Maricela opened the fridge and pointed to a covered plate before zipping up her coat and gathering her things to leave for the night. José’s taillights glowed through the frosted glass, too, making Paige’s unannounced visit an even bigger relief.

“How’s it going? You’ve sort of disappeared,” Paige said, choosing another cookie.

“It’s been a rough month.”

“Tyler said your parents cut you off. Is that true?”

“Tyler Maddox? You’ve seen him?” A strange pang of jealousy burned in my stomach.

She shrugged. “At Turk’s. He said you gave him the shaft.”

“I didn’t give him the shaft. He had to have been hanging on to get turned loose.”

Paige giggled, her childlike smile prompting me to reach for her hand. She intertwined her long fingers with mine. “I’ve missed seeing you around.”

“I’m still around.”

“Is it true? About your parents? Is that why you’re so different?”

“Good different, I hope,” I said, corralling the crumbs from our cookies into a pile. Paige didn’t answer. “Yes, it’s true.”

“Well, I’ve come to save you.” She bent down, and when she stood up, she pulled a bottle out of a brown paper sack. She rummaged through the cabinets until she found two tumblers, and sat them on the counter. My mouth began to water at the sound of the cap twisting off, and the initial splash of the amber liquid against the bottom of the glass. Paige filled both tumblers to the top.

“Whoa,” I said. “I haven’t drank a drop in over a month.”

She handed me a glass and held hers halfway between us. “To being sober.”

“I…” My throat burned, aching for the contents in the glass. It was right there. Just one drink. I’d just have one.

Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

“You look like hell,” Tyler said, holding out my chair.

I sat down, leaving on my sunglasses. “Thanks.”

“Late night? I thought you weren’t drinking anymore.”

“I wasn’t,” I said, recoiling at the sound of his voice, the sunlight pouring in through the windows, and the squeaking little shit pre-K’er bouncing in the corner like he was on crack.

“What happened?” Tyler asked.

“A friend showed up last night with a bottle of Crown.”

He scowled at me. “After what? Five weeks on the wagon? Doesn’t sound like a very good friend.”

“I’m not riding a wagon. Those are for alcoholics.”

Tyler flagged down Chelsea, pointing his finger in the air. “Hi. Can we get some waters, please?” She nodded, and he returned his attention to me. “Can you eat?”

“Maybe.”

He shook his head. “Did you at least have good time?”