Page 107 of Crazy for this Girl

“You done?”

“Yep.” I begin to turn, but he rests his palms against the counter and leans over it, attempting to pin me to his will.

To him.

“What did I say to you when I left North Carolina? When we were together?”

“That you were a piece of shit?”

“Three words. One meaning. I told you that I’d tell you one day what happened. Today’s the day.”

I heave my shoulders because I can’t stand listening to it, and sure as hell don’t want to right here in the middle of my aunt’s flower shop. “Not interested.”

“Getinterested. I told you that I loved you, and I meant it.”

“I think we have two different definitions of the word.”

“It’s pretty universal.”

“Well, you Cali boys sure do know how to downplay shit, so why would this be any different?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he leers through a clenched and perfectly sculpted jaw. “You wanna get pissed at me when—”

“Get pissed?” I repeat through furrowed brows. “That would mean I still care.”

Cal’s face relaxes, but I wouldn’t say I like the way his green eyes gloss over with the arrogance he used to wear so perfectly. “Oh, Laynee…" His voice is mocking like I'm so stupid to fathom the thought.

I am.

I'm still here, aren't I?

"You care," he vouches confidently. So much so that I'm double guessing my decision right now to not hear him out. It's one of those things where you think back and wonder if you picked right. If this will always be on my damn conscience. "You care for me a hell of a lot, or we wouldn’t be standing here head-to-head right now.”

“We’re only here because you’re picking up flowers for, who, Cal? Your wife?”

He hoists a challenging brow, daring me to keep pushing him away. “You think I’d be standing here right now if I had a wife?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know you anymore.”

“Same dumbass, just a bunch of years older.”

“Oh, man.” I bring my hand up to my temple and rub at it, fending back every emotion that’s working its way up for me to think about. “I don’t know how many times I need to repeat myself. So I’m going to let you have this conversation with yourself. Take care, Cal.”

Pivot.

Sprint-walk.

And I’m out.

With it goes my entire headspace for the day, my heart hiccupping sobs in my chest, and my eyes burning with the unwanted sensation of tears.

The more times I come to the cemetery since seeing Laynee, the more guilty I feel. I don’t see dark hair anymore but dirty blonde, the kind I’ve imagined running my fingers through and yanking down to expose her creamy neck so many times it requires more than a therapist.

She’s back in my line of sight again, and I can’t let her go.

Not now or ever.

However, it’d be in her best interest to shoot me down every time I run into her. Maybe the truth expired and my chance to explain everything is, indeed, dead and gone. I still suffer from nightmares, still see things I beg my brain to forget, but I can’t allow this rare opportunity to pass.

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