“I REALLY DON’T FEEL like lunch, Delaney. But thank you,” I say, trying not to let her hear how much her insistence drives me crazy. She goes on and on about how I need someone to hang out with today, how Cam asked her to check on me, how she’ll take me for coffee cake at Carlson’s.
She means well. I know that. But I also know what it’ll be and that’s a huge anti-Walker fest. While I’ve wanted someone to join my grumblings, as the day has worn on and I really consider listening to it, it doesn’t seem appealing.
“Delaney,” I say, cutting in. “I need to go. I have a call coming in.”
“Call me back.”
“Okay. Bye.”
I end the call and toss the phone on the sofa.
The sun is out, but a little creek has formed in the back yard. It flows from the neighbors on the north to the ones on the south. The kids at the top of the hill have made these little boats and are floating them down to their friends below. Like a busybody old lady, I stand at the window and watch them play in the water. They’re so happy. So carefree. Not old enough to have their hearts broken.
A knock at the front door startles me. Expecting to see Delaney with a bag of takeout, I pull it open without asking who it is. But it’s not Delaney. It’s Peck.
The mischief that typically riddles his eyes is gone and is replaced with a concern that rushes back all the events from last night. I lean my head against the door and expel a sigh. “What are you doing here?”
“Came to check on my buddy.”
“Don’t make me cry,” I say, choking back a sob.
He gives me his goofy smile. “You doing all right?”
“About as well as you might’ve guessed when you realized I found out what you all already knew.”
I let that hang in the air, a little jab to let him know how I feel. He takes the hit, actually flinching, before removing his hat and running a hand through his wild, blond hair.
“I fucking told him to tell you,” he says, shaking his head. “We all did. Every single one of us, Slugger.”
“But none of you did,” I say, standing upright. “I can see why Machlan didn’t. I don’t really know him. Maybe not even Lance. But you?”
His face falls as I stand before him, calling him out on what certainly feels like a betrayal.
“You were the one lugging me to Nana’s,” I point out. “You were the one shoving us together and making sure we had enough opportunities to connect. Hell, Peck, you were the one who came up with the idea for me to work there.”
“You wanna know why?” he shoots back.
“I’d love to.”
“Because I could tell from that very first night that Walker needed someone like you. Did I know he was gonna fall on his ass for you? No. But I was thinking, at a minimum, you and he could spend some time together and it would pull him out of the fucking fog he’s been in for years.”
“So maybe I’d sleep with him and he’d get over Tabby?” I ask, my brows shooting to the ceiling. “Gee, thanks.”
“That’s not at all what I mean,” he swears, plopping his hat back on. “He’s been over Tabby for years. He’s just been kind of stuck.”
My head slips from the door.
Peck dips his chin. “He’s a great guy. I just hoped maybe I’d see the Walker I knew before he married Tabby. And you know what? I did.”
“At my expense.”
“Was it?”
“Absolutely.”
“What does the fact he married a woman who ran off, one he didn’t even care enough about to chase down for a divorce—how does that hurt you? Did we know he was married? Yeah. I was there that day. I watched him almost drink himself to death an hour before the ceremony. The whole town saw him with her and the whole fucking place saw the aftermath. You think people are judging you because of this? Think again.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“It wasn’t my place.” He teeters on the edge of the step. “I don’t know why Walker didn’t. I know he hated falling for you knowing he still technically had a wife. It’s why he pushed back so hard against it. He was going to tell you after he got back this weekend with her signature on the divorce papers.”
All of this makes my head spin. The stress in my shoulders aches, the acid in my stomach almost eating it raw. I just want to be happy again, to smile, to want to go do something instead of sitting on the sofa and being miserable.
I want to see Walker. I want to kiss him and hold him and make him laugh. But the man lied to me, omitted something beyond significant, and I don’t know if I can ever trust him again.
“Go for a drive with me,” Peck says, offering me his hand. “Some fresh air will do you some good.”
“I don’t look fit to go anywhere.”
“My truck won’t care,” he says, shaking his proffered palm. “Come on. Trust me.”
“The last time you said that I ended up at Nana’s.”
“Not today. No Nana’s. No Crank. No Walker’s house. Promise. Just me and you and my ol’ truck.”
I consider going inside and sitting by myself. I think about pacing the floors, taking a bath, overthinking everything.
With a deep, uncertain breath, I take Peck’s hand. “Don’t let me down.”
“I won’t. Promise.”
THE RAIN MISTS AGAINST the windshield of Peck’s truck. It’s not heavy or hard but consistent enough that I can’t see Dr. Burns’ building anymore.
My breath starts to steam the cab as I wait for Peck to come back. He disappeared inside Crave fifteen minutes ago, leaving me in the truck when I refused to go back to the scene of the crime—and I’m not even sure which crime, exactly, I was referring to.
