Page 31

Nate nodded. “I don’t know how Serena ended up on the street, but it’s eating her alive. She’s a good kid, a little pigheaded, but who isn’t at that age? Anyway, her pimp’s been riding her hard, so when Lola mentioned needing another waitress, I offered it to Serena.”

Clearly intrigued, Dorcas shifted in her seat. “So how did you start working with the homeless?”

Normally, this was the part where he said he just wanted to help those less fortunate. It was the easy answer. It cast him in a favorable light. And although it was the truth, it wasn’t the whole truth. The whole truth had a way of making people view him differently, as damaged, defective. But there was something about Dorcas, something unique and indescribable that touched him inside and compelled him to share the real story.

Still, it made him uncomfortable, and he kept his eyes on the road. “Well, years ago, I walked in their shoes. It’s a bad fit no matter who you are, so after I got back on my feet, I decided to pay it forward.”

From the corner of his eye, he watched her mouth fall open, her eyes widen.

“How on earth did you end up on the street?”

Full and fair disclosure, he reminded himself, even though it was a subject he typically avoided like the plague. It was only fair to let her know what kind of man he was.

Pushing back against the shame and embarrassment, he said, “I’m an addict.”

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with—wait, what?”

“I’m an addict.” He mentally cringed. Even after all these years, he hated saying it aloud. “It’s what landed me on the streets.”

The cab of the truck went quiet for a good thirty seconds. “No offense, but I never would have pegged you for an addict.”

“Well, it’s not like I wear a giant neon sign advertising it.”

“You know what I mean.”

Yeah, he did. Most people had an image in their mind of the stereotypical junkie: a skinny, dirty lowlife with shifty eyes, needle tracks up both arms, and a bad case of the shakes. And yes, there were a number of them out there. But in reality, most addicts looked like everybody else, struggling to function in normal society while keeping their secret hidden.

“What were you addicted to?”

“Pills mostly; painkillers, opioids.” He got in the left lane to pass an SUV. “Toward the end, though, I took anything I could get my hands on.”

“How did you end up becoming addicted?”

“Sports injury. I tore my ACL while playing ball at UGA. After the surgery, the doctor prescribed painkillers. They worked great to dull the pain, but what I really liked about them was how they made me feel.” Nate felt her gaze on him, but he kept his eyes on the road. “After a while, I stopped using them for pain management and just used them to get high. When my prescription ran out, my roommate hooked me up with a guy who could get me some more. Only his were a lot stronger, and the addiction got worse, and I ended up spending every penny I had to stay high.”

A fresh round of shame slammed into him, and he wondered whether it would ever go away.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he braked for a red light. “By the time I hit rock bottom, my grades were in the toilet and I lost my scholarship. I stopped eating right and started losing weight. My car got repo’d. Then my roommate moved out, and I didn’t have enough money to pay the rent on my own, so I slept on a buddy’s couch because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. And when I wore out my welcome—it didn’t take long—I ended up on the streets.”

“You couldn’t live with any of your family?”

Nate shook his head. “I didn’t want them to know how low I’d gone. I’d already stolen from Larissa; pawned some of her jewelry. At one point, she’d asked me about it and I looked her straight in the eyes and lied my ass off. I think a part of me was scared they wouldn’t help if they knew because I’d been such an asshole. But eventually Wade found out I was homeless. I don’t even know how he figured it out. One day he showed up at the woods where I was camping and made me come live with him. If it wasn’t for him, God knows what would have happened to me.”

And look at what happened to Wade as a result. The poor guy was a living, breathing example of no good deed going unpunished.

“How long did it take you to beat the addiction?” Dorcas asked.

“I don’t know. There were a lot of bumps in the road. I OD’d three—no, wait—four times. After the last one, my mom visited me in the hospital. Dad refused—he’d written me off by then. Not that I blame him. I was such a fuck-up, I would have written me off as well. But I’ll never forget the look on her face when she walked into the room. She wasn’t crying or mad; I could have handled that. She just looked so...disappointed. She said she’d come to terms with the fact that one day she’d have to bury one of her children.” The memory gnawed at his conscience and triggered a fresh round of shame. He dragged a hand through his hair as he stared at the bumper of the car in front of them. “I think that’s what snapped me out of it. That look on her face wrecked me. She was so resigned to me dying, and I saw how much that hurt her. It was enough to make me want to quit.”

Finally, the light turned green. “And that’s the thing. It doesn’t matter how many treatment centers you go into, or how long you’re in lockup without a fix. You can’t truly go straight until you actually want to go straight. And I’ll admit, I fell off the wagon a few times, but that’s an unfortunate part of the process. Anyone who claims they hopped on the wagon and never fell off is a fucking liar.”

Dorcas touched his arm, and the simple contact felt like a balm on his soul. “How long have you been clean?”

“Six years, three months, and twenty-one days.”

“I’m surprised your family drinks around you.”

“For a while, they didn’t, and I appreciated that. But I can handle it now. Liquor was never my drug of choice, so it’s no big deal to be around it.”