2
Joey
The closer thebus gets to our destination, the harder my heart pounds. Sweat builds down my back and under my arms even though I have the air conditioner vents aimed at myface.
After twenty-seven hours on a cross-country bus, I have no illusions about how I look. Ratty hair twisted into a crazy bun. No makeup. Circles under my eyes. And I’m so on edge, I’ve barely been able to eat or sleep despite being exhausted. Not even the bodice-ripper on my old Kindle is enough to keep myattention.
Thank God Tori is picking me up and not Logan, but I know I can’t avoid himforever.
You don’t want to avoid him forever,dummy.
That’s the worst part—the eager, hungry piece of me that’s dying to seehim.
I tuck both of my hands under my thighs so I don’t bite my nails. Some beautician I’d be if I showed up to Tori’s wedding with hands looking like they’d been gnawed off by a gremlin. My hair situation is bad enough at themoment.
When I left Texas, I wasn’t thinking I’d be returning so soon. Tori and Ethan’s wedding crept up on me. I booked this bus ticket in February, and back then, July seemed like plenty of time to get my life in order and my emotions on lockdown, but with every passing mile, my anxiety ratchets up like I’m about to walk off the gangplank of a pirate ship instead of visiting oldfriends.
“Sweetheart, would you like one of these?” asks Mrs. Reynolds as she holds out a bear claw from 7/11, the cellophane crinkling in her weatheredhand.
“No, thank you, but I appreciateit.”
I’ve had the good fortune of sitting next to a very kind elderly woman for the last twenty hours, and although she looks like the kind of person who snuggles her grandbabies and sings them lullabies before bedtime, she threatened to chop off the balls of the thug who harassed me for a blow job back at that Port Arthur reststop.
“You haven’t eaten anything all day. You nervous ’bout seeing thatboy?”
When two southern women sit next to each other for this length of time, they’re bound to tell each other their life stories, even if there is a fifty-year agedifference.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m nervous.” I swallow, wishing I had some water. “I thought I was doing the right thing when I left. I was just so hurt, you know? And I didn’t want to say anything to him that I’d regret, so I… I didn’t say much at all, but now I’m wondering if I should have. Logan’s always been there for me, and it’s not like heknew…” I can’t blame him for not knowing things I’ve never said outloud.
Tears well in my eyes, and I fan my face with my hand because, dang it, I don’t wanna be a snotty mess when we get to the bus station. Although Tori won’t care. She’ll wrap me in her arms and tell me pervy jokes until Ilaugh.
Somehow, I manage to keep it together as Mrs. Reynolds pats my hand. “What about your brother? I bet he’ll be happy to seeyou.”
You’d think, but no. Silas has always viewed me as a pain in hisass.
Sniffling, I shrug because I can’t handle any more depressing stories today. “You’ve been kind to listen to me ramble about my family’s troubles.” I give her a smile, a genuine one because talking to someone aside from my cousin Dawn back in Florida has made me feelbetter.
The bus pulls to an abrupt stop. With all of my chattering, I hadn’t realized we’darrived.
When I stand, my muscles and joints protest from being confined. I can’t wait to fall face first into my bed. After changing the sheets. Because there’s no telling who Silas let sleep in my bed since I’ve beengone.
I check my phone, frowning when I notice my brother hasn’t returned any of my messages. Silas and I lived in my grandmother’s house until I relocated her to a facility in Florida to be near my uncle’sfamily.
None of us were expecting her to pass so soon. One morning, she just didn’t open her eyes again. I haven’t really known how to process her death. While I’m grateful her suffering is over, every time I stop to appreciate that I have more free time, I’m racked withguilt.
As I step out into the painfully bright sun, Mrs. Reynolds nudges me. “Is that your young manthere?”
“No, he’snot—”
I stop mid-sentence because,oh, God, there heis.
Logan Carter. The boy next door and my lifelongcrush.
And he looks mighty tickedoff.
“Can I give you a word of advice, dearie?” Mrs. R asks as she waves toward an older gentleman heading toward us from the other side of the parking lot. “Tell him how you feel. What’s the worst thing that can happen? Maybe he doesn’t return your feelings, or maybe he does. Either way, the ground isn’t going to swallow you whole. And who knows? He might need to hear it from you to make a difference.” She squeezes my shoulder. “Life’s too short not to say what you mean and live the life youwant.”
With those parting words and a hug, she’sgone.
