by Ashley Kay
Savy, shell-shocked, opens her eyes even wider in the pale moonlight. I can’t look at her any longer, or I’ll be sucked under her spell. “Please, just leave. Leave me alone and don’t talk to me again. Don’t worry, I’ll be out of everyone’s hair soon enough. No one will have to think about me, and things can go back to how they were before I showed up.”
I turn away from her before I break down at the anguish in her eyes. Even though she just gutted me, I still want her, need her. She’s the medicine that only Savy can be, the bubble gum kind—sweet, and promises to take all the hurt away. All that’s left now is the bitter aftertaste and the raw, lingering pain.
She shifts beside me, her voice cracking along with my heart. “For what it’s worth, Preston, you matter so much to me. I hate that I lied to you, you didn’t deserve it. At all. I don’t blame you if you can’t forgive me, because I don’t know if I can forgive myself.” Spinning around, she runs back toward the barn.
I slide down the tree, my shirt catching on the bark, not caring as it peels through my skin. I watch as her beautiful dress sways around her knees and her boots throw up dirt behind her. On instinct, I want to run after her, but I stop and hunch over my knees. I have to let her go. Her dishonesty cut the deepest and the walls she so effortlessly tore down, swell, wave by wave, back up.
23
SAVANNAH
The barn fades out of focus and my hair slashes around me as I rush home, avoiding the people that inevitably witnessed what just happened. Slowing down despite the rapid beating of my heart, I shoot off a text to Lynn, letting her know where I went so she wouldn’t worry.
My vision blurs as tears rain down my cheeks. I swipe them away, only for more to follow. Salt floods my mouth and my face crumples, shrinking into an ugly mask of my own making. Shaking violently, I drop my keys before I can shove them into the lock of my front door.
Once inside, I bolt to my room, strip down, and climb into bed. The softness of my sheets does nothing to cushion my splintered heart. They still smell like Preston. I haven’t washed them yet because I love inhaling his crisp, clean scent while I sleep.
I deserve this.
I should have been upfront with him, but I kept it to myself. What did I expect him to do, ignore everything, and take care of me and my feelings? No, I’m not that delusional. I just wish it didn’t hurt so bad.
Slipping into a fitful sleep, I dream of heartache and misery, tossing and turning. At one point, the mattress dips, and for a moment I soar thinking it’s Preston, but it’s Lynn that reaches out to me. She covers me up, combs back my hair, and gives me a kiss on my head before getting up and leaving the room. My eyes are out of tears, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling them coat my throat.
I wake up the next morning with a Texas sized headache and a gaping hole in my chest. Crawling my way to the kitchen, I ease my battered body into the chair. Lynn’s already waiting for me with a hot cup of coffee. Putting my head in my arms on the table, I groan.
She reaches over and strokes my hair. “Honey, are you ok?”
“No,” I speak into the table. Lifting my head, I rub my nose and take a sip of my coffee. “I ruined things with Preston.”
“How do you know that?”
“The look in his eyes. It’s the same look he came here to Montana with. It’s like he couldn’t even see me anymore—he was completely consumed by what happened.”
Sighing, she pats my hand before sliding a plate of food my way. “You need to eat.”
“I’m not hungry, in fact, I feel sick.”
“Maybe he just needs time, babe. I mean, he did just see an ex-fiancée, and found out his nephew wasn’t born from some random woman. That had to stir up some emotions. He just needs time to deal with them.” Even she didn’t look that convinced.
I moan, dragging my hands down my cheeks. “You didn’t see his face. He was … heartbroken. I’m just another woman who hurt him.” My tears fall into my mug. Lynn gets up and wraps her arms around me. Rocking back and forth, she let me cry, just holding me through the ocean of feelings I’m swimming in.
Two days later, she had to go back to Florida, and it left me alone to deal with the aftermath. Greyson checked in on me and I pretended to be ok so he would leave me alone. I didn’t want his company. The only man I wanted was next door, but might as well have been millions of miles away. I don’t hear from him, and I don’t reach out. It’s not my place. I lost that the moment I didn’t choose him.
