She’s holding something back from me.
Something that’s happened to her. Something that has derailed her. I don’t know what it is, but Bristol isn’t telling me the whole truth.
And I hate it but also at the same time, I have no right to know what she isn’t telling me either.
Just like you haven’t said shit about your dad to anyone.
I scrub my hand through my hair and glance over to her where she’s dozed off in the passenger seat.
Her head is resting on the window, her eyes are closed, and her breathing is even. The lights and shadows play across her face as I make my way to the address she typed into my phone.
There’s something so right about her being here, beside me, letting me take care of her. It shouldn’t be, but it just is.
It’s her. She always felt so right. Her trust isn’t something I deserve—especially after how I left things last time—but it’s what I desperately want.
Should I be flirting with her? No.
Do I hope she loses her job? Fuck no.
But she’s like a drug, and all I can think about is the next taste of it. Deserved or not.
I navigate through an older neighborhood. Apartments line the streets and the sidewalks are cracked. Trees compete with streetlights for space.
It feels generic.
Just like Bristol’s car.
And not that there is anything wrong with that, because isn’t that where I came from? The norm where everyone is like everyone else, all struggling to survive the day to day, all fighting to get a leg up in the world?
A place I should still be, in all honesty.
But most definitely not where she should be, though.
Guilt eats at me. It’s raw and real and unfounded as I pull up to the curb, but it’s there nonetheless.
What if I hadn’t left last time?
What if I knew how to fix the fucked-up inside me so I could be what she deserves?
What if. What if. What if.
I shift the SUV into park, strangely hoping to have a few more moments with her, but the motion startles her awake. Her hands flail, knocking her purse off her lap so some of the contents fall onto the floor mat.
Flustered, she clambers to gather everything and shove it back in her purse. “I’m sorry. I fell asleep. I didn’t mean to—”
“Bristol.” She shoves another thing into her purse. “It’s okay. Relax.” I place my hand on her forearm to calm her down. Funny thing is, I didn’t know how much I needed the connection too. Her eyes meet mine and when she smiles, the only thought I can manage is, why is this so easy when it simply can’t be? “You’re burning the candle at both ends. Don’t apologize.”
I climb out of the car and open her door for her. “Let me walk you up.”
“No. I’m fine. Really. It’s just up the stairs.” She smiles and I write off her jitters for just having been startled awake.
Every part of me wants to kiss her goodnight. Wants to follow her up those stairs. Wants to feel the warmth of her body against mine. Wants to wake up next to her.
Turn it off. Shut it down. Walk away.
It’s not about what’s best for you when it comes to her, Jennings. It’s always been about what’s best for her.
Why change now?
I lean forward and brush a kiss to her cheek. “Good night, Shug. Get some sleep. Text me in the morning, and I’ll make sure you get to work on time.”
I expect a refusal but am greeted with a sleepy ghost of a smile and a quick nod. “Thank you. Night.”
Bristol walks away with a quick look over her shoulder before she disappears between two apartments in a trove of darkness.
Conflicted over things I’m not even sure of, I stare where I last saw her for way longer than I should. It’s only when I climb back in my SUV that I notice her driver’s license on the passenger seat. It must have fallen out of her purse.
She looks back at me in the photo. Her hair is a little darker and her smile crooked. I’m brought back to picture days in high school and waiting to see which one of our student ID cards was worse. How she’d carry mine around in her purse and keep them long after the school year ended.
But there’s something else that catches my eye. The address. It’s different than where I’m parked. A quick glance at the issue date of her license says it’s only a few months old. That means the address should be correct.
Curiosity has me punching the address into my GPS and heading there.
The little cottage-like apartment is two blocks over and one block down from where I dropped Bristol off. The driveway in front is empty, and the front porch has some potted flowers that spill over their edges.
Just as I pull to the curb on the opposite side of the street, a light flicks on in the front room, and Bristol moves to the windows and closes three sets of blinds.
I’m not sure if I’m hurt or impressed by her deceit. Hurt that she doesn’t want me to know where she lives and impressed that she had the balls to deceive me.
The question is, as her silhouette moves about the room, why doesn’t she?
It seems someone else is keeping her guard up too.
So why does that make me even more determined to tear it down?
I sit there and stare at her place long past the time the lights turn out. It’s either sit here or stare at my ceiling. Insomnia is a bitch to say the least.
Those fucking what ifs come back to haunt me in the silence of my car.
My fingers begin to tap out a riff on the steering wheel.
Chords start repeating over and over in my head.
Those fucking lyrics that have eluded me week after week materialize out of nowhere.
One night. Love shined.
The taste of you stuck in my mind.
Sunrise. Goodbyes.
The words we said were total lies.
Long roads. Dead ends.
Being fine alone was all pretend.
On the road. On the stage.
To live without you I had to disengage.
You were the one, right from the start.
Because of that, I broke your heart.
I’ve always loved you,
But could never keep you.
You won’t forgive.
And I can’t forget.
You’ve always been my sweet regret.
I look down at the words I scribbled on the back of a receipt I had in my wallet. I read them over and over, the music to accompany them all but composing itself in my head.
I guess my muse is talking again.
Too bad I can’t tell her the words she deserves to hear.
