Page 25

Fuck, focus.

When he glanced around again, he gazed at the house across the street.

You’re here. In Venice. The ocean is just a few streets away. The damn Pacific.

With trembling hands, he brought the cigarette to his mouth and took a deep drag. As he exhaled the smoke, he massaged his forehead. He was already sweating, and it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet.

“Leaf! Good morning!” Nathan greeted him, restraining the barking dog to a side post of the porch. “Come here, Daisy. My goodness! A squirrel and she goes completely nuts.”

Once the dog was tied up, Nathan climbed the steps to the porch. “Want some coffee?”

“No, thanks, I …” The barking completely threw him off.

“Daisy! For heaven’s sake!” Nathan hissed over the railing.

Finally, the dog calmed down, and some semblance of order returned to Leaf’s mind.

“I gotta go. We have band practice.”

Leaf stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the windowsill and patted his pockets, prompting Nathan to go inside and return with his car keys.

“Here you go. I’ll probably head to Gaucho later today. Got a few things to do in the studio. Maybe we’ll see each other.”

Leaf pocketed the keys and nodded. They fist bumped, bidding each other farewell. As soon as Leaf descended the stairs, the dog barked again.

“Daisy! Enough now!” Nathan called out irritably.

Leaf felt a surge of relief knowing the dog was on a leash. As he closed the car door behind him and started the engine, the barking finally ceased, and clarity replaced the fog in his head.

Even though band practice wasn’t until the afternoon, and he didn’t have to be at the Gaucho until two, he knew that if he stayed at Nathan’s now, he’d likely end up spending the night. He knew he needed to head home, shower, and change out of his sweaty clothes; that was his commitment to the band and their fans.

He drove back downtown, heading toward Echo Park and Elysian Heights, and reached his home by half past nine. As he passed by Milo’s Chevelle, he glanced up at the terrace. The front door was closed.

Is Tris even home?

But he had to be. José had brought him home yesterday. If he wasn’t here, the Chevelle wouldn’t be either. From what he heard, Tristan’s Chevy was junk.

Leaf drove a bit further down the street and parked the car under two trees. As he got out, he tucked the envelope with the drugs into his back pocket and grabbed his jacket. Then he walked down the wooden jetty into the little woods.

His cabin was the first on the left side. The main entrance would actually be from the street, but he always locked that door. He climbed the wooden stairs to the balcony and stopped halfway when he saw Tristan.

With his legs tucked to his chest, he leaned against the patio door, his head resting sideways on the frame, and slept. The empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s next to him suggested that he had knocked himself out—which wasn’t like him. He didn’t need much to reach that point, given Tristan wasn’t a seasoned drinker.

And of course, he comes here.

That wasn’t anything new. Tristan had trouble being all by himself. Sometimes he believed he should be alone, but ultimately, he always sought company. Leaf climbed the last steps and squatted down in front of him, set the bottle aside, and observed his friend.

Coal-black curls fell into his forehead. His face appeared more angular than it actually was. His full lips were only slightly parted, and his expression was relaxed.

Leaf had always thought Tristan was beautiful, even though he looked like an average guy at first glance. Before Leaf knew about his indigenous heritage, he had assumed him to be half-Filipino. Tristan was tall and wiry. When he entered a room, he drew everyone’s attention. Maybe it was the way he moved, or his soft voice. Maybe it was the longing in his eyes, or the mischief that had unfortunately rarely surfaced lately.

The sun was already shining through the leaves, dancing on his black shirt. The blue jeans were torn at both knees, revealing the skin.

Is he still wearing the clothes from Vegas?

A smile crept onto Leaf’s lips. It wouldn’t have surprised him if Tristan had taken scissors to the clothes to adapt them to his style.

He lovingly stroked Tristan’s temple, letting a black strand curl around his index finger. Tristan made a sleepy sound, prompting Leaf to unlock the door above his head.