The Long Way Home

by K. Langston

  The crowd raises their drinks in unison and the music blaring from a nearby truck fades out.

  Linc grabs his old Gibson from the cab of his truck. It’s scarred and discolored because he carries it everywhere with him, but it is tuned to perfection.

  Pushing aside my annoyance with him, I smile. I love hearing him sing. It’s my favorite sound in the whole wide world. He props half of his behind on the edge of the tailgate and rests the base of the guitar on his upper thigh.

  He tosses me one of those special smiles he only reserves for me before addressing the crowd. “What’ll it be?”

  “‘Waylon,’” Nelson bellows.

  And the crowd cheers in agreement.

  Linc nods, strumming his guitar. He makes a few minor adjustments before he begins to pick the familiar melody. The crowd loves this one. Linc first started singing at these parties last year. Said he needed to practice singing in front of people if he’s ever going to stand on a big stage and do it for real. He was nervous at first but it didn’t take him long to get comfortable.

  He’s a natural.

  The crowd lets him have the verse but they always join in at the chorus. This is a fun one to sing, but I love it best when Linc sings ballads. His deep, mesmerizing voice has a way of bringing me to my knees.

  He closes his eyes, losing himself in the words.

  Music is his life.

  His passion.

  I want to be that passionate about something.

  Anything.

  I still have no idea what I even plan to do after graduation. I want to go to college, but I have no idea what I want to study. I want to travel, but I have no means to do so.

  He finishes the song and everyone goes nuts. He’s already a star. A wheat field star, but a big, bright shining star all the same.

  His mischievous eyes swing to mine. “So, today’s my girl’s birthday,” he announces, and the hoots and hollers ensue. I love it when he calls me that, even though I’m not really his, not the way I wish I were anyway.

  “Happy birthday, Sylvie!” Nelson hollers, and everyone echoes his sentiment. My cheeks flame with embarrassment as I shuffle on my feet, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

  “Whatcha wanna hear, Syl?”

  I shrug, hating when he puts me on the spot like this.

  “I think you know this one,” Linc says with a wink, finding the chords he needs. A gasp falls from my lips when he begins to play the song he sang to me on the Ferris wheel. The song we danced to at prom.

  But Linc’s version is so much better.

  The crowd doesn’t dare sing along with this one, the powerful words paired with Linc’s voice leave everyone in awe of him.

  Once he finishes, everyone goes crazy. I stand there with my mouth gaping, completely blown away.

  Laying his guitar down on the tailgate, he wraps me in his warm arms, my cheek to his chest. “Happy birthday, Syl.”

  Moments like this give me hope. Maybe someday he will want to be more than friends. Maybe someday he will finally tell me how he feels, if he feels anything more at all.

  But what if someday never comes?

  I open my eyes, seeking a distraction from my confusing thoughts. And there it is, standing just a few feet away, arresting brown eyes and a tempting smile only add to my inner turmoil.

  Past

  Fate happens when you least expect it, and in the oddest, most peculiar ways.

  At least that’s what Mama always tells me.

  She met Daddy when she was twenty. Ran out of gas on her way to a friend’s house and he just so happened to take a different route to work that day.

  Fate, she’d said.

  Divine intervention.

  Destiny.

  I’m not so sure I believe in her philosophy.

  At least not until I experienced it for myself.

  This morning, my father asked me to take the suburban into town and have the oil changed. He usually handles this chore himself but he’s been too busy at work. Our family business, Dawson’s Brewery, is growing and he simply doesn’t have time to mess with it.

  I’d been all too willing.

  Anything to get me out of the house and out of my head for a while. Because between Linc and Dean, my mind is a mess.

  Pulling up to Greasystix, I hop out and head inside.

  “Hi, Mr. Jim.”

  “Hey there, Sylvie. What can I do for ya today?”

  I lean over the counter, reaching for the bowl of suckers he stashes there for vultures like me. “Oil change.”

  Mr. Jim smiles. I’ve known him all my life. He’s been friends with my dad for years.

  Unwrapping the grape Dum Dum, I slide him the keys.

  “It’ll be about half an hour, dear.”

  “Sounds good. I’m gonna run across the street to the dollar store. I’ll be back.”

  Forty minutes later, when I return, Mr. Jim is not in the front office. After snagging a cherry Dum Dum this time, I walk back out and wander over to the last open bay door where the suburban is. The smell of grease and rubber assault my senses but the man standing beneath the vehicle is what halts my steps.

  Those dark eyes lock on mine, stunningly fierce and electric. “I was wondering when I would get to see you again.” The hope in his voice sends goose bumps racing across my skin.

  The grin on his handsome face is unmistakable. So is the look of intention. I can’t help but return his smile. It’s hard not to when he looks at me like this.

  Flustered, I toss the rest of my uneaten sucker in the trash nearby. “I-I didn’t know you work here,” I mutter, walking closer.

  “Jim hired me a couple of weeks ago.”

  His eyes never leave mine as he walks over to the button on the wall, lowering the suburban. “Sorry it took so long.”

  “Oh, no worries. I’m not in a hurry.”

