“No. You don’t get to come back into my life after four years, after telling me you wereembarrassedof me, and then blurt out me you love me like it’s not a big deal. You don’t get to do that. I gave you one night. Don’t call me.” I scoop up my heels and the rest of my belongings and race out the door.
I’m not even sure what time it is, but the club looks and feels different already. Lights are turned low, and there isn’t anyone in the main area. No servers in lingerie, no crowd of people ready for a night of debauchery, no emcees. There were security guards littered around the halls as I was racing through—there for safety purposes, it was explained.
So that was a little embarrassing. But nobody else is around, thank God.
As my bare feet hit the sticky Phoenix sidewalk, I cringe. No amount of scrubbing those later will make me feel any less dirty.
It’s still dark out as I make a mad dash to my vehicle. Not because I stick out like a sore thumb or anything. The people walking the sidewalks of Phoenix at this time of night—which is two in the morning according to a digital clock hanging in a storefront—are partiers, gamblers, or…well, hookers. Either way, I’m in good company.
No.
I’m running in case Lincoln decides to chase after me to talk. There isn’t a world where I’m in the right headspace for that conversation.
I make it to my car, hop in the driver’s seat, lock the doors, and finally take a second to breath and search around in my small clutch for my cell.
The lock screen lights up, and I see a few emails from clients and a couple texts from Kim.
I tap the text bubble from my sister, and our message thread pops open with a bunch of pictures of Grace.
Kim
Ice cream sundaes were a hit.
The picture enlarges and Grace’s face is split into a wide grin, with her chin and cheeks covered in chocolate sauce and melted ice cream. Something in my chest caves in, and all I want in this moment is to hold my baby girl.
The roads are still relatively busy as I pull out onto the main road. Uber and taxi signs hang in the front windshield of most cars on the road, and I imagine vacationers are in the cabs, drunk, carefree, and headed back to their hotels for the night.
Part of me wishes that was me. With no worries, no drama, no problems chasing me back home.
But I wouldn’t trade my life. Not when every problem I have has led me to Grace.
The two-hour drive back to Flagstaff is excruciating. My clothes are uncomfortable, there’s a thin layer of dried sweat coating my skin, and—worst of all—I can feel a mix of mine and Lincoln’s release in between my thighs.
I need a scalding hot shower to wash away my woes.
Oh, who am I kidding?
A shower that hot would have to be in Hell.
The bright side of the drive is that I’m feeling so many emotions, there isn’t a second where I’m too tired to continue driving.
Part of me is pissed. Three words are echoing in my head over and over.
How dare he?
Another part of me is sad. What I would have given to hear those three other words when I was sitting on his counter professing my own feelings for him.
Then there is that small, annoying part of me that is thrilled.
Maybe I’m not so embarrassing after all, huh, asshole?
I pull into Kim’s driveway around four-thirty in the morning. Lights are off in the house, and the world outside is quiet.
What am I thinking? I’ve got a key, but what if I scare them coming into the house so early? And what kind of mom would I be if I woke my kid up just because I needed a hug?
Suddenly, my headlights seem too bright in the otherwise dark driveway, shining directly on the house. With a quick twist, I turn them on dim, throw the gear shift in reverse, and back out onto the road. When I’m a street down, I put my headlights back on normal and drive the rest of the way to my house in silence.
An hour later, I’ve showered and scrubbed every inch of my body until it’s achy and raw. My wet hair hangs down my back, soaking my oversized T-shirt. The shirt sits down just past the boy-short underwear I threw on.