Winter Solstice in St. Nacho's (St. Nacho's #5) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,89

with his phone and snapped one.

“Stop.” I couldn’t move fast enough to avoid the first one, but he didn’t get off a second, unless he took it from the back as I ran out of the apartment. I tossed him my keys. “Lock the door, will you?”

I was halfway down the street and breathless when he caught up with me.

“I like this new you,” he said, eyes appraising. “Nice clothes, expensive bag, jewelry—” I growled at him. “Stop that. You seem really happy.”

“I was in a rut for a long time. I was always afraid that if I changed how I dressed, it would attract unwanted attention.” With Mark, I could admit emotional things. He could only laugh so much.

“What changed?”

“New place, new me,” I admitted. “I want to start as I mean to go on.”

His expression softened. “You look great, bro.”

That made me smile. “I feel great.”

“I’ll drink to that.” He flung his arm around my shoulder.

I elbowed him. “You’ll drink to anything.”

“Oh, busted.” Our laughter mingled in the early evening air.

As if it was showing off, St. Nacho’s welcomed us with a chilly breeze. I smelled roasting meat, wood smoke, and marshmallows. The sky had turned every shade of violet and pink in contrast to the scintillating orange of the setting sun. Wherever we walked, music seemed to follow. From one house, it was jazz. From another, electronic dance music. From the Cantina, the sound of a violin playing Mariachi tunes drew me forward.

From that moment on, my home wasn’t Galt but Santo Ignacio.

All that rightness settled next to the anxiety I felt over starting a new job. Over my ongoing yearning to see Thuong, to hold him, and to love him if he’d let me. Over the unsettled feeling that St. Nacho’s still held surprises for me—ones I was apprehensive about if only because I’d sallied into the unknown. The things you don’t know can surprise you in ways you can’t imagine.

I nudged Mark. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” He smiled and ruffled my hair. “Always remember: Nobody crosses the street alone.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

St. Nacho’s, Day 65

Luke’s here. He’s here, and I see him everywhere, and I can’t even.

Doesn’t he know how hard it is to stay away? Doesn’t he know that what I want most is to crawl into his arms and beg him to take my mind off my problems?

I’ll never be free of the past, but I need to make peace with it.

I thought this part would be so easy. I thought detox and the months I spent in Hope House were as hard as it would get, but what’s really hard is moving on with my life. Day to day boredom, paying my debts, working shit jobs, and living without all the drama that comes with addiction are soul crushing. Knowing this is what my life is going to be like, forever.

Life is what’s hard. Why didn’t I see that? Life is what I used drugs to escape, so how come I missed the big truth?

Every day is fucking hard.

Seeing Luke—knowing he could be my new distraction—is so fucked up.

I don’t trust myself not to take advantage, and I don’t know if I ever will.

Thuong

Good thing bumping into Thuong wasn’t a drinking game, or from the first day I got to St. Nacho’s, I’d have been drunk the entire time.

That first night, Mark and I ate on the patio at Nacho’s Bar. We sat under one of the big propane heaters with a great view of the setting sun. Along with the cantina’s famous nacho’s, I got carne tampiqueña tradicional—steak with a cheese enchilada on top. Mark ordered fish tacos and a chile relleno and shots.

Lots of shots.

I guess we were laughing pretty loudly when from my left, from the boardwalk, I heard an unhappy voice.

“Goddamnit, Luke.”

I turned to see Thuong standing on the boardwalk, bundled up against the chill in jeans, a hoodie, and a puffer vest. His hair had grown enough to brush his shoulders. I stood so fast my chair skidded back and almost tripped a waiter. Thuong stared at me like I’d grown another head. At least half a minute sped by before I could make my feet move. Thuong ran. He turned and sped away before I could even start toward the fence that separated diners from the boardwalk.

Mark caught me by the hand. “Let him go, Luke.”

“I was just going to say hello.”

“Well, he obviously doesn’t want that. Give him time.” Mark handed me a shot glass