Page 84 of Never Have I Ever

“Oh God,” I sigh, resting my head on my hand. With my elbow supporting me, I stare out the window, unsure what to think. Sliding my gaze back to him, I ask, “Are three more women going to file for paternity tests?”

If a glare could level me, I’d be as flat as a pancake. “I think we’re good.”

“Well, you never know.” Still stuck in a bout of shock, sarcasm defines my thoughts.

He focuses forward. “This is why I wasn’t sure if I should discuss it with you.”

“I’m coping through joking. But I am curious how all those body parts work together, or is there some coordination going on?”

“Um . . .” He starts but stops.

“Exactly. Even you don’t know, and you were there.”

“I remember a few things about that night, but I’m not going to share them with you. You’ll have to use your imagination.”

“Or organize an orgy and figure it out myself.” I crack a smile, proud of my comeback. Being in this car for thirty minutes already has me feeling delirious and a little wacky. Tight spaces do that to me for some reason. I think it’s in reaction to the accident, another way I cope, but I’m not the expert.

A wry grin appears, but he says, “Let’s not do that. I’m thinking we should listen to some music for a while. Take a break from this conversation.”

“I have questions, though.”

“Fine. Let’s get this out in the open and be done with it.”

“Jail has to fit into this story somewhere.”

“Yeah, right when I decided it was a good idea to skip my own sound check later that afternoon and return to the same bar to kick some ass.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yeah, that turned out as well as you’d think. I was fighting charges for more than a year and a half. Steering clear of Nashville was part of the plea bargain.”

Even though we drove together back to LA, this is different. We’re different. We’re in different places and in our relationship. As much as it feels like dirty secrets being laid out on the table, I like that we’re shining light and talking through it. Not easy. Not pretty. But honest and that’s what I need from him.

This road trip might be my best idea yet, and I won’t stop him from sharing something that affected him so deeply. “What were the charges?”

“Disorderly conduct and assault,” he answers. “I wasn’t charged for intoxication or any substances found in my system, though I should have been. The band didn’t play that night, and I missed the next show somewhere in Virginia. I can say that my bender turned out exactly how you’d expect.”

I stare at him, unsure what to say. As he searches my face, I realize he doesn’t need empty words. He wants forgiveness. But why would he need it from me? I didn’t even know him back then.

29

Laird

She’s been sitting by the lake for the past hour.

I thought about sitting with her, but I don’t know. It just feels right to let her have more time. It’s given me time to play songs on the acoustic, which I put in the trunk at the last minute, thinking I should serenade my girl. This guitar feels fitting for the cabin. The world here is a bit slower, and I think we’re both finding a little peace in the chaos of the past years for me, days for her.

Willie had to deal with a truck sliding into the lake at a boat ramp a few miles from us, so we’re making the most of our time waiting. I look down at her phone, but he hasn’t messaged again.

Working out the lyrics, I hum at first and then sing low to keep my voice down. Everything seems to echo in the trees, but I keep my eyes steady on my fingers. The sound of leaves underfoot reaches me before she does. I look up to see the sun in her eyes, bringing out the gold. “You should sing more,” she says, greeting me with a smile that does my heart in every time it’s gifted. Sitting in the Adirondack next to mine, she slides back and rests her head on the chair.

“You think so?” She’s claiming she’s a city girl with New York and LA roots, but nature sure looks good on her. The brown in her eyes is brighter, the sunlight diffused by the tree brings out the golden strands of her hair, and that mouth, it’s almost too pretty to look at. Almost. I stare right at her.

“I do.” She’s killing me with those sweet words I can’t wait to hear her say in another context.

“I’m not playing acoustic on the album, so it’s not exactly how it will sound, but what do you think of the music?”

“You wrote those songs?”

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