Page 68 of Strange Lad

My mind shifts to Jorge without a thought, and my feelings for him are exactly the same. “I haven’t been able to have a relationship.”

“No?”

I shake my head. “But I want to. One day.”

“You’ll get there. Hell, you’ve been sober for way longer than I have and seem to be doing pretty damn good all things considered. I have no doubt you’ll be able to have a relationship whenever you meet that person.”

“Maybe,” I admit shyly. “Anyway, I wanted to…apologize for that first time we ran into each other.”

“Me too. I can come off pretty strong without meaning to.”

“I’m not ready to talk to Phoenix, but I’d like it if we could meet up again,” I tell him because it’s the truth. Other than Jorge, I have literally no friends. And I have no one who understands what I’m going through like Eli seems to.

“Yeah. We can.” He smiles and cocks his head. “I gotta tell him to come get me. It fucking sucks not having my license.”

“How long until you can get it back?”

“Six months,” he whines. “But once I get it, bet. You and me, we’re going out.”

“I don’t know about all that,” I say hesitantly. I don’t like going out.

“Maybe we can go to one of those sobriety events Kristen keeps yapping about. Could be fun.”

“We’ll see.”

“I’ll wear you down. It’s what I’m good at.” And he winks.

In all this time, I’ve never looked at Jorge’s location on the app he insisted we both download, but I am currently. He’s at his house. Glancing at the bag of Thai food I picked up, I chew my lip and wonder if I should shelve this conversation for tomorrow. Guilt gnaws at me, though. Having left like I did, knowing he’s probably been inconsolable since.

No one in my immediate family enjoys confrontation. We’d all rather avoid it until we have no choice. That’s probably why my parents didn’t push my addiction issue until I overdosed. I guess it’s in my genetic makeup to want to ignore all my problems, even the ones I created. It’s something I’ve been working on in my therapy sessions—albeit not as frequently these days.

Closing the app, I shift my car into drive and head toward Jorge’s house.

I’m going to have to explain myself. He’s going to need reassurance, which is fine. I’ve done it before. I hope he doesn’t hate me. The fact he hasn’t texted me to ask how group went also solidifies that he’s hurt. I rub the back of my neck anxiously while I drive, trying to stay calm. My stomach rumbles ominously while my pulse races. It’ll be alright. It has to be.

This is Jorge here.

He’s the type of person who is always willing to listen—to understand. Sometimes, I worry that I take advantage of that because I get away with a lot that most people wouldn’t tolerate. The last thing I want is to hurt him, though. I can do this even if that means bucking up and addressing a problem. I have to. He’s been there for me when he didn’t need to. He’s never asked me for more than I’m willing to give.

I’ll fix this.

When I get to his house, parking in his short driveway, fight or flight kicks in. I shove my car into reverse, ready to flee, when his front door flies open. Standing in the doorway, rumpled as fuck, curls wild and frizzy, he glares at me. My stomach bottoms out, dread swirling in my veins. I swallow roughly when he points his finger at the porch beside him in a silent command.Come here.

Shitshitshit.

Hurrying to grab the bag of food, I get out of the car, eyes on the ground, and click the lock on my key fob. My palms are slick with sweat as I climb the steps, stopping at the one in front of him. Daring to meet his gaze, I slowly lift my head and open my mouth to start my apology, but he beats me to it.

“I’m sorry if I was too needy or clingy. That was my bad. But as far as I’m concerned, Oliver, we are dating, and I think it’s extremely fucking rude to go hang out with another personwithout telling me.” He loses his vibrato fast; the tough guy act crumbling and leaving him breathless with a wobbling chin.

It takes me too long to register what he’s just said to me, so he rushes out, “Maybe saying we are dating is presumptuous since all we’ve done is cuddle, and I played with your pecs a bit, but still. We’veconfessed things.”

I lower the bag beside my foot, my heart thudding like a war drum because he said we’redating.Fucking color me surprised, but I’m not upset at his claim. “I went to talk to Eli,” I say carefully, watching his expression. “He asked me yesterday while you were sick. We went to the park to talk after group.”

A little breathless shudder leaves him. “Oh.”

“I wasn’t sure how it would go, and I didn’t want to say anything this morning because I hadn’t decided if I was actually going to follow through with it.”

“Keep talking,” he rasps, clutching his chest.

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