I need a release. It’s been a week of radio silence from Preston, and I’m going insane just sitting around wallowing and plotting how I’m going to right this wrong. Out of genius ideas, the pop of the cork sealing the bourbon signals my free fall into oblivion. I get rip-roaring drunk.
Yep. All by myself.
By ten o’clock, or what I believe is the time, I’m sloshed, hammered, dancing, and singing along to some pop sugary song about broken love. Eyes closed, I pop my hips to the rhythm and twirl around my kitchen, holding onto my island so I don’t face plant into the bowl of apples. I’m hoping to drown out all the pain, even if just for one night.
A noise next door breaks through the haze, and pausing the music, I crane my head, fighting with my jumbled thoughts to decipher the cause. Head spinning, I try to listen for anything. But in my state, I don’t think I could’ve heard a stampede of buffalo unless they were directly in front of me, and by then I would’ve been dead.
A door clicks open, and I panic, adrenaline fizzing in my alcohol drenched veins. It’s the adjoining door. I never locked it back. I didn’t think I’d ever have to lock it again. I must have forgotten. Squeaking, I clap both hands over my mouth and duck down behind the island, hugging my knees. Drunk Savy is not a classy Savy. At all.
Heavy footsteps come around the corner and thud into the kitchen. A set of squeaky-clean shoes enters my peripheral vision and I trail them to a pair of crisp jeans, further up to a blue button-down shirt with a blazer over top. His chest moves in and out, my hands itching to place a palm over it to feel the muscle I wish beat for me. I shove a wayward hair out of my eyes and tilt my head up to look at his face, afraid of what I’ll see.
His mouth is grim, lips bloodless and thin, no trace of a smile or dimple on that beautiful face. His eyes, however, are dark and stormy, an intense ocean whirlpool threatening to swell over and swallow us into the vortex.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm down my galloping heart. Swallowing loudly, I clamp my lips tight, not trusting myself. I stare at him, possibly with drool leaking out of the corner of my mouth. He’s sex in a suit. Well, half a suit. Drunk Savy wants to tug on that perfectly tousled hair and drag his mouth to mine, but some shred of sanity thankfully holds me back. He doesn’t even want me.
Casting my eyes away, I hiccup. “Why are you here, Preston?” my voice, heavy with alcohol, slurs the words.
He squats down until his knees graze mine. That contact alone constricts my heart. I reach out to trace the crease of denim, but let my hand drop.
Hiccuping again, I giggle, because, well, I can’t really feel anything, yet I can feel everything. That’s the ultimate paradox—he’s in front of me, but I can’t touch him.
His fingers lift my chin. Scanning my face, concern floats in his features before it slams back to cold, hard stone. A tear leaks from the corner of my eye, sliding down my cheek, splashing onto the floor.
Great, I’m a hot mess … minus the hot.
Sighing, he stands up, taking me with him. He effortlessly handles me like a child, carrying me back to my bedroom. I wind my arms around his neck and breathe in the citrus scent, laying my head down on his chest, letting his heartbeat lull me into erroneous comfort.
Using his foot, he opens my bedroom door and sets me down on my bed. My numb limbs hang uselessly off my body. I think I’ve had one too many shots of bourbon. Scratch that, I had five too many shots of bourbon. Maybe six?
He lifts my shirt from my body and peels my pants down my legs.
I watch him through foggy glass, positive I’m dreaming up the whole thing.
Rifling through my dresser drawers, he comes back, slipping an article of clothing over my head and down my body. I look down at my stomach and realize they’re my cat pajamas. Specifically, a nightgown where the cats are wearing sombreros and waving signs that say free tacos.
Oh. That’s … sexy.
I cackle like a drowning hyena, but Preston doesn’t say a word. He leaves and my face falls until a warm, wet cloth touches my cheek. He wipes away any trace of makeup I had on, his fingers gentle and rhythmic. Setting aside the cloth, he turns and tucks me into bed, pulling the blankets up to my chin. I roll my head over toward him, praying this isn’t a dream. Except for the ridiculous cat PJs, those can be erased.
