Page 37 of Up In Smoke

“Wow,” I say, my eyebrows drawing together as I consider that surprising information.

I genuinely love being on stage. I enjoyed TV acting, but it’s a lot of stopping and starting. There’s something pure in the relationship you have with your body when learning choreography. The exhilaration of executing a well-rehearsedgroup number is its own kind of high. Unfortunately, most stages come attached to bars, so I doubt that’s going to be something I can consider any time soon, if ever. But the idea that there are places that offer adult classes—especially in queer spaces—makes me hopeful I could look into doing something for fun one day.

I want to ask how far the drive is to San Diego from here, but that would mean bringing up the subject of me potentially borrowing Rico’s car. The car I tried to steal within twenty-four hours of him inviting me into his home. And with my previous DUIs, I’m not sure what that would do to his car insurance.

Yeah, I think I’ll save that conversation for another time.

Rico carries on talking about some of the other stuff he’s been up to, mostly with his colleagues from the firehouse that sound to be actual friends. That’s a weird concept to me. I’ve always just showed up to work, done whatever I have to do, then gone home again. When I was little and that meant being on set, I thought those guys were my friends. Fuck, I thought of them asfamilyfor a few years. But as soon as the show ended and everyone disbanded, I stopped hearing from them all pretty much immediately as they went onto whatever project was calling them next and I just got…left. Stuck. Once I was no longer an adorable kid, no one seemed to know what to cast me in, so I just started getting into trouble which meant my parents walked away from me and…

Yeah. We’ve talked a lot about my abandonment issues in therapy during my stay at the Sequoia Heights Center. For the first time in my life, I’m not dismissing them. It always felt safer and easier to say I didn’t care and tough everything out on my own. But the truth is that massive insecurity has been crippling me for decades. If I don’t acknowledge it, I can never work on it.

So I love that for Rico if he’s found a family with the other firefighters. The more stories he tells, the more I’m feeling likeI’m getting to know the gang. I doubt I’ll ever meet them, of course. That would be too complicated to explain. But at least Captain Valentine was at our little wedding. I liked him a lot. If he’s the one in charge of the team, I can see how they’d be good eggs.

I’ve thought about him and Mrs. Bloom a lot while I’ve been away. As far as I know, they absolutely thought Rico and I were really getting married, and they still showed up and supported him. Even though they’d never even heard of me before let alone met me. Even though I was a jobless junkie. Maybe they weren’t aware of that, but we certainly didn’t tell them I was working anywhere and at least Valentine knew about the insurance situation.

They still came. They were still kind and accepting. If this is the type of friendship group Rico has found himself in, I’m so happy for him.

And possibly a little jealous. I might have gotten sober, but I’m still kind of a selfish asshole at heart. Just a bit.

We pull up to Rico’s apartment complex and my skin crawls with awkward nervousness again. Even though my throat is clamping up, I know I need to voice the question I should have asked before we started driving.

Damn, I’m such a coward. I guess rehab can’t fix everything.

“So, um…” I croak as he glides into a parking spot. He kills the ignition then looks expectantly over at me. I can’t put this off any longer, though, so I gird my loins and just spit it out.“Imokaytostayherethen?”

For a moment, he simply blinks at me, and I worry he didn’t understand what I said and is going to make me repeat myself. It was mortifying enough asking once. But then his hand shoots out and grabs mine where I didn’t even realized I’d balled it up against my thigh.

“Jesse, what the hell?” he demands. I flinch and open my mouth to tell him that it’s okay, I have a contact number for a halfway house from the treatment center. But he barrels on before I can get a word out. “Ofcourseyou’re staying here. I’m so sorry. It didn’t even occur to me that would be something you’d be uncertain about. Adam knows you’re here and even sent me some stuff. This is your home for however long you want, all right? I mean it. And not just because we need to look like we’re married for insurance purposes.” He laughs nervously. “You are welcome with open arms. Iwantyou here.”

I press my lips together and look away from him with watery eyes. “Thanks,” I manage to whisper. The relief sweeping through me is dizzying, but also the gratitude toward this incredibly generous man and…

The love.

After three months, I’d almost convinced myself that what I’d felt at the wedding was just heightened emotions getting the better of me. And maybe that’s what’s happening again right now. But it’s as if my chest wants to split in half because it can’t possibly contain everything in my heart right now.

“I don’t deserve you,” I mumble with an embarrassed laugh, using my free hand to hastily wipe my damp cheeks. I delude myself thinking I can get away without him noticing, but instead, he brings my hand up to rest against his chest and scoots as close as the driver’s seat will allow him.

“I think a lot of people have tried to convince you that you don’t deserve much, Jesse,” he says softly. “I know we’re on a journey and it’ll take time to earn your trust. But it’s blindingly obvious that you’ve worked really hard on your rehabilitation over the past few months. I’m so proud of you, and I’m promising you right now that I want to be a safe space for you. You’ve got your own room with me. I’ve already put you on my insurance so you can borrow the car whenever you need,although we’ll have to work out a schedule around my shifts. The point is, I don’t want you to feel like you’re trapped here. And if you feel comfortable, you can talk to me about whatever’s on your mind. I know this transition is going to be a very fragile time in your recovery, so I need you to listen when I say I’ve got you.”

The sob escapes my throat before I can stop it, and I rub my chest as I try and process what he’s saying. “What if I fuck up?” I whisper, voicing my worst fear out loud to him for the first time.

And the asshole just shrugs.

“Then you fuck up. This isn’t going to be perfect. But if I can see that you’re trying—really trying—you’re not going to get rid of me that easily. Okay?”

I sniff and drag my sleeve across my face, hoping I haven’t made too much of an embarrassing mess of myself. “Okay,” I utter.

“Come here.”

Despite the angle of the car seats, he’s still able to pull me into a firm bear hug that I feel all the way down to my toes. We stay like that until I stop shaking and I sheepishly lean back to look him in the eye.

“Thank you,” I tell him with a stronger voice than before. “I appreciate everything you’re doing more than I can possibly say. I’m going to work my ass off to stay sober and find a job and just generally get my shit together as soon as I can, I swear.”

“That sounds like a great plan,” he says with a beaming smile.

“But it’s going to take a while,” I say hastily before I lose my nerve. “With everything you’ve already done…giving me a home. You pay for all the bills and groceries. And now I can’t imagine how much I’ve increased your car insurance by. I’ll pay you back, I just have to?—”

He cuts me off by waving his hands gently and shaking his head. “You’re not racking up a giant tab, so please don’t concern yourself with that a minute longer.”