  Once the wheels are back on the concrete floor, Dean saunters over. He is covered in grease and oil. His hands are filthy; the black nails making me wince as he wipes them with an equally dirty red rag.

  “There was a leak.”

  I blink up at him. “A leak?”

  “Oil leak. I think I fixed it but you’ll need to keep an eye on it. If you see any fluid on the ground, just bring it on back.”

  Tucking my hair behind my ear, I rock on my heels. “Okay. I’ll be sure to tell my dad.”

  He nods, tucking the rag in the back pocket of his jeans. “Have fun the other night?”

  “Yeah, I did. How about you?”

  “I spent the entire night looking at you, so yeah, it was a good night.”

  I blush at the honesty in his words. He’s not lying. Every time I looked in his direction, his eyes were on me. And he was completely unapologetic about it.

  My entire body buzzes with curiosity just like it did in the field the other night.

  Who is this guy?

  And why is he looking at me like this?

  Like I am all he could see.

  He makes me feel so beautiful.

  Wanted.

  Shifting on his feet, his dark eyes hold mine. “My friend is having a party tonight. I want you to come.”

  I swallow hard, nervousness settling in my belly. It isn’t a request. He isn’t asking me to come, it’s more like a demand, but I have to admit I like his forwardness. “Sounds fun. Where?”

  “Give me your hand.” With a gaping mouth, I do as he says. He pulls a pen from the pocket of his work shirt, clicks it with a devilish grin before writing an address and phone number across my palm.

  When he lets go of my hand it tingles from his touch, and my heart thuds with excitement in my chest. “Be there around seven,” he says softly.

  My body sags on a long exhale, anticipation building in my veins at the thought of seeing him again. I still haven’t figured out what it is that draws me to him, but whatever the heck it is, it is far too powerful to resist.

  Past

  I call Dean to let him know I’m coming.
He is pleased that I called, excited even.

  I’m nervous as hell.

  I’ve never done anything like this before.

  Ever.

  But something about Dean makes me want to take that risk. Dares me to take a chance.

  Pulling into a small cove, I park behind a beat-up Volkswagen Beetle before killing the engine. A crowd of people stand beneath the street lamp about several feet away. Mostly guys, a few girls. They all look much older than me and appear to be really drunk.

  I reach for the ignition, second-guessing my decision.

  “Going somewhere?” Dean appears out of nowhere, his mischievous smile a mere shadow on the other side of the glass.

  Clutching my chest, I roll down my window. “Dean, you scared me half to death.”

  His soft chuckle eases some of the tension in my shoulders. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says with that crooked grin I am growing to like so much.

  “What were you doing, hiding in the bushes?”

  “Nah, just needed to step away for a minute.” He nods toward the crowd.

  “Those your friends?”

  “No,” he replies with a grimace.

  “Oh.”

  An awkward silence descends but Dean doesn’t allow it to linger. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  I smile nervously, gripping the bottom of the steering wheel tighter. “Me too.”

  His eyes hold mine.

  Dark.

  Haunting.

  Harboring something I need. Only, I can’t figure out what. I keep trying to come up with something to say but I have nothing.

  I’m too nervous.

  And he is way too calm.

  Finally, he lets go of my gaze and rounds the front of the truck, climbing into the passenger seat.

  “Are we not going to the party?” I ask as he closes the door.

  He stretches out, making himself comfortable. “Nah…I kind of just want to be alone with you. If that’s okay.”

  I gulp twice as warning signals begin to fire off in my brain. Linc’s voice blares with insistence from the back of my mind.

  He’s trouble.

  However, my morbid curiosity outweighs the risk. Dean is mysterious, yes, and definitely intimidating, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would hurt me.

  Not intentionally anyway.

  “Sure. Where do you wanna go?”

  “You tell me. I’m not from around here.”

  I put the truck in drive and head toward the tracks. “So, how’d you end up in Grandeur of all places?”

  “You don’t like it here?”

  “It’s only the smallest town on the planet. And there’s absolutely nothing to do here.”

  “Well, I can think of one thing I want to do right now.”

  His words are deliberate, meant to tempt and entice. I let them hang between us, waiting for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.

  “My parents died in a house fire two years ago. Dani came to live with my aunt so I moved down here to be closer to her.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. They weren’t very nice people.”

  I wince at the coldness in his tone. I want to ask more but I have a feeling it’s not something he wants to talk about right now, so I tuck it away for later.

  “How old are you, Sylvie?”

  I want to lie. Tell him I am much older, thinking that will impress him for some reason, but I know in the long run the truth is best.

  “Seventeen.”

  “Shit.” He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

  “What?”

  “You do not look seventeen, babe.”

  ‘Babe?’

  Babe.

  He called me babe.

  I like that.

  A lot.

  “How old are you?” I ask, hesitantly.

  “Twenty-one.”

  From the corner of my eye I watch as he lights up his cigarette, and I try not to think about what my father will say when he smells smoke in here tomorrow.

  “How long have you lived here?”

  “All my life, but I’m planning my great escape after graduation.”

  “Oh yeah, where to?”

