“No. I think … I think it was more of a confluence of events that really brought it on,” I say, impressed with myself for knowing the word confluence. “I was still mulling over seeing Coy at all.” And dealing with our kiss. “Seeing him being nice always affects me because I forget so often that it’s possible.”
“He’s not a bad guy, Bells.”
I know.
“I guess I was already overwhelmed by everything that’s going on …”
My voice trails off as I think of reading the letter from Dad’s doctor a few minutes before seeing Coy walk into Dad’s house. The date for his PET scan is in a couple of days and getting the pre-approval paperwork from his insurance company was enough to throw me completely off-balance.
But I don’t tell that to Riss. I don’t tell her much about my dad at all.
Cancer is a millstone on everyone and not just the patient. It has a way of trickling its venom to anyone that hears about it. The last thing I want to do is to spread the burden to my friends.
Besides, if Riss and Boone know just how bad it gets, it would put a shadow on every interaction we have. It would be impossible to grab a drink or go get a pizza or paint our nails and watch trash television without them worrying if my phone is going to ring or if I’m going to cry or if it’s appropriate to make a joke.
It's hard to explain to people that life has to keep going on. You don't have cancer pop up in your life, and all of a sudden, everything stops so that you can deal with it. Days go by, jobs have to be performed, dinner has to be made—things continue to go, and it's nice to be able to have one space that you can escape to and have everything feel normal for an evening or a weekend.
And that's Boone and Larissa for me. And it's imperative that I don’t dirty that up.
“Anyway,” I say, getting back to the conversation, “I think I was just already emotional and in my feels. It’s fine. We’re fine.”
I can't say that without smiling, even though it doesn't actually mean anything. We’re fine implies there is a we. Even though that’s not true, it feels good to say.
He might have texted Suit back to fuck off. He might have promised me to always be there for me. And I believe that he meant both things. I know that he did. But it doesn't change the circumstances of our lives, and I really don't know how we could work around that.
That is, if he wanted to get around it in that kind of way.
I close my eyes and feel that breeze in my hair and the sun on my face. The birds chirp in the trees overhead. If I listen closely enough, I can imagine the sound of little kids laughing and, if I pay close enough attention, I can smell dinner cooking from the house in front of us.
It’s an odd sensation.
When I open my eyes, Larissa is watching me with a curious look.
“You know,” I say, opening the passenger’s side door. “If I ever did get crazy and decide to have a real relationship and get married and a family and all of that someday—I think I’d like to do all of that in a place like this.”
I look at Larissa over the roof of the car. Shock paints her features. I get it. I’ve never said anything like that before.
“I’m full of surprises today,” I mutter, climbing in the car and closing the door.
I’m also full of a wistfulness that makes me uncomfortable.
If only my life would stop throwing me losses, maybe that wistfulness could become hope.
I sigh.
If only …
Fifteen
Coy
“It’s no wonder you go to Mom and Dad’s house to eat,” I say, looking at the contents of Boone’s refrigerator.
A jar of pickles, a block of cream cheese that looks suspicious, a half of a Snickers bar, and a jug of lemonade that I would bet the farm that he’s drunk straight from the container.
“I just want to point out that I’m not the one living there,” he says from his perch on the counter.
“I’m not living there either, asshole.”
Boone’s legs swing back and forth like a little kid.
“Wanna go to Vegas next weekend?” He grins. “Might be fun. Would get a suite and—”
I hold out my hand to stop him. “We’re not going to Vegas. I have enough fucking problems.”
“Coy—Vegas solves problems, brother. It doesn’t create them.”
I raise a brow. “Do you not remember what happened the last time we were in Vegas?”
“Hey, now. That wasn’t my fault. She came up to me and grabbed my hand and led me to the elevator. How was I supposed to know that she was married and pissed off at her husband?”
“I don’t know,” I say, sarcasm thick in my tone. “Maybe engage her in conversation. Or notice she was wearing a wedding ring.”
He runs a hand through the air. “Too much work. The burden of ethical actions in that situation falls on her. Not me.”
I hop on the countertop next to the sink. The granite is cold and hard.
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell him. “You lived and got to keep all of your teeth.”
“Barely.”
We laugh.
Sunshine pours in the kitchen window. I angle my face to the light and enjoy the warmth from the sun.
I felt lighter when I woke up this morning in Bellamy’s bed. My dad’s jokes were funnier while we played nine holes of golf before breakfast. Wade’s texts about a new tax law that apparently affects me weren’t even as annoying as usual.
I forgot how it felt to live in Savannah. Is it this way all the time or just because I’m visiting? Or is it that, for once, I’m here for more than a day?
My brothers do golf a lot. They take turns with Gramps on Wednesday nights, sitting with him and playing chess or shelling beans in the summer. Mom makes lots of family dinners, and they’ve all been known to fly to Aspen to go skiing at a moment’s notice.
Life in Nashville is fun, too. Just … different.
And there’s no Bellamy there.
Have I ever thought of that before now? Have I ever compared the company I keep with Bells?
That would be a hard no.
Although … no one has ever captivated me or made me think about things extending past a night or a weekend.
Only Bells.
I pick at my cuticles as I wonder what she’s doing. We’ve texted on and off today. Soon, that will be all I get of her when I return home. I considered for half of a second that she might go with me, but I can’t even ask her that. Not with Joe so sick.
I sigh.
“I really thought that you being a hot-shot country music star was really going to make my life better,” Boone says, pulling my attention back to him. “But it hasn’t, and honestly, I’m a little disappointed.”
I burst out laughing. “I’m sorry my life hasn’t been convenient enough for ya, Boone.”
“Me fucking too.” He winks at me. “So, what’s happening on the music front these days?”
I look at my brother like the buzzkill that he is. “Do we have to talk about that?”
He shrugs. “Nope. Of course not. Let’s talk about Bells instead.”
I roll my head on my shoulders and look at the ceiling.