by Sarra Cannon
The Trouble With Goodbye
Sarra Cannon
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
to D.H.
after years of being silenced
your courage gave me a voice
and to all the survivors
you are not alone
Chapter One
My stomach twists as the sign for Harrison’s Pecan Farm comes into view.
Exactly twelve miles from the house I grew up in and swore I’d never move back to.
And even though I’ve driven almost a thousand miles to get here, I’m still not ready for that sign. Not yet.
I turn onto the gravel road, deciding to take the long way instead of going through downtown. It’s midnight on a Friday night which means lots of people I used to know riding around town and hanging out, drinking. Someone is bound to recognize my car and start up the rumor mill. I don’t want to risk it. I’m going to need a good night’s sleep before I’m ready to be the old Leigh Anne.
With any luck, I won’t even have to face my parents tonight. They’re usually in bed by ten, so maybe I can sneak in and postpone the questions and the lectures until tomorrow.
The car vibrates as I roll over the loose gravel. Smoky-gray dust rises up around me. Ghosts of my past life come back to haunt me. Ten minutes ago, I could barely keep my eyes open, but now I’m wide awake and wishing I had another hundred miles to go.
From the side of the road, movement draws my eye and I slam on the brakes as a trio of deer runs out in front of my car. I’m going too fast. I turn the steering wheel, remembering my granddaddy’s warning to always hit a big animal at an angle instead of straight-on. Only, I realize too late that I’ve yanked the wheel way too hard.
The tires slip against the small rocks and the car lurches sideways, throwing my shoulder hard against the door as the vehicle skids off the road and into the ditch. My right foot presses hard against the brake pedal, but it’s too little, too late. I’ve managed to miss the deer, but there’s no way around that tree. I brace myself for impact and hold my breath.
There’s a brief moment where I think, this is it.
My whole life doesn’t exactly flash before my eyes the way they say it will before you die. No, it’s just one night that comes to mind.
And as it does, I almost hope this is the end.
A scream is ripped from my throat as my body jerks forward violently. The windshield shatters into a million pieces that fly into my hair and lap. It all happens so fast. There’s less than a full second of the loudest noise I’ve ever heard as the metal bends and groans, but then everything comes to an abrupt stop.
I sit there, my body tense, my fingers wrapped around the steering wheel in a death-grip, and I force myself to breathe.
My legs tremble and my heart hammers against my ribs.
What. The. Fuck.
I can’t move. I can’t think. I can only sit and stare and breathe in and out.
Gradually, I manage to pull my shaking hands from the wheel and unbuckle the seatbelt that’s now cutting off my circulation. Tiny shards of glass fall from my skin and clothes as I move, but I don’t think I’m cut. My shoulder throbs and my neck is sore, but other than that, I’m okay.
My mind is spinning, but I’m coherent enough to know I should call someone. Get help.
I reach for my phone and pause. Who do I call? If my parents come out here and see this mess, they are going to totally freak out. They’re already going to be in major over-protective mode right now, so the image of me almost dying in a car accident is going to tempt them to lock me in a closet until I’m twenty-five.
I shake my head and tears spring to my eyes. Who else would I call? I’ve barely talked to any of my old friends since I left for school two years ago. It’s not like I can just call them up in the middle of the night and make small talk until it seems appropriate to mention I’ve smashed my car into a tree and could really use a ride home.
No, there’s no one else. I dial my dad’s cell phone and press the phone to my ear. I wait.
Nothing happens. I pull the phone away and stare at it, dazed. What the hell is wrong with this thing?
Then, through the haze of confusion in my brain, I remember I’m not in Boston anymore. I’m literally in the middle of nowhere. I check for bars, but all I see is a sad little ‘x’ that means I have no service out here in the woods.
Perfect.
I clench my teeth and toss the phone back into the cup holder. Now what? Walk? I’m not even sure I can pull it together enough to stand up, much less walk ten miles. In the dark. In flip-flops.
Maybe I’ll have better luck with service out on the road.
I reach for the handle and push against my door. It creaks slightly, then groans and refuses to budge another centimeter. I put more of my weight behind it, but the door won’t move.
The passenger side is completely fucked. The metal is gnarled and twisted and the seat is completely destroyed. There’s no chance I’m going out that way.
I’m stuck unless I can work up the nerve to crawl through the broken windshield.
I sit back against the seat and swallow the lump forming in my throat. After everything else, is this really happening to me? The weight of the world feels like it's coming down on my shoulders. I stare at the pieces of glass and realize that's what I've become.
Broken.
