Year 28

by JL Mac

  “Is it true?” I yell charging at him, the wind picks up whipping my hair back. Sylas looks genuinely shocked by my outburst. He slides off the hood of his jeep and scrunches his brows at me. “Is it true?” I demand pushing his shoulder; tears begin blurring my vision because his silence is answer enough. He runs one hand through his wavy dark brown locks, gorgeous hair that the fucking military will demand he keep sheared off to the skin.

  “I’m just trying to do something good. I can pay for school now,” he offers his explanation.

  “Don’t give me that crap. You’re smart! You could have gotten grants or scholarships, a student loan—anything! Did you even wait to see what schools got back to you?” The ashamed look on his face spawns a revelation. “Oh my god, you didn’t even try to apply to any schools, did you?”

  “Baby—”

  “No! You’re unbelievable. What else have you lied about Sy?” I scoff pacing in a circle in front of him. “I thought it was because of me you were draggin’ your feet on applications and everything because you were waiting on me to see where I got in. But you didn’t even bother with any of it!” I laugh an ugly humorless laugh.

  “It is because of you. You deserve… more. I’m in love with you and I want to be worthy of you now and forever,” he rambles on. My fury reaches a fever pitch. “My parents wouldn’t let me go into debt to pay for college. They’d take it on themselves and I know they can’t afford that burden, Rae.”

  “No, no, no.” I wag my finger at him. “You don’t get to put this shit on me—on us, or your folks,” I motion my hand between us, tears tip over my eyelids and stream down my face. “We were good—we’ve always been good! Now it’s all fucked up,” I grit even as my bottom lip quivers.

  “It’s not. Snow, c’mere,” he says gently, reaching for me. I jerk away from him.

  “Don’t! We literally just talked about our future. We made that stupid pact. Jesus, is that why you made me make that lame promise? Because you knew you’d end up being shipped god knows where while I’m going to school and carving out a career for myself—is this your way of keeping me on a leash, tied to you?”

  “No! I don’t give a fuck where we are in the world, you’re always with me and I will always be with you. This,” he jabs a finger into his own chest then into mine. “… is permanent.” The fervor in his voice is almost enough to reduce me to a messy puddle of emotion.

  “And what if—what if what happened to Teddy happens to you, huh? How does that benefit either of us? I couldn’t go through that,” I choke on my words, my chin crinkling as I weep. A look of complete pity and sadness transforms Sy’s face but I ramble on before he can say a word. “You lied to me. You let me think we were in this together—that we would make every decision as a team. You kept this huge decision to yourself and completely excluded me from having any say so. Worse still is you snuck and signed your life away while I was on vacation!”

  “I’m sorry, Snow. You’re scaring the hell out of me talking like we’re breaking up. Just—please, just come here,” he demands gently. I look up at his handsome face and shake my head sending fresh streams of tears rolling down my cheeks.

  “No. I can’t do this with you—I won’t do this with you. You betrayed me—us—our plans. You know what Teddy’s death did to me—what it still does to me—to everyone!”

  “Won’t do this with me? What’s that supposed to mean?” he narrows his eyes on me, clenching his jaw.

  “I—it means I’m done,” I say raising my hands up in surrender. His eyes bug out and he reels backward as though I’ve hit him. My heart aches at the pained look on his face but I have to stick to what my gut is screaming. He deceived me! And if they send him off to war…

  I’m scared senseless.

  “Y—you’re breaking up with me?” The waver in his voice is something I’m not used to and this time I am the one stepping backward.

  Never, my heart cries while slamming against my ribs but I keep my lips pressed together, refusing to answer him.

  “You’re ditching me?” He steps closer, closing the open space between us. His warm hands grip my upper arms softly. He leans forward pressing his forehead against mine. He touches his lips against mine, feather soft and warm. I sniff away my tears and inhale deeply, cataloguing the scent of his body wash, bayou salt grass and the unique scent of our young love. With as much courage as I can come up with I bite my lip and pull away from him. Everything in me immediately laments the loss of his warmth, the feel of his touch, the promise of life together that is now changed.

