Barney takes me to my mother’s house, and she’s already packed my things. Barney helps me put them in the car. I hug her with everything I have until she pats my shoulder.
“You have to leave, Nacho. Your cousins will be home soon, and you don’t want them to know you’re out.”
I wipe away a few tears, and she pushes two hundred dollars into my hands.
“Make something of yourself,” she says in her soft Spanish. “Make me proud.”
“I will, Mamá. I promise.”
Feeling like I’ve barely missed being dragged back into this life, I give Barney a back-pounding hug and get into my mother’s old ’88 Cutlass Supreme.
Needing to put some distance between me and my old life, I make the two-and-a-half-hour drive to the Texas Hill Country and spend the night in the car.
The next day I walk into the Jennings’ Ranch Supply store, owned by Jason Jennings, who also owns the fencing business, and walk out with a job. Sleeping in my car sucks donkey balls, but Jason cuts paychecks every week, and soon enough, I’m able to move into a junked-out teardrop trailer in a tiny RV park several miles back from the highway.
A few more weeks in, Jason gives me a work truck to use. When he gives me my first promotion and raise at the ninety-day mark, I sell the Cutlass, fix up the tiny trailer, and sell it too. I use that cash to buy an old junked-out Airstream at auction.
It needs a shit ton of work, but I find that the work, the occasional hookup, and my Saturday AA meetings do a pretty good job of keeping me out of trouble.
My only regret? Dr. Barlowe never replies to my email. I may have pushed it too far with the I’ll do anything line, and I hope he doesn’t hate me or think I’m ridiculous for wishing I could see him one last time, to genuinely thank him and maybe tell him that striving to be his good boy this last month has changed my perspective on pretty much everything.
* * *
I blink backto the present.
Huh. Guess I got my wish after all.
10
BRAM
Ispend the rest of the weekend berating myself. I’d done so well the entire evening, and then right at the very end…I had to say it. Pursuing anything with him would be illegal at this point, but Ignacio needed to hear that he’d pleased me as much as I needed to say it.
I know it’s fucked up and that I’ve been lying to myself. There’s a reason I never responded to the email he sent me when he got out, even after I knew we lived in the same area. Even after he showed up in the kitchen on the day of the therapy center’s grand opening.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself around him.
I’m still chewing on it on Tuesday, so I take the day off and decide on a long drive. Heading into Austin, I go to a hiking trail Levy and I have been wanting to check out.
When I told Levy I wanted to go alone, he didn’t question it, and I’m grateful. With the way things are going, I’ll probably have to tell him about my connection to Nacho, and I’m not looking forward to it.
After hiking for a few hours along Lady Bird Lake, I’m starving. I end up in a food truck park on Barton Springs. I thought I’d done a good job of clearing my head, but all I can think about as I eat tacos dripping with hot sauce is that I can’t wait to bring Nacho here to show him how much I want and approve of him.
I spend the drive back swinging between excitement and dread, knowing, at the very least, I’ll get to see him every Friday for dinner.
A few miles from the turn-off for the ranch, Nacho appears on the side of the road as though my overwrought mind has somehow produced him from thin air. His Jennings work truck is parked off the shoulder, and he appears to be repairing a section of fencing.
Despite knowing the havoc he wreaks on my self-control, I pull over. He’s wearing earbuds and hasn’t seen me yet. Taking a deep breath, I approach him, putting my hand on his shoulder. He startles and turns around, looking up at me with wide eyes.
“Dr. Barlowe,” Nacho says, removing his earbuds. “How are you?”
The way he saysDr. Barlowe—breathy and reverent, like an honorific—goes straight to my cock.
“I’d be better if you had on a safety vest, Ignacio. Or at least some cones to signal to other drivers to slow down.”
“I’m well off the highwa—”
“Where is your water?” I ask, cutting him off.