Headlights flash and bounce along the bumpy road behind me. I turn around to get a better look, but my neck screams in pain. I push my head back against the seat and press my lips together in a grimace. My eyes close and the world inside my head spins violently. I think I’m going to throw up.
I hear the car slow and then grind to a halt up on the road. I don’t dare turn around again, but relief floods through me just knowing someone is coming to help. I just pray it’s someone I know and not some lunatic murderer.
Of course, what are the chances a murderer would really stop to help? I laugh at the thought, but my throat is dry and it makes me cough instead.
A door slams and footsteps rustl
e through the grass.
“Oh my god.” He says it in a whisper, but it sends chills along my spine. Things must look pretty bad from out there.
“I’m okay,” I say in a scratchy voice, turning my head slightly so I can get a look at my rescuer. “It looks a lot worse than it is, but I think the door is stuck.”
All I can see in the darkness is a tall, muscled figure. He’s wearing a baseball cap, and I can’t quite make out his face.
“I’m gonna help get you out of there,” he says. “Hold on a sec.”
The door groans in protest, but finally gives up and flies open. A warm breeze sails across my bare legs, and I shiver as it begins to sink in that this could have ended much worse. A hand reaches out. I place mine inside and his fingers wrap tight around my own.
“Careful, now. You might be hurt more than you realize,” he says. “Just take it real slow and stop if anything hurts.”
I take his advice and move with caution, putting one foot on the ground. Then the other. I use his hand to steady myself and pull up, but my legs are weaker that I expect. My knees buckle and my eyes lose focus. Strong arms circle around to catch me and lift me up, away from the car. On instinct, my arms reach around his neck. I lean against his chest and concentrate on the steady beat of his heart and the sound of the tall grass zipping along his jeans.
He turns to the side and manages to open the passenger-side door of his truck. Light spills across the road and country music plays low on the radio.
He sets me gently on the cracked leather seat, then pulls away so I can see his face for the first time. I’m surprised to see he’s around my age. There’s a couple day’s worth of dark stubble on his face and a streak of something black, like oil or soot, on his right cheek.
But it’s his eyes that capture me.
They are the clearest, brightest blue I’ve ever seen. An electric jolt flashes through me. My arms break out in goose bumps, and I have no idea whether it’s from the shock of the accident or the feel of his hand against mine.
He stares at me with concern wrinkling his forehead.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He glances back toward the car. “I didn't know what to expect when I got down there. I thought...”
He doesn't complete his thought, but I know what he means to say.
I blink and shake my head. “I think I’m still a little out of it.”
I break my eyes away from his face and really look at myself for the first time in the light. Shards of glass still cling to my tank top, but I don’t see a single scratch anywhere on my body. The only pain I feel is the throbbing of my left shoulder. I turn my neck to get a closer look and see if there’s a bruise or scrape, but just like before, a terrible pain shoots through me from my neck all the way down my shoulder and back. I cry out and reach up to massage the spot.
“That doesn’t sound good,” he says.
He leans forward and out of habit, I jerk back. My eyes are wide and a lump forms in my throat. The reaction makes no sense, because I just let him carry me all the way up here. Still, there’s a part of my subconscious that knows I’m all alone with a stranger and that I’m vulnerable. Even now, after a year and a half, I still carry that fear with me somewhere deep inside.
I’m immediately embarrassed and try to laugh it off. “Sorry, I’m still a little jumpy I guess.”
“It’s fine,” he says gently, those blue eyes locked on mine. “Is it your shoulder that hurts?”
“I think I slammed it against the door when the car swerved,” I say, still rubbing my neck. “And every time I try to turn my neck to the left, it hurts like fuck.”
“Whiplash, probably,” he says. “I would call 911 or something but I don’t have any cell service out here.”
“Me either. That was the first thing I checked.”
“I'm gonna get you to the hospital.”
I shake my head. “No, I just want to go home,” I say. Coming back to Fairhope was supposed to be all about simplifying my life and getting away from all the drama. The last thing I want is to spend the night in Fairhope Memorial’s shitty emergency room. It would be the talk of the town by noon tomorrow, and by Sunday the story would be something outrageous like how I drove into town drunk and crashed into a tree going a hundred miles an hour.
“You sure? It might be a good idea just to have someone take a look,” he says. “Injuries from car accidents can be tricky. You didn’t hit your head or anything did you?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “Just a little bit sore. I’ve been driving since yesterday and all I want to do is just go home, get a shower and get into bed. Maybe sleep for a week.”
He smiles and even though his lips just barely turn up at the corners, his eyes light up from the inside.