  “No, Sylas. You ditched me first, and you did it in secret,” I mumble weakly, nearly catatonic, then turn my back on him and leave our favorite place, promising myself I’ll never come back to the old magnolia on the hidden bayou.

  I drive from one side of our parish to the other and back home again. By the time I put my car in park the sun has disappeared beyond the horizon leaving only purple, pink and orange phantoms lingering in the sky. I fully expect my momma to already be informed of our breakup. Audrey would have called right away if only to warn Momma. I climb the front steps of the house and tiredly drag myself inside. My eyes are puffy and swollen, my heart is aching, and I just blew my weekly allowance of gas money on driving around hoping the ache would disappear with every mile of blacktop my tires ate up. It didn’t work. My heart feels bulky, too big for my chest and heavy. The minute the screen door slaps closed against the doorframe, momma appears from around the corner leading to the kitchen wearing a concerned expression.

  “Honey,” she clicks her tongue and her eyes crinkle at the edges.

  “Momma, I don’t wanna talk,” I mutter tearfully. Her lips turn down at the edges and a wrinkle of worry deepens between her brows but to her credit she doesn’t chase me upstairs demanding I unload my grief on her. That would be typical of Momma. She doesn’t know how not to meddle.

  In truth, a small voice in the back of my mind whispers soothingly that I won’t need Momma’s counsel, that this is a dumb hiccup and Sy and I will get over this somehow. If there is one certainty about my relationship with Sylas is that god knows we are stuck with each other. Will this work out? Can this be fixed? Can I still go to college with him off traipsing the world as a Marine? Will the military change him so much so that what we have will be gone completely? Will it make him mean? Will the lighthearted guy I know be turned into a cruel man? And why in the hell did he think it was wise to deceive me? Can I forgive this?

  Questions I don’t have the answers to whirl through my mind as I slip into my bedroom and collapse into my bed. With my tear-streaked face pressed into my pillows I cry fully, uninhibited. I had to watch the road while I was driving and the idea of scrutinizing eyes watching me at intersections kept my tears to a minimum but now I let them free.

  I was so sure of my future with Sylas. So terribly, painfully, naively sure of the life I saw laid out in my mind’s eye and this is definitely not what I saw. I saw us both going to school and getting degrees of our choice and landing a nice job and we’d marry and have a couple kids that would have his eyes and my hair and we’d take our children to the bayou for picnics and we would be stupid-in-love and live happily ever after.

  How stupid of me.

  Chapter 17

  Raegan

  “But you are coming back, right?”

  “Yes, Bethany, of course.” I nod my head in front of the camera showing my face on the video call. “I’ll be back in, hmm,” I pause looking up in thought.

  “A month… a year… never,” Sy mumbles around a sandwich as comes up behind me, showcasing washboard abs before bending at the waist to enter the frame of the video call. “Hey there,” he says in that rich, low voice of his. I roll my eyes. Bethany’s eyes bulge unnaturally and she visibly swallows hard, her neck working like a crane coaxing dinner down its gullet. I can’t say I am surprised at her reaction when Sylas is clad only in a flimsy pair of boxer shorts that do little to contain his manhood while he uses tha
t voice and gifts her one of his rakish smirks. I shift in my seat and clear my throat.

  “Who was that?” she whispers.

  “That’s no one. Listen I’ll just play it by ear and let you know before I head back to DC. There are some things I need to see to while I’m here.”

  “I bet,” she mutters, nodding.

  I go on, ignoring her comment. “I’ll email Dominic now and let him know that he’s going to be at the helm for a bit longer. Be sure to give his assistant support if she requires it.” Bethany goes on giving me a rundown of things I have missed, her eyes clearly scanning the edges of the video feed for an encore appearance from Sylas. I listen to her updates while I watch Sy with poorly concealed wonder. Though most of my inner circle voted against this little extended stay, I am happy that I vetoed them all and did this for me, for him, for his charity. It’s going to be terrible plucking him from my life yet again but the chemistry, the history, the way we fit together… it’s magic.

  Magic is an illusion, stupid, Negativity laughs wickedly.

  I try to imagine Negativity with a piece of gray-silver duct tape over her flapping mouth and immediately my mood lightens.

