The Trouble With Goodbye

by Sarra Cannon

  For the first time in hours, I can hear myself swallow.

  And I’m nervous. Uncomfortable, even. What the fuck am I doing? Do I really want this? I can’t think straight.

  “I can’t believe you’re really home.” He stands a few inches from me and studies me like it was his job, his eyes taking in every inch of my body. “It’s like you’re a ghost.”

  I laugh at his choice of words. A ghost is exactly what I feel like here. Someone who died a long time ago.

  “Come sit with me.”

  I obey him because that’s what I do. That’s what Leigh Anne Davis has always done. She obeys. She doesn’t have a mind of her own. She doesn’t like to rock the boat. She’s meant to look beautiful and do as she’s told. A cardboard cut out of a real human being. Nothing more than an easily manipulated prop.

  When I tried to be something more, I got hurt. Maybe this version of me is the best one, but I don’t know how to get back here.

  My head is swimming.

  He sits on the large king-sized bed and motions for me to join him. I go to sit next to him, but he pulls me onto his lap instead. I’m straddling him and his breath grows shallow. I place my hand on his chest and his heart is beating fast.

  He grinds himself against me.

  This is supposed to turn me on. I’m supposed to want him right now. What the hell is wrong with me?

  Fear tenses my shoulders. I understood my indifference with the guys back at school. I could rationalize my lack of desire, telling myself these guys just weren’t the right kind of guys.

  But Preston? He used to be the love of my life.

  If I can’t make myself feel something for him, I’m more broken than I thought.

  I thrust my fingers into his hair and pull his lips toward mine. I part my lips and he devours me. I pretend it’s affecting me and let his hands roam over the top of my clothes. I moan, faking it, hoping that at any moment, this will all become real. I pray this will be my time machine. That one kiss will somehow erase the pain. I want to be the old me. The girl who used to love Preston Wright and who rocked in pleasure at the feel of his lips on her skin.

  He stands, lifting me up from the bed. In one swift movement, he flips me onto my back and is on top of me. An unexpected panic floods through me and I struggle for breath.

  I was fine when I was the one in control, but now the power has shifted and I feel claustrophobic.

  I push up on his chest and try to get some air, but he takes it as an act of passion and presses harder, crushing me beneath him. His mouth is covering mine and I can’t breathe. I scratch at his clothes and turn my head to the side, but he’s too drunk to notice. He moves his mouth across my jaw line and down my neck, but the weight of his body is like an anchor pulling me under.

  This isn’t what I want.

  “Stop, please,” I say, but the words sound weak. The sound of my own voice scares me, and I suddenly think I’ve been here before. That it’s happening all over again.

  I gasp for air, my pulse racing.

  Preston doesn’t even hear me. He pushes his fingers down past the waistband of my pants and a bright light of anger and fear pulses through me. With every ounce of strength I can gather, I push and kick. I grab his wrist and pull.

  Finally, I scream. “Get the fuck off me!”

  He freezes. His eyes fly open and for the first time, he looks at my face. Tears well up in my eyes and spill down my temples and into my hair.

  His eyebrows draw together and he pulls away, awkwardly taking his hand from my pants.

  I scramble backward on the bed. I’ve gone too far. Made a complete fool of myself. And I have no idea how to explain it. This is my ex-boyfriend. A guy I’ve had sex with a hundred times. And I just completely freaked out when he tried to touch me.

  I don’t blame the confusion I see on his face.

  “What the fuck just happened?” He doesn’t sound angry, just dazed. He stays at the end of the bed and makes no move to come closer.

  “I’m sorry.” I draw my legs up close to my body and hug them tight to me.

  I search for a good explanation. Anything that will keep him from asking too many questions.

  “I’m trying to figure out what just happened here,” he says. He stands up and runs a shaky hand through his hair. “Did I misread you? Or is this where we were headed?”

  “I don't know. I thought I wanted this,” I say.

  “But you don’t?” he asks, his face tense. I’ve hurt him. Wounded his ego.

  My hands are shaking. “I don’t know what I want,” I say, but that isn’t exactly true. I want impossible things. I want to erase pieces of my past. I want life to be easier. I want everything to be okay.

  “I think I should go.” I scoot off the end of the bed and head for the door.

  Preston touches my hand “Wait.”

  “I’m really sorry I freaked out.” I wipe tears from my cheeks. “It’s not your fault.”

  I know Preston would never do anything to hurt me. I led him on, kissed him like I wanted him, and then screamed bloody murder all in the space of about five seconds.

  But I can’t stay and explain why. Not to him. He wouldn’t understand.

  I apologize again, then open the door and disappear into the crowd.

  I don’t look back, but I don’t think he’s following me either. A few familiar faces say hello and try to pull me into conversation, but I make quick excuses as I rush by. I need to hold myself together just long enough to get out of here. I’m about two point five seconds away from a major meltdown and I really don’t want anyone to see that. Not here. Not tonight. Please, God, just get me out of this stupid party.

  It was a mistake to come here.

  I push and smile and worm my way through the crowd, run down four flights of steps, then finally break free. The humid night air brushes against my cheeks and I can breathe again. Fresh tears hover at the edge, just waiting for the floodgates to open. I hold them back. I’ve cried too damn much lately.

