Page 125 of The Charm of You

I did that. I put the damn hurt in her eyes, and the longer I sit with that excruciating fact, more bile creeps up my throat.

But what other choice did I have? She was stubborn as hell, per usual, and it had to be done. There’s no future for us where we’re both happy, even though I do fucking wish I was wrong.

I could never ask her to give up her hopes and dreams and move down here just to take a chance on me, though. I couldn’t stand it if I were the reason she uproots her life, only to find out I’m incapable of committing to her the way she deserves.

For her to find out she’s made a horrible mistake by betting on a happy ending with me.

All because part of me is still the same naïve teenage boy I was back when. The one who made a promise I’m hell-bent on keeping.

I don’t know how long I sit in my truck, the bed of which is permanently imprinted with Caroline. I’d probably stew out here longer, but the kitchen light inside Ma’s house turns on. For once, I admit, if only to myself, I could use some company.

It’s not terribly late, so I’m not surprised she’s still up and about.

I’ll go in, make a stiff drink, and drown in self-loathing. Sounds like the perfect fucking evening.

Tomorrow, Caroline will leave Sapphire Creek, along with me, in her rearview mirror.

I’ll grab my guitar and hit up karaoke night at the Tap, where I’ll sneer each time anyone asks me about the golden princess. Which they most certainly will. Prying is an Olympic sport around here. I bet at least three people will ask me about her the second I walk through the door of the bar. Four more are sure to stick their nose into my business by the time I get a bourbon from Cole.

And they’ll keep reminding me of her for weeks, if not months, to come.

These people cling to their gossip like a baby does its candy.

On the porch, I glance over my shoulder to lock my truck, which is when I notice a familiar car parked on the corner. As someone who works in the only auto shop in town, most cars have passed by me. I’m sure I recognize this one from a past job, although I can’t put my finger on it.

Shaking off the odd feeling, I unlock the front door with my key and throw it open.

“Ma, I—” I freeze as salsa music drifts from the kitchen. The smell of spices filters into my senses, and my ears instantly ring.

My giggling mother is sitting on the edge of the counter.

And a man stands in front of her with his hands on her knees.

They don’t immediately notice me over the music and whatever party they seem to be throwing for themselves, but when they do finally turn toward me, they wear matching expressions of shock.

But no one is more fucking shocked than me.

“Oh! Austin—hi.” Ma swats at the man, shooing him away from her, and as he puts distance between them, I realize his shirt is unbuttoned. “What’re you doing home so early? I figured you’d be out for most of the night.”

My glare travels from her to him and back to her, and my mouth sinks into a grimace.

“I know you probably have a lot of questions. Let me explain,” she pleads.

“How did you get onto the counter?” I ask.

“Okay, I wasn’t expecting that…” She blinks, and the unidentified man has the good sense to close his shirt before I strangle him with it. She fidgets with her hair and clothes as she seemingly gathers her thoughts. “But fine. If that’s what you want to know, it’s simple, really. I’m not the fragile woman you make me out to be, honey. I’m eons away from needing a walker, contrary to your misguided notions of me and my health.”

I scoff. “You complained about your hip all last week. It was so bad I had to make you an appointment with Dr. Brown, and now, you’re all better?”

“You didn’t have to make me an appointment. In fact, I told you not to. I knew it would pass, as it always does.” She uses the man to steady herself, and he gingerly helps her off the counter. He studies her, presumably to ensure she’s balanced on her feet, before letting her go.

If I weren’t seeing red right now, I might even admit the gesture is very considerate.

“You were in pain, and I helped. I couldn’t let you—that’s not even the point.” I wave my hands in the air as my thoughts crash into one another like damn bumper cars.

I storm over to the radio and nearly break my finger when I crush it onto the power button. I press it harder than I might were I attempting to press a nail into the wall.

With the welcomed silence, I whirl toward them and point the same firm finger in his direction. “Who the hell is this guy?”

---