  Anyway, Sy was right about the charity thing. I’ve always been a sucker for a good cause. Helping him to help the people that benefit from his nonprofit is a no-brainer, and it makes Cline look like a better politician than he actually is.

  Hey, maybe this is like… closure you know? A healthy thing to help you close out the Sylas chapter on a positive note, Optimism proposes and I make a mental note to try to seek Optimism’s input more often, though for the last several years I was beginning to think she was a deaf mute.

  “Have any of the news outlets gotten back to us about the live town hall feature for Cline?”

  “Not yet but I am keeping an eye out for it. How’s your stomach? Doctor Garcia’s nurse called to remind you they are waiting for you to book that endoscopy thing. Should I schedule it for you?”

  “My stomach is fine and please tell Doctor Garcia’s nurse that I am busy and in no hurry to have a video camera attached to a sewer snake crammed down my throat while I’m drugged,” I deadpan then shiver thinking about it.

  And you don’t have anyone to stay with you afterward until the anesthesia wears off as they had recommended, Practicality adds with a nod. I mentally cut my eyes at her telling her to have a seat. I’m fully—painfully aware that I have no one there to depend on. No family. No real friends. Hell, even my neighbors are never around. I only have Bethany and that is only because it’s her job though she has made several attempts at befriending me.

  “You got it,” Bethany chirps. “He’s hot. Is he like… an old flame?” she whispers.

  “What?”

  “The guy!” she laughs. “I didn’t imagine the stud in the boxers. So, is he hotter in person? I bet he is.”

  “Yes. Too hot for his own good,” I deadpan staring him right in the eyes over the top of my cellphone. Bethany giggles, I hang up. Sy nods his satisfaction, grinning like he did when we were teenagers. It does funny things to me.

  Tread carefully, Self-Preservation whispers and she’s right. I will need to keep my head on straight during this short reunion—this opportunity at closure while doing a good deed as Optimism said. I have no plans of falling in love with Sylas Broussard again. I still don’t forgive him for what happened back then.

  Negativity has duct tape sealing her mouth shut but her quirked up brows say plenty on her behalf.

  Wal-Mart.

  Hell has frozen over and pigs now fly because clad in Wal-Mart clothing head to toe, including cute little sandals, Sy and I are now going to dinner at a local place he swears has the absolute best ribs. Yes, I said the sandals are cute. Actually so is the clothing. Soft denim shorts with a frayed hem and a flowing top that I had not expected to like at all. The designer clothes in my apartment back home are weeping but the big box store was the only place nearby with clothing to get me by until Sy takes me back to Palmetto Grove tomorrow for my car and suitcase. I can’t say I care about luxury threads at the moment, not when Sylas is temporarily back in my life for an encore performance. For the most part I’m enjoying this little getaway.

  Mrs. Oppenheim was a lovely old lady who beamed when she saw Sylas then promptly frowned at me. Still, diplomatic Raegan Potter in place I shook her hand and declared her plantation style home as being the most beautiful house I had ever seen. That was enough to win her approval it seemed because she immediately took me on a tour of the sprawling property. Sylas unloaded bag after bag of red mulch from his truck while taking sly glances my direction. The action was reciprocal. Watching his lean, muscular body working is a sight. He worked for over an hour; sweat inching in drops down his temple, over his throat, lower to his chest. He stacked the bags of mulch and potting soil neatly in the garden shed and Sy promised her he would return and we would sort out her flowerbeds for the rapidly approaching fall season.

  “So who did you say we’re meeting for dinner?” I ask as I slide into the vinyl-upholstered booth first, followed by Sylas. His thick leg rests against mine beneath the table and giddy butterflies inside bat their wings with gusto. Am I really here with Sy?