Despite the warm temperatures, the rain works its way into my bones. A chill settles over me and I hold myself, rocking back and forth, wishing he’d hurry up. Like I used to do when I was a little girl, I make a deal with myself: if he’s not out by the time I count to one hundred and twenty, I’m going in to get him.
The counting starts in my head as I think I see Walker’s truck. But it’s not. It’s actually a midnight blue truck that’s a slightly different model than Daisy. As the numbers keep going up, I tick back through the night I hit her with the bat, the first day at Crave, the church service. I remember every stare, every kiss, every accidental and purposeful touch. I yearn for more. Need them, even, and wonder if I’ll ever feel normal without them.
Hitting the magic number, I groan and open the truck door. The warm water mists around me, almost like a thick, wet fog. The street is empty as I jog across and lug on the door to Crave. It opens easily.
There are a few lights on around the bar, mostly advertisements that glow in a variety of colors. My eyes dart to the back table, the one Walker frequents, and where the bomb that blasted me apart last night. It’s empty, the chairs neatly arranged around it, the pool balls in their pockets, everything in order.
“Peck?” I call, my voice echoing off the walls. “Where are you?”
When he doesn’t answer, I consider taking a spritzer out of the cooler and sitting down. It’s not my thing, but I’m not exactly me today. Instead, I walk over to the cork boards that line the wall beneath the television.
Notes of every size and color are pinned, some serious and some not. A napkin stuck to the cork with a nail reads, “Someone tell Denise to get her ass home.” There are three pictures of two football players wearing Legends hats hanging at the top. There’s an advertisement for a wood chipper and a poem with more words I can’t read than words I can.
“Hey.”
I jump at the voice. I don’t turn around though because it’s not Peck. I don’t move because my feet refuse to walk away from him.
“Where’s Peck?” I ask Walker, feeling his energy move around behind me. I close my eyes and breathe in his cologne, tears filling my lids.
“He’s in the truck. Just went out the back door.”
“So this was a plan to get me here?”
“Actually, it wasn’t,” he says. “There was a plan but it involved me coming to your house after Peck made sure you were all right. This is just happenstance.”
Second-guessing everything I think and everything I do, I turn to face him. His eyes have dark rings around them, his clothes the same he wore last night. I refuse to let the tears spill over.
“It’s a pattern, huh?” he chuckles. “You. Me. Crave.”
“Now we have your wife to add to that,” I throw back.
He nods, struggling to stay composed. “Fair enough.”
“There’s nothing fair about it,” I tell him. “You set me up.”
“No, I didn’t. I was going to tell you.”
“When? When did you decide was a good time for me to know the man I was falling in love with was married to someone else?” I realize my slip, but it’s too late. His eyes go wide and he starts to step towards me, but I shake my head. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t tell you because, at first, I didn’t think it mattered. The marriage was a joke and only was intact legally because I didn’t care enough to chase her down for a divorce. You were probably leaving anyway and I figured why get into it?”
“Because it would’ve been nice to know.”
“And I apologize.” His eyes cloud as he runs a hand through his hair. “God, I’m so fucking sorry.”
“You lied to me. I told you everything about me. I contemplated turning down a job with my brother for you,” I say, my face damp despite my best efforts to keep it from happening. “I made decisions that I hoped would give us a chance to figure things out between us and you made decisions that you knew would be worse the longer you waited.”
“I tried to tell you,” he says, watching the tears fall. “Every time I tried, I got scared. Afraid you’d leave. Afraid you’d be pissed or would have your feelings hurt. I thought it would be a hell of a lot easier if I had a signed set of papers in my hand that said it was over. A thing of the past.”
Despite my glare, he stalks across the room and stops in front of me. He searches my face, his own full of the same misery that’s torn apart my soul.
“What are the odds we’d end up back here?” He reaches out and touches my face. My brain screams to pull away, but my heart wins. I lean against his hand, the warmth of his palm caressing my cheek. “Let this be our starting point. Let us try again.”
“Have we ever really tried? Or was that all a lie?”
“Nothing I said to you was a lie. Nothing I insinuated or whispered in your ear while you slept.”
Furrowing a brow, I don’t dare ask.
“Slugger, please . . .”
Standing on my tiptoes, my heart bleeding into my chest, I press a kiss to the side of his face. As if he knows what I’m saying, he closes his eyes and drops his hand from my face.
“I need to go,” I whisper turning to the door.
“Sienna, wait . . .”
“I’ve given you a second,” I smile sadly. “I don’t know what else you could want at this point.”
He calls out after me, but I swing the door open and run across the road. The rain drizzles on my head as I climb into the cab of Peck’s truck.
“Go.”
Without a word, Peck steps on the accelerator and starts down the street. Only when we’re ready to turn off do I look back to see Walker standing in the middle of the road again, his head bowed to the asphalt, the rain creating a foggy haze around him.