Winter Solstice in St. Nacho's (St. Nacho's #5) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,46
that counts.”
“I have a present from them for you, but it’s at my house. You get it when you move into your new place.”
He winced. “They didn’t have to do anything special for me.”
“They wanted to. I have a little something for you too. I brought mine.”
“What is it?” He made grabby hands. “Gimme. I want it.”
I laughed at his blatant greed. “So it’s okay for me to get you things but not my parents?”
“We’ve established that. Oh, wait. By the way…” He pulled out his wallet, took out a ten-dollar bill, and laid it on the table in front of me. “I owe you this.”
“No, you don’t.” I tried to make him take it back, but he wouldn’t touch it.
“I’ve been doing odd jobs to earn some cash. Take it.”
“I don’t want it.”
His expression turned stubborn. “Too damn bad. It’s yours.”
“You’re going to need every dime you have to pay for your sober living place.”
“I know that.” He leaned forward and spoke so only I could hear. “But I have to fix things between us. I picked you to use in the beginning. If you take this, whatever you give me now is a gift between friends. Understand?”
“I picked you,” I reminded him. “I picked you right up off the bathroom floor. I stayed every step of the way because you matter to me.”
He glanced away, blinking. “You’re trying to make me cry, aren’t you? Not gonna happen. Pharmacology for the fucking win, yo.”
“The night is young.” I nudged him again. “Here, try some of the pea salad.”
He watched as I spooned some onto his plate. “Is that ham and cheese in there?”
“Yep. Who do you suppose was the first person to say, ‘I’ve got an idea, let’s make a slurry of mayo and sour cream and then float peas, ham, and cheese in it?’”
He took a bite, made a yum face, and smiled. “Hat is off to weird salad inventors. Except those green Jell-O with carrot dudes.”
I concurred. “So I talked to Suzanne about covering my shifts while I move you to Santo Ignacio.”
“It’s Labor Day. Don’t you have back to back days off next weekend anyway?”
“Yeah, but I’m taking a few days off to make it a long weekend. I’ll have five days to help you get up and running.”
He picked up his water and took a long swallow. “There’s no need for you to do that.”
“Maybe I want to.” As I watched, he seemed momentarily annoyed by his plate. “Unless you don’t want me there.”
“You don’t—” He glanced at the sky. I followed his gaze. Almost unnaturally blue with cotton candy clouds moving slowly eastward, it was an absolutely perfect late-summer afternoon.
“I don’t need you to hold my hand while I cross the street,” he said.
“Noted.” Ouch. But maybe I was smothering him. The way Mom and Dad raised us—especially after my accident—was all for one and one for all. Nobody crossed the street alone, ever. “Sorry.”
“All I need is a ride down there. It’s four hours, tops. I checked.”
I considered my words carefully. “On the other hand, it’s Labor Day weekend, and a trip to the beach sounds like heaven to me.”
He bit his lip. “Oh.”
“Don’t worry about it. I can push through to a town farther south. I don’t have to stay in Santo Ignacio at all. I won’t get in your business—”
“No, that’s not it.” He let his hands drop to the table. “I’m not proud of what I did in St. Nacho’s, okay? I don’t want you to see the fallout from my time there. It’ll be ugly.”
“I see.” Dr. Franklin had found Tug a sober living house there for that reason. Tug wanted to make amends. “It’s fine. I’ll drive you to St. Nacho’s and find my own way from there. I need a few days off, and the beach sounds perfect after the scorching summer we had. I’m not going to spy on you or anything.”
He leaned against me. “It’s not that I don’t enjoy your company.”
“I understand.” He was nervous about these next steps. Sober living meant things would be more manageable, but he wouldn’t be isolated from the world. He’d have support, but there would be temptation everywhere.
Nobody knew how he’d handle himself, but that was the point. He had to reintegrate into a society with special pitfalls for people like him.
“You know what I learned from rehab?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“The successful ones are the guys who draft behind people who’re happy, have good relationships, and