  But like my tears, I’m a girl on the edge. I hover at the top of some great height, peering over the side into nothingness. If I step back, I might lose myself forever. But one inch forward and I’m fucked. It’s fly or die.

  And in this moment, I’m just not sure I’m the flying type.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I pull my car keys from my pocket, but as I unlock the door and sit down, I realize I’ve had way too much to drink. Even though I feel stone-cold sober, I know I can’t drive right now. The last thing I need is to total a second car. Or to get pulled over. I rest my head against the steering wheel.

  I’d rather die than call my parents and ask for a ride home. Penny and the other girls are all still inside the party, and there’s no way I’m going back in there.

  I have no idea if Jenna and her friends ever even made it.

  My choices are to either sit here until I’m sober enough to drive or walk.

  I get out of the car and lock the doors. It’s got to be at least five miles to my parents’ house, but I don’t care. I need to move my feet. I need to blow off some steam and try to get my head on straight.

  I acted like a complete asshole tonight. All it will take is a couple more nights like this and the whole town will be talking about what a mess Leigh Anne Davis has become. People will figure it out. They’ll know, and they’ll start asking questions I don’t know how to answer.

  My mother will never let me hear the end of it, either.

  I can’t live like that. I have to hold it together.

  I step on to the narrow sidewalk and slip my heels from my feet. I should have worn flip-flops, but I wanted to look sexy. Pretty stupid after a night of waiting tables. My feet are swollen and a blister is already forming at the edge of my pinky toe.

  I make it fifteen minutes in to my walk of shame before the first tears begin to fall. I’m honestly surprised I made it that far.

  A few cars pass by, but I don’t look up. I hope it’s no one fro
m the party, because I look like an idiot walking home like this. I really hope it’s no one I know.

  And then I notice someone has slowed down and is matching my pace. I keep my eyes forward, but I know they are still there. If it’s Preston, I am going to die.

  Finally, I give in and look.

  It’s Knox.

  My mouth opens slightly and I suck in a ragged breath. I quickly swipe at the tears on my cheeks and laugh at my luck. This is the second time he’s seen me cry, and I don’t even want to think how crazy that must make me seem. How weak and drama-queen and high-maintenance.

  I stop and he stops too. The windows on the beat-up truck are rolled down and he’s got one arm leaning out the driver’s side, but he’s ducking his head slightly to look at me through the passenger side.

  “I thought that might be you,” he says. “You need a ride?”

  I look forward as if calculating just how far I still have left to go. “No, I’m fine.” I try to smile. “Thanks, though.”

  I give him a slight wave, then start walking again. I expect him to wave back, maybe say goodnight, and keep moving.

  But he doesn’t.

  I stop again and sort of cock my head and raise an eyebrow, questioning. “Are you planning on following me like this all night?”

  “Well, the way I see it, it’s two in the morning and that’s not really the best time for a pretty girl to be walking all alone, even in a small town like this,” he says. “You didn’t run your car into another tree or anything right?”

  I roll my eyes, but I smile. “No, I just…” My voice trails off. For some reason, I have the urge to really open up to this guy. I want to tell him all about my night and how badly it sucked. And for some reason, I feel like he’ll understand. Like he’ll get it.

  Maybe it’s something about those clear blue eyes and the flash of sadness I saw in them before. He’s been through hard times, and I know it somehow, even though I barely know him at all.

  “You just felt like taking a leisurely walk through town in the middle of the night?” He says it with a slight smile on his face, and I smile again too, then duck my head to try to hide it.

  “Well, what about you?” I ask. “What, do you just drive around town every night looking for damsels in distress so you can play the hero?”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Maybe,” he says. “I do make an awfully good hero when given the chance.”

  I can’t hide my smile now.

  “Get in,” he says. He leans across the seat and pulls the handle on the passenger door, then pushes it open. “I’ll take you home.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not sure I want to go home right now,” I say. My mother is probably waiting up for me even though I’m twenty years old. I can’t face her right now. Not like this. Plus, I still can’t shake this anger and confusion. “I really need to just blow off some steam. It’s been kind of a rough night.”

  “Well it just so happens I know the all-time best way to blow off steam.”

  I laugh, then bite my lip. I’m torn. For reasons I can’t explain, I really want to get into this truck with him.

  But is that stupid? I literally just freaked out when my ex-boyfriend tried to make out with me. Is getting in a truck with a complete stranger so he can take me lord-knows-where really the smart choice here?

  I look up and he’s staring at me with a world full of patience in his eyes. It’s almost as if he understands the weight of the choice I’m making and he respects it.

  I think of the way he held me that night in the dark. He pulled me into his arms without a second thought and never questioned my pain. I think of the butterflies I feel every time I’m near him. Butterflies I tried to force with Preston just to prove I’m still alive. That I’m not broken.

  Only, the truth is I am broken.

  And the guy right here in front of me is the only one who sees it. For some reason, he seems to like me anyway.

  I think maybe what I've been doing wrong this whole time is chasing my past and hating myself for not being that girl anymore. Maybe what I should do instead is learn how to embrace who I've become.

