Page 23 of Those Two Words

I can’t work out where the pain of one loss starts and where the other one ends. All I know is that it hurts, and I don’t know how to get it to stop.

I have no idea if she’s even seeing these texts, but I type out another one anyway and press Send.

Patrick: Your dad says you still need some time and I want to give that to you. But I miss you. I meant what I said, I want to give this a go between us. I’ll wait for however long you need.

I know she’s safe, George tells me that much, I just can’t wrap my head around why she would leave without a word, and on the evening of my dad’s funeral. It was a hard day for everyone, and we barely got a second to talk after the service. By the time I’d spoken to everyone and helped my mom get home, Jo had already left. With a one-way ticket to Nashville, it turned out.

George reassured me she was okay, said she needed some space, but I’ve heard that so many times in the last few weeks, I worry she actually wants space from me. I respected it at first, but I now reek of desperation and his words do little to stop my mind from overthinking everything that happened since that night.

I want to give her the space, but why can’t she have it while still in this town? Why can’t I help her with whatever is going on? Am I the reason she left?

Before I know it, I’m scrolling through my phone looking at the next available flight to Nashville and entering in my credit card information.

I tell myself that when I set my eyes on her and see that she’s okay, I’ll give her what she needs, but not without letting her know I’m here on the other side waiting.

Fanning my T-shirt away from my sticky chest, I pay the driver and step out of the cab. When I turned up at the apartment Jo and Harriet shared, she wasn’t there. After calling Harriet and asking her where Jo was and arguing for ten minutes, she finally relented and told me. I’m sure she only caved out of pity.

I look up and spot the name of the bar Harriet gave me. The strum of a guitar greets me as I step through the doors, and I look over to where a man is playing an unfamiliar song—likely his own—on the small stage in the middle of the room.

It’s crowded, and the heat is no better in here than it was outside, but I know she’s here. I buzz with excitement and nerves. Excitement at seeing her after weeks of zero contact and nerves at how she’s going to react.

As I scan the room for a familiar head of bright blonde hair, the guy on stage finishes up and thanks the crowd. He steps off the stage and shakes the hands of a few people, and when his eyes drift to the other side of the room, I follow them.

And that’s when I see her. She’s still so beautiful, it makes my chest ache, but she looks thinner and has dark shadows underneath her eyes.

I had no idea what I’d find when I saw her, but embracing another man was not it. When they pull apart, her head is bent low as he whispers in her ear. I can’t see her face, but I’ve already seen too much.

The sound of my heart breaking even further would have been audible if it weren’t so loud in here. I’m certain what was at first a crack, has now fractured right down the middle and split in two.

If this is the space Jo needs, it’s clear I am not welcome in it.

The heat and noise become too much, and when I finally manage to pull my eyes away from the two of them, I spin on my heel and walk right back out of there. As much as I want to walk up to her and demand what the fuck is going on, I don’t have it in me. All the fight and hope I had has evaporated into the humid air.

It took one minute for Johanna to wordlessly tell me that even though I was happy to wait for her, waiting for me wasn’t an option.

I drop Harriet a text and thank her for letting me know where Jo was but that I couldn’t find her. I ask her not to tell Jo I was here and ignore her follow-up text asking what happened and why. And every text that follows.

Hours later, I’m staring at the city lights on my return flight home and bid farewell to my heart, where I’ve left it broken and bruised in Tennessee.

For whatever reason, those memories don’t have the same gut-wrenching impact they’ve previously had. Perhaps it’s the idea that we can move past it all, or the idea that I might finally get the answers I’ve been looking for.

If anything, it confirms that tonight I need to ask her what happened all those years ago, and I’m not leaving without an answer.

Dex was supposed to meet me here, but I’ve been waiting around for almost half an hour with no sign of him. I’m about to try his cell again when someone settles onto the stool next to me.

“What time do you call this?” I huff out, yet when I turn to face my best friend, I find an unamused Graham instead.

“Evenin’,” he mumbles, and waves at Lenny, the owner of the bar.

We were mistaken as twins a lot growing up, with only eleven months between us; we’re easy to tell apart now though. He has the same hair and eye color as me, though his hair is trimmed short, and nothing like the messy waves on top of my head. Plus, he’s permanently scowling behind his signature tortoise shell glasses.

“What are you doing here?” I glance around for Dex’s towering form.

“Booth invited me,” he answers with zero explanation.

“Booth isn’t here.”

“Yes, I am,” a voice whispers down my ear. The sensation of his creepy breath against my neck almost has me falling backward.

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