Winter Solstice in St. Nacho's (St. Nacho's #5) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,33
realized what I’d been up to. By scamming him, I disappointed him in a way we couldn’t come back from. It was as if I’d let go of the railing on the Titanic and got dumped into icy water on a vast black sea, alone.
I hated that feeling.
I wanted smiling Luke back in such a bad way, but he was gone, and in his place sat someone who looked like a kicked dog.
So yeah. I totally fucked that up.
Out of all the things I did when I was using, I think that one made me most ashamed.
Luke didn’t have to help me.
He never had to be nice to me.
He didn’t have to buy me Pixie Stix and pancakes and hold my hand when I had a fever, but he did those things because he’s Luke.
He acted like family, and I took him for a ride.
I only hope that someday we can get past that.
I want him to know how sorry I am for what I did.
Tug
I’d expected the evening to be emotional, and it was. I’d been preparing for a meeting like this one by going to other meetings like it, so I had a veil-thin barrier between myself and the pain in the room. Veil thin, but it held, even when Tug shared how he thought of me when I’d first come back into his life.
I knew I was just some mark to him, but I hated hearing it.
“The thing is,” I said when it was my turn to talk, “I knew all that, and I still hoped I would be different. That you saw me as a friend, or a former mentor, or maybe even borrowed family because of all the times you came to my parents’ shop and hung out. We treated you like family.”
“I know.” Fresh tears glittered in Tug’s eyes.
“It’s not the money. I’ve spent way more than ten bucks on a shot of whiskey. It’s the fact that your whole personality changed, and you treated me like a trick. Frankly, I was pissed off because you thought I was stupid enough to fall for it.”
I had to dial my anger back for this next part. “I don’t regret what happened. I can’t. Because however you got here, you’re here. And I have to believe that any addict is going to do some fucked-up shit, but only the really tough ones are going to earn their thirty-day chips. So if you want to look at it like that, I’d do that whole weekend over. I’d go through everything again if I thought it would help you believe you matter to me.”
His mouth dropped open. “For real?”
“Guess so.” I shrugged. “Thanks to you and Echo, I want to help. My boss, Suzanne, says I drank the Kool-Aid.”
“I’m… sorry?”
“Doesn’t matter. Never mind.” We’d taken up enough of the group’s time, and ten minutes later, Dr. Franklin shut things down.
Over snacks, parents and relatives and addicts tentatively reached for each other, and friends tried to make their way back to one another.
I watched Tug drink punch until his lush lips were stained cherry red. He looked healthier. His face had begun to fill out, and he’d put on a little muscle.
He acted like he wasn’t ready to look me in the eye, but that was all right. He’d been a shy kid too—the oily charm he’d shown at times was a put-on, a defense mechanism. Last time I saw him, he’d worn “Fuck” and “You” like epaulettes, and now that he was stripped of those things it made him seem brave because before it was only bravado.
He didn’t glance my way but said, “You want to sit outside for a little bit?”
“Sure.” I followed him out the kitchen door and onto a nice wooden deck with casual seating. He headed for a three-seat swing, and I followed. It bobbled and squeaked when we sat. I managed not to spill coffee on myself.
He took out his cigarettes. “Mind?”
“Go ahead.” I sipped coffee and ate shortbread. “These are my favorite cookies.”
“Yeah?” He eyed them so I held the napkin out. He took one. “Nothing but vanilla. Figures.”
I laughed. “God, why people think vanilla is plain is beyond me.”
“It is plain. That’s why they call boring sex vanilla.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “I don’t think I’ve ever had boring sex. Even when it’s not spectacular, I usually find something to enjoy.”