Page 76 of Lovetown, USA
I shrug. “Fine, I guess. I haven’t gotten any notes, yet, but I’m sure they’re coming.”
“Is it negative again?”
My eyes narrow. “Is that how you see my writing?”
“No.” He shakes his head quickly. “I think you’re an amazing writer. I just think maybe you’re being a little hard on the city.”
I don’t answer right away. I can’t. The thought weighs too heavy on me, as does the fact that it does gives me a nagging feeling. One I don’t like. At all.
Before I can say anything, he leans across the cabin and kisses me again, his hand cupping my cheek. “I’ll be out of town for the next couple of days. Be good. Don’t get in no trouble while I’m gone.”
“Where are you going?”
“Houston. To handle some business.”
“That’s cryptic.”
“Aww, you gonna miss me?”
I smile sweetly. “Of course.”
“Bullshit,” he teases. “For some reason, I don’t think you’ll be crying from loneliness.”
“I can neither confirm nor deny.”
His smile falters, just for a second, just enough to let me know he’s bothered. But then he leans in for one last kiss, and whatever is on his mind is rendered unimportant, while everything onmymind—namely him and these feelings—swirls wildly, distracting me from focusing on his lips.
I slip out of the car and watch him drive away once I’m inside the glass doors. As soon as he’s out of side, I realize what I said was true, and I know that because it’s only been ten seconds and I miss him already.
25
Trey
The plane dips overHouston as we begin our descent, and my stomach does the same.
I should be happy to be back in my hometown, but the truth is, I feel like shit. Every mile I just put between myself and Lane feels like my favorite song fading into the distance until I can’t hear it anymore.
I miss her.
After two bourbons, neat, I still feel it. Surprised the hell out of me, but here I am.
What’s worse, the feeling of guilt is creeping up my spine. I’m basically lying to this woman. Not directly, maybe. Deceit may be more apt. But whatever I call it, it’s not good. And it’s not fair to her.
As soon as my phone pings back to life on the tarmac, I thumb open an app. I’m walking across the jet bridge when I order flowers for her—three dozen roses and two dozen lilies with a note:For all the ways you brighten my day. It’s dim here inHouston without you.It’s not very poetic, but I manage to ease the guilt a little.
In the Uber, the city,mycity, blurs past the window. Strip malls, barbecue joints, glass towers. The heat feels familiar. The smells comfort me. My body may not be in Houston anymore, but my heart still lives right here.
And my fight.
We pull up to the Coughlin county courthouse. It’s a short walk inside the building, where it’s colder than I remember, a big slab of limestone with security guards who don’t make eye contact. I clear the metal detector, the clatter of my belt buckle loud in the quiet lobby. And then I see him.
Jarvis Hudson.
My ex-wife’s best friend from college.
The nigga she told me not to worry about.
The reason I’m in this fucking mess.
