rehab, and let it be their problem.

I could slap the smirk off his smug face and remind him I wasn’t stupid.

My dilemma was lying in the bed where I’d left him, almost in the exact same position, when I got back. Like any addict, he had put off the inevitable, mortgaged his pain to the future. Would he now shy away from treatment, even after he’d been through so much?

Not my circus.

I ate some chicken and drank a little Jack.

Okay. A lot of Jack.

After a while, he sat up and rubbed sleep from his face.

“Hey, do I smell booze? Did you go out?”

I held the bag of food out. “I got some chicken for you if you want it.”

“Sounds good.” He barely got hold of the box before he’d wolfed down a chicken tender. “God, that’s so good.”

“There are biscuits and mashed potatoes and coleslaw on the table. Help yourself.”

“Thanks. I finally have an appetite.” He unwrapped a spork for himself and went to town.

“Be careful you don’t eat too fast. If the nausea comes back—”

“I think I’m past the worst. I hope so, anyway.” He opened a Gatorade he’d started earlier and took a healthy swig. “Withdrawal is totally fucked up, but it had to get better some time, right? I think getting some sleep really helped me.”

“I’m sure.” I let the anger inside me fester while I took another sip of whiskey. How should I play this? What should I do?

I wished then that I’d called Echo. She’d have given me advice as well as reminded me that I was not alone in letting an addict make an idiot out of me.

He eyed me skeptically. “Why are you drinking? Is this place getting to you?”

“Yup.” I could barely look at him. “I guess I’ve got cabin fever.”

“I know what you mean. It feels like we’ve been here for weeks instead of a couple days.” He came around and sat on the bed opposite the chair I’d made my refuge. “Something else going on?”

“Like what?” Fury might have heated my face, but that was involuntary. Since I dealt with demanding people all day long, I could hide my emotions if I had to.

“I don’t know.” With his grifter’s skills, I doubted I could fool him into thinking nothing had changed. “You just seem… different.”

“I miss my place.” I gave him a partial truth. “I feel cut off from my family and other people I normally hang out with on the weekends.”

He nodded, accepting my explanation for now. “You have a place of your own?”

“I do.” I pulled up a picture of my house on my phone. “It’s tiny. I had to gut it when I bought it, but it’s great now.”

“It’s got real charm.” He lowered his lashes. “Like its owner.”

“Right.”

He stared as if he hadn’t quite decided what he wanted from me yet.

That particular expression had never crossed his features when he was too dope sick to fend for himself. Now, I saw the way he measured every word. The way he watched how each thing he said landed with me.

“You’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.” He stood and gathered his jeans and a t-shirt. At the door to the bathroom, he leaned against the jamb. “You remind me so much of your mom and dad.”

He slipped inside the bathroom without waiting for me to say anything. When he came out, he