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“I never went.”
“Why the hell not?”
“I dunno. A restaurant? Not sure that’s my thing.”
“So what are ya calling about, really?”
When your life is dependent on someone, you tend to get real close, real quick. Lucas knew me as well as anyone, better than most. I should have talked to him weeks ago.
“I’m struggling with this,” I said.
I didn’t need to define “this.” Lucas knew exactly what I was talking about. Some people reintegrated no problem. Lucas was apparently one of them, aside from some residual resentment about how he left. But me? Not so much.
“Understandable. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Nate. You were fucking ambushed and shot. If you came back to New York like it was nothing, I’d have been surprised.”
“I tried,” I said.
“I know you did. But you don’t have to do it alone. You know that, you crazy motherfucker.”
“I honestly think if I had something like you did, a purpose back here, it would be a different story.”
“How about Zoe?”
I sighed. “Part of the problem. She’s so goddamn perfect. Everything a guy could want in a woman. She doesn’t need to be babysitting my ass while I try to figure out what the hell I want to do for the rest of my life.”
“I’m pretty sure she’d see it a bit differently than that.”
“Maybe.”
“Definitely.”
“Either way, you have support. You know where. And who.”
“I do.”
“Why don’t you come back here? Stay with me. Zoe will be thrilled to have you back.”
“That was the plan. . .”
“Was?”
I couldn’t say it out loud. That maybe Zoe deserved better.
“We’ll see. I’ll probably stay the week here at least.”
Lucas was quiet. And then added, “Whatever you think. Maybe reach out to someone in the meantime.”
“I just did.”
Lucas laughed. “Someone who knows a little more than me about this shit. All I know is that I came back, opened my shop, got reacquainted with Charlee, and the pieces fell into place. I don’t know how or why, but they just did. I don’t have a clue how to help you reintegrate after what you went through, but there are people who do.”
A therapist. My father would laugh me out of the house. Yet, these were different times, and I knew before even calling Lucas it was an option. Probably a decent option.
“I hear ya.”
“In the meantime, don’t leave Zoe hanging. She’s crazy about you.”
I was crazy about her too. But I’d shared enough for one night. “Gotcha.”
