Winter Solstice in St. Nacho's (St. Nacho's #5) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,52

then.” I nodded toward the door to his new life.

He seemed to hesitate. “Um. Where will you be going? Santa Barbara?”

I twisted the keys in my fingers. “I got a deal on a place in Morro Bay. If you need anything—”

“I won’t. It’s fine. Have a great vacation, Luke.”

“I will. You’re going to do great here. I can already tell.”

“Thanks.”

We gave each other an awkward hug and then he slipped beyond the little gate and headed for the porch. I could have watched, waited for someone to answer the door and let him inside.

I wanted to walk him in.

I wanted the satisfaction of delivering him to the next person, of getting some assurance Tug would be taken care of, because I didn’t want to let go.

But that was my problem.

That was an enabler’s pattern.

I’d learned to ignore that voice in favor of the one that said, “This is Tug’s journey. You have your own.”

When the door opened, he turned and waved. I waved back, got into Dad’s car, and drove away.

I hardly looked back at all.

Chapter Seventeen

St. Nacho’s, Day 1

I can’t believe I’m back in Santo Ignacio. I’m glad to be living in a sober house, but I’m also scared. I forgot all about the party atmosphere down by the boardwalk. What if I fuck up?

Minerva Layne, who manages the house, also owns a place called Rune Nation where she does tarot readings. I remember passing her store a couple times when I walked around town with Beck. It’s on one of the side streets just off Main Street—a kind of new age, spiritual hodgepodge of books, crystals, candles, and jewelry.

Minerva’s round and soft all over. She wears this strange mix of boho and beachwear, and her bracelets chime with, like, fifty little bells whenever she moves her arms.

When I got here, she took me into the office and gave me all the paperwork to fill out. There was a super awkward pee test, which of course I passed.

Payment here is based on a sliding scale. I’ll chuck in everything I can afford each week, and when I make more, the rent will go up. I have a month’s rent plus a tiny bit saved from doing extra work at Hope House and a couple of the neighboring farms, but it won’t last. I need to conserve my money so it stretches like gum on a hot sidewalk.

The Greaveses’ gift turned out to be a laptop which—Jesus God, Luke’s parents are so generous. It came with a note hoping I’d enjoy it and maybe, hint, hint, use it for school when I go.

No pressure or anything.

Honestly, I can’t even think about school right now. I have to start small. Fix my room up, get a job, pay Beck back for his guitar and the other things I stole from him.

My meds need adjusting every so often, so Minerva set up an appointment with a local clinic. PAWS is real. I still get depressed, and I can’t always focus. I hate the thought that I might have thrown away my brain—damaged it so badly that the things that were easy for me before will be too hard now.

What isn’t hard anymore? My dick.

Most days, I can’t even be bothered to try rubbing one out. It’s the antidepressants. Three months and nothing, not even when I imagine being with Luke. That’s supposed to be normal, and it’s supposed to get better, blah, blah, blah.

Doc Franklin said my clarity and my dick would come back, but I can’t get my hopes up either. Things are different now. I’m different. I won’t know how different for a long time, so there’s no point stressing about it.

So far, I haven’t had a lot of personal contact with my housemates. There are two girls and two guys. We each have our own tiny rooms.

They seem nice, but I already miss the close-knit family I had at Hope House. I miss my chickens. I miss Horace.

If I’m being honest, I hate myself for making Luke leave me here like an express package delivery. I already wish he’d have argued more about that. It’s not like he was even at Hope House, but I always knew he was available. If we went someplace or had an activity, Luke was always there to help out.

I miss his face.

Speaking of, Minerva is one of those people who looks too deeply into your eyes. She has no filter, so spacey, woo-woo thoughts just fall right out of her mouth, like when