Page 19 of Love Her

By the way she’s shifting folders and moving things around on her desk, I think this conversation has made her nervous. That piques my interest.

“That was my first time there. The people seem cool,” she says with a shrug.

“They are. Well, I assume so anyway. I don’t really talk to anyone there.”

Something about the way she says “anyone” tugs at me a little. I know she left alone that night, but I assumed she was there with friends. I don’t know why I made that assumption since I was there alone.

Before I can ask when she plans to go back or if she’s single, the phone rings. We pause while it rings a second time, both glancing down at the phone and then to each other.

“Well, I should let you get back to work. It was nice to officially meet you. See you Thursday.”

“Bye, Connor,” she says with a smile and a wave as she lifts the receiver to her ear.

The drive back to Lexington is different than after most therapy sessions. My thoughts are consumed by a virtual stranger. I want to know why she doesn’t talk to anyone at the bar. Where does she live? For fuck’s sake, is she single? With my recent run-in—with my face—that should be my first question.

Regardless of what he thinks, I do listen to Brian and know what he said is true. I need to rest my back. It would be stupid of me to go to work tonight and undo all the work he put me through this morning. That’s why I sent a text to the other bartender before I left the parking lot. Thankfully everyone I work with is chill and swapping shifts is never too difficult.

With nothing but time on my hands, I do an illegal maneuver and pull up Grant’s number as I cruise down the highway. He answers before a complete ring.

“Twig, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“For the love . . . why do you all still call me that? I’m not a scrawny kid anymore. Hell, I haven’t been for over a decade.”

Barking out a laugh, he begins to cough. “Because you’re so damn sensitive. Hell, not even Taylor is that much of a baby and his damn nickname is Sugar. Okay, no longer skinny like a twig, what’s up?”

“You could just say I’m a buff motherfucker and we can be done with all this Twig business,” I suggest.

The line is quiet, and I wonder for a split second if he’s hung up but then I hear him laughing in the distance.

“Sor-sor . . . oh boy . . . sorry. I thought you called yourself a “buff motherfucker” there for a minute.”

“Fuck off. I was going to stop by since I haven’t seen your ugly mug in a few weeks but now I’m questioning that idea.”

“Oh don’t be a baby. Come on by. I may be upstairs so ring the doorbell and I’ll be right down.”

“See ya in about twenty,” I reply and end the call.

Most would assume since Lexington is a small town the crime rate would be low. And for the most part it is. Or at least that’s what I hear. I’ve not lived here long enough to really have any history other than a scary day months ago when Grant was held at gunpoint in his home. Over the last two years, our military family has faced tremendous loss and come close to much more.

A year ago, Grant would have simply left his door unlocked and told me to let myself in. Not anymore. None of us do. Small town or not, criminals are criminals and you never know who is desperate enough to become one.

Letting my mind wander, I think about my mom and sister and wonder about their safety. I should be with them. Protecting them. Keeping them safe. I know that isn’t possible. I vowed when I left for boot camp I would never go back. There are too many ghosts haunting those streets.

Once I’m parked in Grant’s driveway, I snag my phone from the cupholder where it’s been sitting and send a quick text to my sister that we need to catch up soon. There’s plenty to talk about especially if this Al guy is going to be the one to take care of my baby sister.

Jogging up to the front stoop, I lift my finger for the doorbell when the front door flies open. “Jesus, Cap. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Who else is going to open the door?”

“Really? Are you asking me that?”

Chuckling, he shakes his head and steps aside. “Touché. Come on in. I’m building—”

“What’s with you guys and building shit?” I ask.

Seriously, is this what happens when you start a family? Lucky for me, there is no plan for that in my future.

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