He opens his mouth and then closes it, face impenetrable. A mask of unforgiveness. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing sleep to come swiftly and drag me under its spell to escape this loneliness.
The bed jostles when he moves to get up. I shoot my hand out, wrapping my fingers around his wrist. “Don’t leave me,” I whisper—the words out of my mouth before I realize what I said. He pauses before removing it and tucks it under my sheets, holding his hand on top of mine for just a little longer than eternity. Then, stark darkness comes and sweeps me away, taking him with it.
Oh hell and holy water.
A piercing pain sears through one of my eyes as I hug my head. Death is knocking on my door and doesn’t give a shit if I refuse to open it. I never want to see the bottom of a bottle again. Squinting, I raise my head just enough to glance at my clock. I need to get up, but the room still sways, taking my stomach with it. I groan, rolling over, curling into myself, wrapping my blankets around my body.
Last night’s events pummel into me. One heartbreaking moment at a time. Preston coming over, taking care of me, putting me to bed and then leaving without one word ever leaving his lips. I’m such a twit, thinking I could save myself by drinking my sorrows away into oblivion. I didn’t erase the pain, I just amplified it.
The smell hits my nose before I see it. Nutty, strong, and close by. I push my covers back and sit up slowly, spying the hot cup of coffee, steaming and waiting for me in a thermos. Beside my cup are two pain relievers and a bottle of water. Hope fills my chest and I cling to it, despite that ugly gnawing fear that it won’t last.
After a few days, the hope that blossomed in my chest withers and dies. Preston is hellbent on ignoring me and everyone else. He goes into work early, stays late, and never once tries to come through the adjoining door again. My texts go unanswered and when I try to corner him after a training session—because I have a serious death wish—he just shakes his head and walks the other direction, away from me. When I was younger, we solved problems by talking through them, but that wasn’t the case here. In this example, he runs and avoids.
Time.
Lynn says he needs time. Perhaps she’s right, and I’m only making it worse by forcing him to talk. But Preston is a stubborn man, especially with those that have betrayed him. It took him seven years and the death of his father to force him to face his demons.
I remind myself that Rome was not built in a day, so repairing a relationship would be the same, right? I miss what we had, he’s the first man in a long time to make me laugh, smile, and be completely myself, and I’m terrified to lose that. I’m not, however, going to grovel at his feet. I have more respect for myself than that. When he’s ready, he knows where to find me.
My dad has been begging me to visit him for months. I always put it off because of Brody. This experience with Preston invites me to visit my own demons, and if I’m honest, I might not have put my past to rest as well as I thought.
Entering my old neighborhood at six in the morning is something I’m no stranger to. In high school, Brody and I used to sneak out in the middle of the night and meet each other at the park to spend time in the old gazebo. He would bring a lantern used for camping and we would just talk under the glow of the moon and the lamp. Sometimes we’d make out, but most of the time we just enjoyed each other’s company until the sun awoke and lit up the horizon. Then we’d head home and get about an hour of sleep before school started.
Willow Creek is a small town tucked among the bigger, thriving cities. Everyone knows everyone, and it’s home. Safe, dependable, and true.
Pulling into the driveway, I cut the engine, wincing at the silence. I probably woke up the aging neighbors and would know about it by sunrise when they venture out to their mailboxes, morning coffee in one hand, robes clutched with the other.
I take in the same house I grew up in, smiling as I step out onto a stone pathway lining the sides of the driveway. As kids, we took a ceramics class and made clay walking stones for our parents. My dad placed them permanently on the ground, and I could still make out the butterfly I tried to carve into mine.
The house is still in tip-top condition. Beige wood siding and burnt wood shutters gleam in the morning light. He must have power washed over the weekend. Sneaking a glance across the street, Brody’s childhood home pokes at my heart and dread fills my belly. His car is in the driveway. He’s probably visiting his family. I sigh, hoping I can get through these next few days without my heart getting sliced open again.