  “Eugene Yoder and Dale Hayden. Gene does the books for me and since you agreed to help, I figured you should meet the money man,” he explains. “And Dale is a hand. I met him about a year ago.” Sy squints his eyes, thinking. “He’s a mechanic by trade but he’s a jack of all trades so I pay him to help me out with the fleet.” He shrugs his big shoulders and flips over a paper menu, jabbing his finger at a menu item. “These. You gotta get these ribs.” Just then the bell over the door to the restaurant clangs a pathetic sound that falls flat. A man with thinning russet hair walks toward our table showcasing a kind smile. I note his slight limp and absently wonder what caused it. He’s nowhere near old, middle aged perhaps but certainly not old enough to walk with a cane due to old age. Dressed in blue jeans and an LSU Tigers tee shirt he dips his head toward me. “Dale! Good to see ya buddy.” Sy gets to his feet and slaps Dale on the back. “Dale, this is Rae, Rae, this is Dale.”

  “Wow, she is beautiful,” Dale says in a soft voice looking from me to Sy, then back to me. “Heard a lot about you miss. Happy to finally meet you. I’s afraid Sy was tellin’ me fish stories when he’d be talkin’ about you,” Dale says extending his hand. Sy snorts.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you Dale.”

  The bell above the diner chimes again and I look over to see an older man, with silver hair, dressed in neatly pressed slacks and a polo shirt. He smiles on approach extending his hand to Sy and Dale before turning his eyes my way. “I’m Gene Yoder. It’s a pleasure,” he says with a smile that doesn’t quite seem sincere.

  “Raegan Potter,” I say, shaking his hand.

  “Yes, I know who you are,” he’s still smiling but his eyes pinch at the edges making his wrinkles deepen for a moment. “I’ve seen you on cable news and whatnot,” he explains.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Sylas tells me you’re going to be assisting with the first annual fundraiser banquet?”

  “That’s the rumor,” I assert while looking him squarely in the eyes. He only nods with his insincere smile still tugging at his features.

  “Let me get y’all a drink,” Dale says and Sy nods. Eugene Yoder stands beside Dale. “I’ll go with you,” he says. Sylas asks for a beer and I stick to water. It’s unlikely there is cabernet here at Sheryl’s Rib Shack. Dale limps slowly to the bar with Gene at his side and they wait for our drinks.

  I want very badly to question Sylas about Eugene Yoder but I decide I had better not rock the boat unnecessarily. Still, I recognize someone from my side of the tracks anywhere. I’d bet he is no stranger to American politics. I make a note in my phone reminding me to check into his background when I have a moment alone.

  “So you talk about me?” I change the subject and bump my shoulder against Sylas’ while I look around th
e table for utensils rolled in something resembling a napkin.

  “Only when we were telling scary stories on boring fishing trips,” he shrugs. “Good material,” he nods. It makes me laugh a deep, shoulder-shaking laugh, and it feels glorious.

  “Where are the forks and knives in this place,” I ask through a bewildered grin as I move things around on the tabletop.

  “This place is a novelty. You don’t need forks and knives,” he chuckles. “These are your utensils darlin’,” he says holding his hands up and wiggling his fingers back and forth. He was trying to be funny but hearing that endearment rolling off his tongue is a sharp knife cutting through the amiable atmosphere. It’s a trigger.

  “Don’t call me that, please,” I warn quietly, averting me eyes to my lap and keeping them pinned there.

  Sylas pauses, in my peripheral field of vision I see him looking my direction. I can feel the weight of his regard. “What in the world is wrong with saying darlin’? Too country for you now, darlin’?” He’s only playing around with me, I know that, but Anxiety has perked up and has begun pacing in a circle with her arms crossed and pinched expression on her face. Sylas tries to tip my chin upward to face him but I jerk away. “What’s wrong?” he demands.

  “Just don’t call me that,” I clip a little too loudly. Sylas’s head snaps back only a hair’s breadth but his eyes are scrutinizing, asking questions he must by now know I won’t answer. Dale, and Gene walk up to the table just in time for my outburst. They deposit the drinks on the table and slide into the other side of the booth, both of them looking from me to Sy then back again. “Sorry,” I mumble and try to smile as I pull my water closer to me and busy my hands with squeezing the lemon slice perched on the rim of the glass.

  I peek up at Sylas for just a moment to find him studying me for the briefest moment longer. “Sorry y’all, being that we grew up together I get carried away picking on her now and again. She has to put me in my place when that happens,” Sy explains easily covering for me, and placing his hand on my knee beneath the table, giving a gentle pat.