Page 68 of Dahlia Made A List

Then I imagined sitting next to her and not being able to touch her. Of hearing her voice and not being able to kiss her. I wasn’t up to that kind of torture.

I wasn’t up for much of anything. Grams’s words lingered in my mind, and I got what she was trying to tell me. And part of me understood her truth. I did avoid my family by living under their expectations. I didn’t give them anything to judge.

But in the process, I didn’t get to enjoy the fruits of my labor, either. The Firebird being a prime example. I’d kept the car road legal, but until teaching Dahlia to drive, it only saw pavement on drag nights. A waste of a beautiful piece of machinery. Hidden away like a secret.

I could own the person I was. A man who couldn’t read.

I could make changes. Maybe I would. But at the end of the day, I couldn’t read. And there was a distinct possibility I’d pass the same hardship on to my kids. And while I wouldn’t handle them with the same lack of care as my parents handled me, they would struggle. They would feel pain.

When Dahlia spoke of the future she wanted, of picking the right man, of having the sort of loving family she’d caught a glimpse of with Jaelynn and her grandmother, her voice echoed with yearning. With a heart-deep hunger. Her perfect life didn’t include kids that couldn’t read.

I’d made the right choice ending things with Dahlia. If I headed into that dinner tonight, I couldn’t guarantee I’d be able to let her go again.

I started up the truck, did a three point turn to head back out to the road. She didn’t need me for her driving lessons any more. What was left of her list? A memory nagged at the corner of my brain, elusive but persistent.

Number One,Join a Club. Check.

Number Six,Watch the Star Wars Movies. Half check. The memory of her dancing on my lap stole my breath then slammed into me with the force of a sledgehammer. Her skin along mine, her taste in my mouth. Her pussy snug around my dick like I belonged there. Like she was made for me.

Fuck me.

Number Five,Have a Signature Dish. Check.

Number Ten,Try Out For Roller Derby. Check.

Number Nine,Learn to Drive. Check.

She didn’t need me to chauffeur her around town or when rain made walking impossible.

I rolled my shoulders. Driving her home, trailing her up the stairs to plop down in front of her TV would remain some of my finest memories. Caring for her, making sure her place was safe, that she didn’t slosh through the rain and mud, satisfied the protector in me. I’d never given that to anyone else and I didn’t expect I ever would again.

God, I missed her already and my heart sat heavy as stone in my chest. I needed a drink. Some relief from the emotions ricocheting through me.

I needed Dahlia and I knew now she’d never be mine. Protecting her would be someone else’s privilege.

What was left of her list? Number Two,Grow a Garden. Damn Ms. Lester anyway. Old woman couldn’t show a little compassion for her neighbor?

Number Four,Adopt a Cat and a Dog. I’d never told her she could have pets. She could. Of course she could. Dahlia could have whatever the fuck she wanted.

Home, I shoved out of the truck and up the three steps to my front door. Another of the shotgun homes just a couple blocks over from Rosebud. Nothing special.

But lately I’d been eyeing a nice piece of property just south of Grams’s place. A big white house with a wrap around porch and a metal roof that gleamed in the sunshine. Well-kept but needing a little TLC to really shine. The kind of TLC a family could give it. Flowers and curtains and shit.

Inside, I headed straight for the kitchen and the beer in my fridge. I flipped the top and gulped back half the can before taking a breath. The cold and bitter flavor rushed down my throat, burning away the regret.

Number Eight,Host a Dinner Party. Check. Happening even now as I slouched into my couch. Dahlia, surrounded by her friends, by all the people who loved her. As it should be. As she deserved.

Almost all the people who loved her.

Number Seven,Spend the Night in a Yurt. Check and the beginning of the fuckin’ end.

I was gonna be a drunken ass tonight. I figured that would be the only way I stayed home and away from the woman who’d somehow burrowed into my soul.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Wyatt

Iwokeupwitha throbbing head and a churning stomach. I drank myself to sleep last night, letting the alcohol numb my thoughts. But the sour taste of alcohol coated my tongue now and I wanted nothing more than to puke. I’d never been much of a drinker, and this feeling right now? This would be why.

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