Page 99 of Our Long Days
“We’re going to be late,” she cuts me off.
The sparkle extinguishes. She escapes down the stairs, leaving me on my knees.
Dragging my feet over the gravel, I meet her beside my truck.
“Do you want to drive?” I ask tentatively.
“No, thanks.”
Our gazes lock across the bench, and though I don’t want to, I look away, readying myself for the painful twenty-minute drive to the bar. This isn’t us, treading on eggshells and chatting politely.
Five minutes into the ride, the air is stagnant.
“Do you want the radio on?” I say, filling the silence as I glance over at her.
“It’s okay.” Her eyes dance over the horizon.
Flashes of cerulean blue break through forest green, the bay peeking through the tree line. There are only a handful of cars outside Shirley’s. I cut the engine, and before I can speak, Florence steps out of the truck.
I scramble out of my seat, not bothering to shut my door before I’m striding after her.
“Florence,” I shout.
Her pace increases, sneakers scuffing over the gravel. My next move is sadistic, but I’ve always lacked self-control around Florence. I circle her arm and spin her to face me. Whatever argument she had primed disappears when I smash our mouths together, needing one last taste.
It’s brief, beautiful, and brutal.
She shoves at my chest, but I only give her an inch.
“No! You don’t get to kiss me.” Her body shakes, nails digging into my forearms.
Despite her anger and fire filled eyes, she doesn’t step away. The toes of our shoes come head-to-head.
“I can’t do this, Dex.” She jabs at my chest. “You push and pull until I’m left disorientated and my heart bruised.”
Her expression wrecks me. “Come back inside, Little Sadler.”
That nickname—one I’ve used for years—flips a switch.
“Don’t call me that!” she shouts.
Shocked, I release her, mouth working around my words. “I didn’t know it bothered you.”
“It didn’t until you started calling me Trouble and baby and making me think—think this was more.” She sniffles. “I deserve better than this. You said it yourself.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” My booming voice bounces off the brick building. “It’s what I’ve told myself over and over for months. You deserve flowers, a whole field full. You deserve the happy ending and everything that comes before that. I want to be the one to give you that—” I swallow, staring out at the blueberry fields. “But I can’t.”
“Dex, you already are that man. Or were.” Anguish mars her beautiful face. “You’re also a vault, and I’m beginning to think you’re never going to let me in. The more you keep from me, the more my mind gets carried away, thinking the worst.” Tears shine in her eyes. My heart splinters. “You left me at the hospital.”
“Florence.” I go to pull her into me, but she shuffles away. “You had your mom. I did what I thought was best for you. I wasn’t in any fit state to look after you.”
“Why does everyone think they know what’s best for me?” She points a finger at me. “I didn’t need you to look after me. I just needed you next to me, and you ran. You keep running. You won’t tell Patrick. I’m giving everything and only getting a grain of sand in return.”
My head falls forward.
“I’ve waited, Dex, and it’s time you decide what you want,” she whispers, her words tight, a lot like the fist squeezing myheart. She forces a watery smile and smooths out her dress. “This weekend isn’t for that, though. It’s for Pat and Jo.”
With a tired smile, she steps inside the bar, leaving me petrified, a stone statue, as if I’ve stared into the eyes of Medusa. Every nerve ending screams at me to go after her, yet I stand here, paralyzed by her ultimatum and my inability to tell her exactly what I fear.
