“Quinn!”

I snap out of my daze, and reality greets me — the sight of the creek water inching by, the gray sky, the cottonwoods looming over me as I sit on the bank. I look over my shoulder to find Miguel coming down the winery’s stone-lined walking path. He’s got his hardhat tucked under his arm and a paper lunch bag in his hand.

I glance down at my untouched peanut butter and jelly sandwich and can of soda and realize that, even after coming out here to try and get my emotional shit together, I still feel nothing — no hunger, none of the excitement that used to come with lunchtime when I’d drag Miguel to Milton’s.

Nothing at all.

Miguel plops down next to me, and I lean my arms on my bent knees.

“I thought I’d find you hanging out down here again during the break,” he says. “You good?”

Am I good? A laugh chops out of me, and I don’t feel that, either. “Me and the word ‘good’ have gone our separate ways.”

“Mattie’s up there looking around the tasting room. She’s real happy, and she’s singing your praises because you’re almost back on schedule. You might cheer up if you heard what she has to say.”

At my silence, Miguel tears into his lunch bag to take out his food. Tamales, Eileen’s specialty. He offers me one but I shake my head.

“Huh. It’s not like you to turn down the excellent fare my wife gives me.” He waits for me to answer, and when I don’t, he sighs. “Seriously — go up to see Mattie. It’ll cheer you.”

“Not right now.”

“You can’t stay angry with her forever. She didn’t know you hadn’t told Gwen about your past.”

“I’ve talked with Mattie, so I know that. And I’m not angry with her. I want to be, but I can’t be.” I scoop up a nearby rock and hurl it into the creek. “I should’ve told Gwen sooner, goddammit.”

“You were going to. Your timing just sucked.”

Whenever I think about Gwen, anguish throttles me, but so does anger, mainly at myself. “I should’ve just gotten it over with. I was prepared for her to be shocked. I mean, yeah, I did time in prison.”

“Not a lot of time. Twelve months.”

He’s trying to make me feel better, but it isn’t working. “I still spent time locked away. And I was in there for selling some bad-news drugs.”

“Ecstasy. You know, Eileen and I were talking about trying some of that to spice things up.”

I give him a long, hard look.

“Okay, so dealing molly was not so good.” Then he goes on. “But in hindsight, selling drugs is what people did for money where you came from … if you didn’t want to be broke. You were young and messed up back then and you regret it now. And, as weird as it sounds, doing time was the best thing that could’ve happened to you.” Miguel digs into his tamale and talks with his mouth full. “Jail gave you time to think, Quinn. You saw your future if you continued down the dark path, and you got out of the life.”

He’s right. I saw what was happening to my friends — like Jerry — and I knew it wasn’t for me.

Miguel kicks at my boot. “How am I doing?”

“With what?”

“Being your pep squad. Being the Quinn Maxwell mascot running up and down the field in a fucking idiotic muscle suit and shouting Go Bossman!”

He finally gets a smile out of me.

“That’s the spirit!” He takes a swig of his sports drink and gestures toward me with it. “The next step is for you to call Gwen again so you can explain everything.”

Gwen. He had to go and say her name.

“Oh, man,” he says. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to bring the storm clouds back. But seriously, you’ve got to tell her everything I just told you, and then some. Tell her also that you didn’t do any domestic abuse. You had a crazy girl-fiend named Debra who’d fly into rages and start attacking you on a dime. You had to restrain her. Damn, she even pulled a knife that night! Gwen’s gonna understand that. Just make it clear that when the law found no signs of injury, the charges were dropped. Plus, neighbors who called the cops ended up vouching for you. They knew just as well as I do that you would never hit a woman.”

“Damn straight. I grew up looking out for my mom, for fuck’s sake.”

At this slight sign of life from me, Miguel grins and munches on his tamale. He offers me one of them again, and what the hell, I take it. Maybe I could be hungry. Maybe there’s a chance that Gwen will hear me out whenever she gets over being blindsided …

Then again, maybe I’m not good enough for her at all.

Miguel and I eat in silence until we hear someone coming down the walking path. When I see who it is, I slowly get to my feet.

“Jerry,” I say in greeting.

He raises his hand in a cautious wave. He’s got his brown hair washed and tied back, and his skin isn’t the sallow mess it was before. He’s wearing a tidy t-shirt and decent jeans and work boots.

Miguel cranes his neck to inspect Jerry. They’ve never met, but he’s heard about my old buddies, and he knows that I recently bailed this one out.

“A ghost from the past,” I mutter to Miguel. “And I have no shittin’ idea why he’s paying me a visit.”

Jerry comes to stand awkwardly in front of me, his hands shoved into his pockets. I see something familiar in his gaze — the same misery I feel, but there’s something else there, too. Hope?

God, it makes me think of the hope Gwen was just starting to look at me with before everything crashed, and my chest caves in.

“They told me you were down here,” Jerry says. “You got a minute?”

I’ve got lots of minutes on my hands without Gwen to fill my time, and as Jerry begins to tell me how he’s been attending the NA meetings and how he’s truly starting to change, I begin to feel something. Sympathy. And when Jerry tells me he needs a job in order to take the next step, something bends in me. Maybe it’s because I’m snake-belly low right now, but my heart goes out to the guy.

At least I can feel that much.

“Miguel,” I say while still watching Jerry. “Weren’t you just mentioning that we’re almost back on schedule?”

“But not quite there yet? Yup, Bossman. We’d probably need another man to put us over the top again.”

Jerry’s got a shine in his eyes — more hope — and I nod at him. “How’d you like to be that man?”

He opens his mouth to start talking, and I raise my finger.

“But, there’re strict rules, Jer.”

He nods.

“No drinking or using, period. If I even get a whiff of either one going on with you, you’re out.”

“Definitely. Yes. I understand.” He takes my hand and starts shaking it so enthusiastically that I fear he might tear it out of its socket. “I’m gonna kick ass for you, Quinn. Thank you. God, you don’t know what this means to me.”

But I do, because there was a time when I got a second chance, too.

I only wish I’d get another one when it comes to Gwen.