Page 66 of Don't Leave Me Behind
Hell yea! Now we’re talking!
Miya
I stg Leni. When I said you needed to figure out what happened with him I didn’t mean you should move in with him.
I know. I know. The sooner I can get a job in Benson the sooner things can go back to normal.
Pepper
Fuck normal.
Save a horse and ride off into the sunset on your cowboy.
Miya
You mean with her cowboy?
Pepper
I certainly do not
I hate you both
Normal is good. Normal is what I need, not this confusing pull to Clay and his incredibly skilled tongue. Nope, what I need is to get my head on straight and get back on track. I don’t need my family. I don’t need any help, and I certainly don’t need Clay. Maybe, though, it wouldn’t hurt to explore things while I’m here? That might satiate this sick and twisted part of me that keeps insisting that getting tangled up with him is a good idea. Work him out of my system and out of my head. It’s possible, right?
Apparently, I have learned nothing in ten years, because the longer the day goes on, the more I start to miss Clay. He’s still not home by supper time, and when I check my phone to see if I have any messages from him, I don’t see anything. So I set the table and wait. The smell of the chicken dish I threw together makes my mouth water. When seven o’clock hits, I can’t wait to eat anymore. I forgot about lunch, too wrapped up in my own thoughts that I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I scarf down a plateful, waiting to hear something from Clay. Even if it’s just a hey, I’ll be home late.
I know calls can go long, that you don’t always get a say in when you’re done for the day as a deputy, but I really thought he would let me know if he was going to be coming home late.
By eight fifteen, I’m starting to get nervous. There’s nothing in the group chat about him being hurt on the job, but if he wrecked on his way home, would anyone know? When I dial his number, it goes straight to voicemail.
Fuck. I’m pacing the entryway, trying to decide if I should go out and look for him when I hear gravel crunching down the lane. His headlights flash across the front of the cabin, momentarily blinding me. I blink away the stars and put my hands on my hips, blowing air through my nose as I try to collect my temper. He doesn’t look harmed, doesn’t even look like he had a hard day.
“You didn’t call or text. I was starting to worry.”
“Stopped at the Rail to have a beer with one of the guys.” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. Like I wasn’t sitting here about to blow up my life by calling Mercer to see if he was alive.
“Oh.” I feel an unreasonable amount of something ugly twist in my gut. “Since when do you go out and drink?”
“I drink when I want to. Didn’t I just have a beer with you?” His arms cross over his chest. The look on his face letsme know he’s unimpressed by this conversation. “Why is this a big deal?”
“You didn’t even call. Didn’t text, either.” I tap my foot on the ground. Impatient, annoyed for no reason other than the fact that I made him dinner. I expected him to come home to me. To spend his evening with me. So now I’m…what? Jealous? Jesus, what is happening to me?
“Was I supposed to?” He cocks his head, one eyebrow lifting into his hairline. This motherfucker. Now I’m jealous and pissed.
“You’re kidding, right?”
He shrugs, leaning back against the door of his pickup, ankles crossed over one another, like he doesn’t have a damn care in the world.
“What the fuck, Clay?”
“You’re not my girlfriend. I don’t know what we’re doing, but does it even matter? You’re just going to leave again. What’s the point?”
“The point, Clay...is that I’m not your fucking mom. I’m not abandoning you.”
His eyes snap to meet mine, a challenge in them.
“I was barely older than a kid. I wanted you, and you pushed me away. You kept me at arm’s length.Youdid that.”