My breath catches in my chest and my cheeks flush with warmth.
It’s been a really long time since I reacted to a guy’s smile like that, and all I can guess is that the shock of the accident has me all flustered and turned around. I’ll probably run into him again next week and realize he’s a troll or that he only has mediocre blue eyes. Nothing special.
Of course, it occurs to me now that I don’t even know his name or if he lives around here or not.
“I’m Leigh Anne, by the way,” I say. “Seriously, thanks for pulling over. I think I would have been stuck in there till morning if it wasn’t for you.”
“Knox,” he says. “Knox Warner.”
He holds his hand out to me and for the second time tonight, I take it.
Chapter Two
Luckily the damage to my car is confined to the front half, which means most of my clothes and things are fine. Knox empties the trunk in no time, tossing my suitcases and boxes into the back of his truck. I feel a little stupid just sitting here watching from the road while he trudges in and out of the ditch collecting my things, but I’m not sure I would be much help anyway.
Honestly, I’m not sure I could stand up if I wanted to.
I realize I’m clenching my hands together so tight, my knuckles have gone white. I take a deep breath and slowly release the tension in my arms and hands. When I hold them out in front of me, they are still trembling a little.
“Is there anything else you need from inside?” Knox stands next to the bed of the truck, one hand on the rusted metal.
I shake my head. “I don’t think so,” I say. But I’m wrong. “Oh, no, wait. My cell phone is in the cup holder in the front and my purse is under the seat on the passenger side. I have no idea if you’ll even be able to reach it.”
Knox nods. “I’ll get it,” he says. I study him as he runs back down the hill toward my car. There’s a quiet confidence to this guy, and I wonder what his story is. He didn’t grow up around here or I’d recognize him. He must go to the local university. That’s the only thing that really draws people our age to this area.
Well, that and the factory. Of course, last I heard, the factory hasn’t been hiring for a while and business is struggling around here.
He disappears inside the car and emerges a few seconds later holding up the phone and my purse triumphantly.
“Got ‘em.”
I smile. “Thanks.”
He comes around the front of the old truck and gets in behind the wheel. He hands over the two items, but there’s something else in his hand. He holds it out to me and I open my palm. “I saw this on the floor and thought maybe you’d want it too.”
He drops a silver necklace in my hand, and I gasp. My mouth falls open and the tears that threatened to fall earlier are back.
I lift the necklace so I can make sure it really is what I think it is.
A silver pendant dangles from the chain, swinging back and forth. I lay it against the back of my hand and turn the pendant around to see the word etched there.
Believe.
I run a finger across the engraving and a memory flashes through me like it was yesterday. My grandmother sitting on my bed the day before I left for college. She held a Tiffany’s bo
x out to me with a sneaky smile on her lips.
“So you’ll always remember to believe in yourself,” she’d said.
A tear slips down my cheek and I close my fist around the necklace, then wipe away the waterworks.
Knox is staring at me and I look up, expecting to see that look guys get when girls cry. That I-have-no-idea-what-to-say-and-I-wish-you’d-just-stop look.
Instead, he looks sad. Worried.
I must look worse than I think.
I sniff and stare up at the ceiling, begging the tears to stop. “Sorry,” I say with a laugh. “It’s just that I thought I lost this.”
He nods, but doesn’t interrupt. He also doesn’t ignore me and start driving away. He waits. Listens.
So I keep talking. “My grandmother gave it to me right when I left Fairhope to go off to school,” I explain. “She died a few weeks later. It was a total shock to all of us.”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“No, don’t be.” I look up into those blue eyes that have me completely mixed up. “You have no idea how much it means to me that you found this. I thought I looked everywhere. I was sick about it when I couldn’t find it.”
“The wreck must have jostled it loose from wherever it was hiding,” he says. “It caught my eye right as I was about to walk away.”
My face crumples and I lift the back of my fist to my mouth, trying to hold it all back. I realize he will probably think I’m a lunatic for losing my shit five minutes after we met, but I can’t help it. I’ve been so careful to hide my emotions over the past few weeks, but now, suddenly, grief washes over me. Consumes me.
I lean forward and bury my face in my hands. I turn away as a sob escapes my lips. My body shakes with it and I struggle for air against the crushing weight of guilt and sorrow and anger. Everything I haven’t been allowed to feel or express breaks loose, and I don’t have the strength to control it anymore.
I don’t know what I’m expecting him to do, but somehow this stranger, this guardian angel, knows exactly what I need.
He scoots across the leather bench seat. Without a word, he pulls me into his arms.
And he lets me cry.
