“But call if you need anything. Any time.”
I hid my fallen smile against his jacket. I was never the person someone called when they needed help. I was the call-er, never the call-ee.
But I can change that.
Zelda took her turn with a hug that smelled like cinnamon and ink. “Love you, Dar.”
“Love you, Zel. And you too, Becks.”
“Take care,” Beckett said. The rain became more insistent. Beckett shielded Zelda with his jacket.
“Get out of here before I cry,” I said, shooing them.
They started away and when they were out of sight, I stepped into the rain and turned my face to the sky.
There was nothing like New York rain. I let it baptize me a final time before I stepped on the bus, praying I would step off in San Francisco, clean and new.
Turns out, there’s nothing cleansing about a three-day bus ride.
Three thousand miles of road later—most of which was spent with a little old lady snoring on my shoulder—I stepped off the Greyhound into sharp, early morning San Francisco sunlight. It was more gold and metallic than New York’s hazy yellow, and I stretched in it, welcoming it. I let it infuse me, imagining it was a beam of golden light that was going to fill me with mental fortitude and the willpower to be a better version of myself. The sun’s warmth didn’t magically turn me into one of Zelda’s comic book superheroes, but it felt good anyway.
After the porter emptied the underbelly of the bus, I found my huge army duffel and slung it over my shoulder to join the weight of my purple backpack. I walked out to the bus plaza and searched for a transit map to show me the way to my new neighborh
ood. My eyes landed on a young guy leaning against a cement pillar, scanning the crowd. He was Hollywood-handsome; an actor playing a greaser from the 50’s with his gelled blond hair and chiseled jaw. He wore a white T-shirt, jeans, and black boots. All he needed was a cigarette tucked behind one ear and a pack rolled up his sleeve. He caught sight of me and pushed himself off the pillar with his shoulder.
“Darlene Montgomery?”
I stopped. “Yeah? Who…? Are you Max Kaufman?”
“That’s me,” he said, and offered his hand.
“Aren’t you a little young to be a sponsor?” I asked, my gaze roaming over his broad, muscled chest, then up his handsome face and piercing blue eyes.
He’s way too hot to be my sponsor. Lord, have mercy.
“The powers-that-be seemed to feel I have experience enough to be of some help,” Max said. “I started down the path of turpitude early.”
I grinned. “Advanced for your age?”
Max grinned back. “First in my class at juvie.”
I laughed, then heaved a sigh. “Dammit, you’re adorable.”
“Say again?”
I planted one hand on my hip and wagged a finger at him with the other. “Let me just tell you straight off the bat that I have sworn off men for a year. So no matter what, nothing is going to happen between us, got it? If I call you up crying and desperate some night, you have to stay strong, okay?”
Max gave an incredulous laugh.
“I’m only half kidding,” I said. “I’m not presuming you want to jump in the sack with me, but I can guarantee you I will have at least one lonely night, and you’re ridiculously good-looking. A bad combination.”
Max laughed harder. “I can tell I’m going to love this assignment already. But your chastity is safe, Darlene, I promise. I’m gay.”
I narrowed my eyes. “A likely story.”
“Scout’s honor.”
“Fine. That’s a good place to start,” I said, “but that doesn’t mean you’re not going to get that phone call, that’s all I’m saying.”