  I think I'm over-analyzing this whole thing.

  I stop thinking, and I get in.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Knox drives and I lean my head against the door and let the wind whip my hair across my face.

  He drives through downtown and keeps going. We end up on Harrison’s road, passing the scene of my accident. I don’t ask where he is taking me. For me, it’s an exercise in conquering fear. Learning to trust my instincts again.

  After another minute, he stops in front of an aluminum gate and hops out of the truck. He quickly unlocks the chain and drags the gate open, then gets back in.

  We’re surrounded by endless woods and the night is dark except for his headlights and a distant moon that lights the treetops.

  The truck bumps along the rugged dirt road that winds through the pine trees. I’m not exactly sure where we are, but I know we’re near the lake. A few of my friends have houses near here.

  We turn a corner and a house comes into view. I don’t get a good look at it, but I do notice a blue tarp covers one side of the roof. There are black marks like scars against the white paint near the roof and windows. Signs of a fire. In the darkness, it’s hard to tell the extent of the damage.

  “What is this place?” I ask.

  “This is my dream house,” he says.

  I’m not sure if he’s joking until I look at him and see the excitement in his eyes. He’s completely serious.

  I look at it again with fresh eyes. I can see the potential here, maybe. I want to get a closer look.

  “Show me,” I say.

  He opens the door for me and I take his hand as he helps me down. The simple contact sends shivers up my arm.

  I leave my heels in the car. He leads me to the small screened-in porch at the back of the house. It’s very dark now, without the truck’s lights, but he bends down and turns on a camping lamp. He lifts it up like we’re explorers in some kind of cave and we enter the old house together.

  “Watch your step,” he says, pointing out a burned piece of wood on my left. “Stay on this side.”

  “What happened here?” I look around and see the beauty of this place. It’s older than I realized at first. There’s a lingering scent of smoke, but I can also smell the heart-pine of the floors. An archway still stands between this back room and the kitchen, but the rest of the house on that side is ruined. The detail of the woodwork that survived, though, is breathtaking.

  “Kitchen fire,” he says. He shakes his head and stares at where the kitchen once stood. “About ten years ago.”

  “It’s just been sitting here empty this whole time?”

  He leads me down the central hallway where a large staircase leads up to the second floor. “Yeah. My uncle didn’t really have the money to put into fixing it,” he says. “I hate to see it like this, though. My grandfather built it when he first got married. My uncle and my mom both grew up here. That’s part of the reason I decided to move down here. I thought I’d try my hand at fixing it up myself.”

  He runs his hand along the railing.

  "My mom really loved this place," he says.

  "Does she know you're fixing it up?" I ask.

  He shakes his head and there's a sadness in his eyes. "My mom died from cancer when I was fourteen."

  A heavy feeling settles in my stomach. "I'm so sorry."

  “The house has some really beautiful bones to it,” he continues, but I can tell he's a bit shaken up from talking about her. “Just look at these banisters. All of this was hand-carved by my grandfather. I think it’s worth saving.”

  I stare at the way his hand runs so gently across the top of the wood. There’s such love in his touch. Such passion.

  He must miss her with all his heart.

  I am struck with the desire to place my hand on top of his, and I look away, swallowing hard.

  H
e shines the light up toward the ceiling. “See the old bead-board ceilings? You don’t really see that kind of work and craftsmanship anymore. It’s really cool.”

  “It is.”

  Only, I’m not really looking at the ceiling. I’m looking at him, thinking how this is the last place in the world I expected to end up tonight.

  “What?” he asks, lowering the light. “You think I’m crazy for trying to save all this?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I was thinking how crazy it is that I’m here at two in the morning with a complete stranger looking at an old burned down house. This night has been so…strange.”

  “Well, I didn’t bring you here to really see the house,” he says, a smile lighting up his eyes with mischief. “We came here to blow off steam, right?”

  He grabs my hand and leads me through the front door and out onto the porch.

  My eyes widen. The large wrap-around porch looks straight out to the moonlit lake. It’s so beautiful out here, it takes my breath away.

  He sets the light on the porch and lets go of my hand. Immediately, I miss the warmth of him. He walks down the steps and begins pulling his shirt up and over his head. Even in the dim light of the moon, I can see the ripple of muscles in his arms and back and my breath quickens.

  Just what exactly does he have in mind?

  He turns, walking backwards with a glint in his eye. “Come on, then,” he says, tossing his shirt to the ground. He reaches for the buckle on his belt and my heart skips.

  The buzz from the alcohol has long since faded, but there’s a new buzz starting deep in my belly and it makes me light-headed. I haven’t felt this way in a very long time. Maybe ever.

  I follow him to the edge of the lake. At first, I think we’re heading toward the dock and I suddenly realize he means for us to go swimming. But he turns and disappears into the woods, surprising me again.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, laughing and shaking my head. He’s the most wonderfully surprising guy I’ve ever met.

  Seconds later, his blue jeans hit the ground at the edge of the trees and the fire in my belly spreads lower. I’m not sure I’m ready for this, but I’m not sure I want to leave either.