I slide my worn key into the lock and hear the familiar tumble click over. Breathing in deeply the comforts of home, I tiptoe past my dad’s room and into the kitchen. I should have known better—he has a sixth sense with us kids. I find him lounging in a kitchen chair, hugging a cup of coffee, this morning’s newspaper laid out flat on the table. His reading glasses perch on the end of his strong nose, his hair in disarray as he scans the front page. Smiling, I watch him turn another page before interrupting his morning routine.
He waits until I drop into the chair next to him to look up over his frames. He slides a steaming cup over to me and I inhale the deep scent of hazelnut. Closing my eyes, I let the mug infuse me with warmth.
“Savannah, honey, nice to see you. Especially at the crack of dawn.”
“Hi, pops.” I lean over and kiss his weathered cheek. He smells of sleep and leftover aftershave.
“What did I do to earn such a visit from my beautiful daughter?” he smiles as he takes a sip. “Trust me, I love seeing you, but something tells me this isn’t just a regular visit.”
I stare at my reflection in my drink. “It’s about Preston.”
“Ahh … so a man, huh? What happened?”
“It’s a long story…” I frown.
“Start at the beginning. See if this old man can give you some advice.”
I relegate the complete tale to my father, omitting the steamy parts. Because he doesn’t need to know that this man lights—lit my pants on fire. Ew.
After I finish, he leans back in his chair, hands in his robe pockets, contemplation clear on his face. “You really care about him?”
Sighing, I lay my head down on my arms and stare up over at him. “Yes, I do. A lot.”
“Does he feel the same way about you?” he inquires.
I think for a moment. All the times we’ve spent together, he’s made me feel like the only woman in the room. I know in my heart he does—or did. I’m so unsure right now.
“Ugh, dad, why do I sabotage things? He did, he’d light up when I entered the room and had never made me feel less than my entire self.”
“I think you’re right that he needs time. Sounds like he was hurt pretty badly. But are you ready to handle the outcome if it doesn’t go your way?”
My heart sinks. No, I’d be devastated. Life without Preston would be dull, like the dirty side of a penny found in a grimy gutter.
Getting up, I move to the back sliding door, gazing into the backyard. Our old swing set glitters in the rising sun, the two swings swaying into each other gently, as if occupied by tiny fairies. Memories of pushing my little sisters on those swings surfaces. It should’ve been my mom pushing them.
“I can’t believe you’ve
kept that thing. I’m sure the grass growing up the sides of the posts bugs you.”
Laughing, my dad comes up next to me, bringing his arm around my shoulder. “Lots of wonderful memories out there, darling. No reason to get rid of it. Besides, I figured one day, my grandkids will come to visit and will want something to play on.”
I stare wistfully at the play set, wishing that I could be the one to bring grandchildren over.
“Honey, don’t be so sad. You may not have children biologically, but there are still many ways to become a mother.” He spins me around, putting both hands on my shoulders, urging me to look into his crinkly eyes.
“I know, dad. You’re right, and I accept that motherhood will differ from what I’ve imagined. I came to visit, recharge, and try to think positively about everything going on. What do you say we go have lunch later at Los Toros?”
Clapping his hands, he lets out a whoop, “Sounds like a grand plan, kiddo.”
Patting my swollen belly—a symptom of too many chips and salsa—I spend the rest of the afternoon in my childhood bedroom. Above my bed on the ceiling is an enormous poster of the Backstreet Boys. In reality they’re not much older than I am now, but back then they seemed so much more than anything my adolescent brain could’ve ever wished for.
Trophies line my tall dresser from the archery competitions I’d won, and picture collages of fun times with high school friends cover the walls. My dad never cleaned out any of our old rooms; it’s like he wants to preserve a time in our lives we can’t get back. Perhaps the memories keep him company when he’s all alone.
Lying in my twin bed with only my lamp illuminating my room and the moon too far up to see, I’m crushed by sadness. Sadness for my father that has lived a life without his other half, a life snuffed out in an instant while I wallow in self-pity over something I did.
I reach over and check my phone. One message from Lynn asking how I’m doing, nothing from anyone else. The ache in my chest grows. I know not to expect anything from Preston, but I can’t tell my heart that. I miss his comforting scent, the way his arms enveloped me completely, and his blue eyes that spoke of promises and adventure.