  “Nashville. My best friend, Linc, who you met the other night, is moving there and wants me to come with him. He’s gonna be a star someday.” I smile thoughtfully.

  “And what do you want to be, Sylvie?”

  That is a good question. A damn good question. A question I still don’t have the answer to. “I don’t know yet.”

  He nods as if he understands my dilemma. “So your best friend is a guy? Should I be worried?”

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “Nope.”

  My heart surges with relief. “Linc and I are just friends.”

  “You wish it were more though?”

  My stomach dips with nervousness. “What?”

  “I can see it on your face. You want to be more than friends.” I shrug, not wanting to have this conversation with him. “Want to know my opinion?” I don’t respond, but he continues on anyway. “He’s fucking crazy. If I were him, I would have made you mine a long time ago. And I’m kind of glad he’s a blind idiot, because then maybe I have a shot after all.”

  My mind spins while my heart pounds against my chest. The knot in my throat is tight and it’s hard to swallow past it as I turn down the dirt road that leads to the tracks.

  When we pull to a stop, I let the engine run. It’s already ten forty-five. I have to be home by midnight. We can’t stay long. My sweaty palms grip the steering wheel while blood rushes to my ears, anxious to know what will happen next.

  The alternative rock station we’re listening to switches songs and “All I Need” by Radiohead pours from the speakers, the dark sound setting the tone as he catches my eye, turning it up.

  “Love this song,” he says.

  “It’s one of my favorites, too.”

  He continues to smoke his cigarette casually and damn it all to hell if he doesn’t look hot doing it. Then he swings his eyes to mine once more as the dark lyrics fill the space between us, his gaze bringing me down to a level of need I don’t understand.

  But the need is not within me.

  It’s in him.

  With a sense of resolve, he drops out of the truck and rounds the front, flicking what is left of his cigarette into the night before opening my door.

  Reaching for my hand, he pulls me out. “Dance with me.”

  “Here?”

  “Yeah…here.”

  There, on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, with nothing more than the low beam headlights guiding our way, we dance. His arms wrap around me and so does his scent, intoxicating and new.

  Different.

  He pulls me closer, our cheeks touching, breaths meeting warm skin while my heart races in my chest. I want him to kiss me. He’s probably kissed tons of girls, good-looking as he is.

  Girls who know how to kiss.

  Girls who know how to do lots of things I don’t.

  He is a man, after all. And I’ve never kissed a man before. I’ve only kissed two boys and their sloppy tongues and groping hands were nothing to write home about.

  His fingers press into my lower back before his warm mouth whispers in my ear and my body tingles.

  “I’m going to kiss you now, Sylvie.” A rough thumb works back and forth across my fevered skin as he pulls back to gaze down at me, my heart thunders so hard in my chest I think I might pass out. His face is but a shadow in the still of the night, however, there is no mistaking the want in his eyes.

  It tugs at something inside of me, calls to me in a way that I cannot fathom.

  Then his mouth descends on mine, paralyzing me. I’m not sure what to do with my hands so I let them hang loosely by my side, but the moment he backs me into the front of the truck they gain purchase, fisting in the sides of his shirt.

 
He tastes of smoke, fire, and desperation. It’s overwhelming, frightening, and addictive—his need for me.

  The kiss begins to slow but my blood rushes faster, eager for more.

  “Sylvie,” he breathes against my lips.

  My panting heart grows sluggish and weak as he brushes his thumb across my swollen lips. His forehead drops to mine, his shoulders tense and tight beneath my hands. Something flickers in his eyes, something dark and mystifying, luring me in.

  “You’re going to make me fall in love with you, aren’t you?” Warmth sings in my blood while resolution settles in his eyes. He breathes the words against my lips, a whisper of possibility that has me flying across the star-covered sky.

  Past

  I don’t want to fall in love with Dean but it happens anyway. Or perhaps it is the idea of falling in love that has me tumbling fast and hard. Either way, it happens.

  In a single heartbeat.

  A blistering moment in time.

  Deep down I know loving him will inevitably change me but it will be a long time before I truly understand just how much.

  “I need you, Sylvie. I can’t wait anymore.”

  Neither can I.

  This has been our routine for the last two months, skating the edge of temptation, drowning in a sea of insistent desire.

  “Make love to me, Dean.”

  Parked on a dead-end road, I straddle his lap in the backseat, rocking against him. I’m past the point of caring anymore.

  I want him.

  His strong hands move to my hips, holding me in place. “Sylvie.” His brows pinch together, concern etching his face. “I need you to know that—I’m not like other guys.” His hands move to my neck, eyes holding mine. “What I feel for you, it’s not like anything I’ve ever felt before. The thought of losing you.” The tortured look on his face has my chest clenching tight.

  “I get a little caught up in the head sometimes. Sometimes things don’t make sense, and I have a hard time working through my emotions. So if I ever lose my temper, or say crazy shit, just remember, it’s not you…it’s me.”

  A rush of fear trickles through me but the sincerity in his eyes soothes it away instantly. “Okay.”

  “I just—I don’t want to lose you.”

  My hand cradles his rugged face. “I’m not going anywhere.”