“China,” he said, and he was not calling me by a nickname he’d never called me.
“Yes,” I agreed. “I could take anything if I had you, but I’d shatter if I did not and I know that because I did.”
“Lyla—”
“And you can’t come back from that, Preacher. You can’t show up, even looking hot and leaning against a truck and being all that’s you and come back from that. Once something’s shattered, it’s never the same. But in this instance, the Lyla I was, was so broken, I just threw the pieces away.”
When I got done talking, we stood there, in my living room, not a beach where I could walk away, in my living room where I had to look into his beautiful, warm brown eyes as they held mine, pain and regret in his, and there was no escape.
He broke the silence by saying, “That’s what I wanted when I first saw you.”
God, I needed this conversation to be over.
“That’s what I wanted,” he repeated. “That’s what drew me to you. That and thoughts of your ass in my hands and my fingers in your hair.”
I did not smile but he was not being funny.
He kept going.
“I wanted to cradle your fragility in my hands and keep it safe. I wanted that job. I wanted that honor.”
Oh God, I had to end this.
He spoke again before I could.
“But I was wrong, and your grandfather was wrong, and the boys are wrong, and,” he jabbed a pointed finger my way, “you are wrong. Look at this.” He again tossed both hands out to indicate my living room. “You’re not fuckin’ fragile. You never have been. So, there’s one thing I was right about. You needed me out of the way so you could find that, Lyla. And it was torture for us both, but I did one thing where I had to be stronger than you. I gave that to you.”
He then reached behind him and pulled out a CD in its sleeve that it was clear, all this time, he’d had tucked in the back waistband of his jeans.
“We got more shit to talk about, so listen to this, cher, get rid of the guy you’re seein’ and see you in Baton Rouge.”
He tossed the CD on my coffee table and I was hoping with that he’d walk out.
I was actually not hoping that, of course, but I was telling myself I was hoping that.
He didn’t walk out.
He came to me, took my head on either side in his hands, tipped it back, and laid a hard kiss on my lips that was not wet, but it still curled my toes, made my stomach flutter and wet rush between my legs because this was Preacher. I could smell him, feel those hands on me, and I knew I’d taste those lips when he took them away.
Only when he took them away did he walk away.
But this time, as I pivoted to watch him go, he looked back.
“Love you, baby,” he said. “From the second you held my hand in that motel room, always have and always will.”
This, before he turned the corner into my kitchen and disappeared.
And when he did, I licked my lips.
And tasted Preacher.
McCade:
[Muttering, eyes aimed to the shelves behind the bar]
See you in Baton Rouge.
Fuck, I was an arrogant ass.
[Shoves iced tea glass away and raps with knuckles on the bar before he lifts his chin. In short order, he’s served bourbon. Neat.]
Jesse:
Well, we can just say, Preacher driving down to Phoenix to personally deliver an advance of the album to Lyla was a match to a fuse.
Now, mind you, Vanessa does not know him, so Lyla gives Sonia an earful, Sonia gives Vanessa an earful and Vanessa rips Shawn a new one.
Shawn is back in Louisiana, sorting shit for the gig so he’s not close to, you know, say, high five Preacher and then have his ass reamed even more by his wife.
We’re all getting ready to head out there to do some rehearsals and get our shit tight for the show, but for six weeks after Preacher pulled that stunt, kid you not, six weeks, I can barely keep my cell phone charged, it’s ringing so damned often, and when it isn’t, it’s glued to my ear.
Sonia up in my shit to get Preacher to fuck off.
Jules the same.
Penny and Lana both wanting to know what’s up Lyla’s ass that she just doesn’t take Preacher back.
Mom, torn between her two unofficially adopted kids, wanting what they both want, which might be contradictory, so she’s screwed.
Dave and Tim picking sides.
Dave, he picks Lyla.
Tim, Preacher.
Then I get the call.
The fuckin’ call.
[Off tape]
[Simms stops speaking for such a long time, a prompt is needed]
What call?
[Focus]
The call from Lyla.
She’s the one person I haven’t talked to yet. I’m giving her space because I figure everyone else is not.
She says, “Hey, Jess. You have a minute to talk?”
“For you,” I say back, “always.”
“Good, I’m sitting outside your house in my car,” she replies.
[Shakes head and doesn’t stop]
Fuck me.
Fuck me.
[Stops shaking his head]
I live in LA, the woman lives in Phoenix, and she’s sittin’ outside my house in her car, and she needs to talk.
Fuck me.
[Tips head back to look at the ceiling before righting it]
I know this is gonna be bad.
See, I want her for him because I love him, and he wants her and she’s good for him. And I want her for him because he got a raw, bloody deal for the first part of his life and multi-platinum albums don’t repair that damage.
A good woman repairs that damage.
Or, at least, having her makes it hurt a whole lot less.
But I love her too, and if she’s comin’ to me to ask me to get him to back down, I gotta do that for her.
I gotta do that for China.
Caught between light and dark.
No, sister, this just all seemed dark.
So, she comes in and I offer her a drink.
She wants a pop.
I get it for her, and we go out to my pool.
She’s got on this flowy skirt that I remember has a lot of red in it and a little black tee.
She flips off her flipflops, pulls up the skirt and sits her ass down beside my pool, putting her legs in.
I roll up my jeans, do the same, and, man, it is not lost on me that I’m in the same position I saw Preacher in just minutes before this epic story started off.
I wait for her to say something. I need her to guide this.
She’s staring at the pool.
And then I wish she’d keep doing it when she turns her head and looks at me.
“I’m pregnant,” she says.
It feels like my heart explodes.
Then she goes on in a whisper.
“And I don’t know how to tell Preacher.”
McCade:
I still had that pad, up the PCH from Timmy, but I was packin’ up because we were heading out soon to go to Louisiana. [charmingly pronounces “Louisiana” as “Looseeana”]
Jess calls, says he wants to come over.
I don’t got a lot of shit, but packin’s not fun, so I’m down with him rollin’ up so we can throw some back. Maybe go out and get some nachos.
[Blows breath out his nose, drinks some bourbon]