All these years, I was sure silence and solitude equaled some form of comfort and peace, but now I’m not so sure.
I’d never admit this out loud, but having her around this past week wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Hearing someone else’s footsteps in the morning, having someone ask how my day was, the sound of another person’s voice filling this big, lifeless house … somehow it wasn’t all that terrible.
I think I’m going to miss it.
I think I’m going to miss her.
“So what’s next for you?” she asks. “After I’m gone, what’s River McCray going to do with himself?”
“Same old.” The second I answer her, I feel a flash of dread in the pit of my stomach, and I sure as hell wasn’t expecting to feel that. “You?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t want to go back to Scottsdale. That never really felt like home to me. Don’t really want to intrude on my sister’s newlywed life in San Francisco. My brother is in college, so moving into his frat house isn’t exactly an option. My mom lives in Kansas City, but I don’t really want to be that twenty-seven-year-old who moves back home. Plus we don’t really see eye to eye. Our relationship is more cordial than anything else. Less fighting that way.”
“So you have nowhere to go?”
She pulls in a lungful of clean, country air and lets it go. “Yeah. I guess now that you say that … you’re right. I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“So when you book that flight tomorrow, where’s it taking you?”
“I’ve got a few friends in Scottsdale I can stay with until I figure it out. And maybe I can get my job back, work a little bit and save up some more money until I decide my next move,” she says. “I don’t want to go back to Arizona, but right now that’s going to be my best option. It’s the lesser of all the evils.”
“What about your ex? He going to bother you if you’re there?”
“He shouldn’t,” she says.
“And if he does?” I ask.
“He’s kind of the least of my worries right now.”
Dragging in a contemplative breath, I make an offer. “You can stay here a bit longer if you need.”
Her gaze whips in my direction. If she’s shocked, that makes two of us.
“I appreciate that, River, but it won’t be necessary,” she says. “You’ve already been so generous, and I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”
Her rejection of my offer stings more than I thought it would, but I don’t dwell. I don’t let it consume me. I brush it off, telling myself it was a good thing I didn’t let myself get attached. I knew from the moment I saw her that letting myself feel a damn thing would be dangerous for me, so I held my cards close and kept her at a distance.
Looks like I made the right move.
Come tomorrow, she’ll be long gone, and it’ll be for the better.
And even if I were in a place of moving on, I wouldn’t deserve someone like her.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Leighton
“Come with me to The Oasis tonight.” I wash a dinner dish and hand it to River to dry Thursday night.
“I don’t go out.”
“I know you don’t go out, but I’m asking if you’d go out with me tonight,” I say. “Since it’s my last night in Bonesteel Creek … probably forever … I’d really love it if you’d join me.”
I wash another dish and hand it off, our hands brushing in the process.
“There’s no convincing me,” he says. “I’d rather shoot myself in the hand than step foot in that hellhole.”
“You don’t drink?”
“I don’t drink there.”
Draining the sink, I grab a dry towel and pat down my arms. “I figured you wouldn’t want to go … which is why I grabbed a few things when I went to town earlier.”
I head to the mudroom and return with a brown paper bag containing a bottle of red, a bottle of white, and a six pack of beer.
“What’s that for?” he asks, stacking a dried plate in a cupboard.
In the week that I’ve been here, I’ve yet to see a single appropriate wine glass, so I take two floral printed iced tea goblets from a cabinet and pour us each a glass of red.
“Cheers,” I hold mine up, nodding toward his.
His eyes move from the goblet to me and back before he finally humors me. Lifting his glass to mine, we clink and sip.
“What are we celebrating?” he asks.
“My last night in this house. The end of a very interesting week for … both of us.”
River takes another drink, and I follow suit.
“We can’t stand here all night sipping and staring at each other,” I say. “Do you have any music? Wait. Hang on.”
Taking my phone from my purse, I pull up a music app and select a country station. Pulling him by the arm, I lead him to the center of the kitchen before shoving the table out of the way.
“Dance with me,” I say.
River stares at me like I have two heads.
“Dance with me,” I say again, shouting above the music. Sitting my wine aside, I reach for his and place it on the table with mine. Next, I take his hands and move them to my hips. “Don’t act like you hate this.”
“I do. I hate dancing.”
“Tonight you don’t. Tonight you love to dance.” I smile, lifting my hands to his shoulders and swaying to the George Strait song playing from my little white phone. “I’m a terrible dancer, if that makes you feel any better.”
Staring, our eyes hold and I resist the urge to run my fingers through his thick, dark hair. Everything about him is so distant, and yet something in me is desperate to dig beneath that surface and see what I find. Or at least try. One last time.
“You’re not dancing,” I say, playfully smacking the side of his arm. He picks up his feet, moving in time with the melody. A few bars in, I realize he’s a perfectly fine dancer and maybe he just didn’t want to dance with me.
I imagine the last woman to wrap her arms around him in this kind of way was Allison. I imagine this is difficult for him, but I want to believe this will only help in the long run. And I want to believe she would’ve wanted this for him … some semblance of a life after her death.
“You’re such a liar,” I say when the song ends.
“What’d I lie about?”
“You said you hated dancing, but you’re actually pretty freaking amazing at it.”
“Never said I couldn’t dance—only said I hated it.”
Rolling my eyes, I pull myself away and return his wine to him. “Drink up. The night is young.”
He takes another swig, then another, drinking until his glass is empty. I waste no time pouring him another before topping myself off.
“What’s your favorite song, River?” I ask a moment later. “I’ve spent almost a week with you and I’ve yet to hear you listen to music.”
“Not a fan of music,” he answers without hesitation.
“Bullshit. Everybody likes music.”
“And you know this because …?”
“I’ve never met a single person who doesn’t like music.”
“And now you have.” He takes another drink, eyes locked on me.
“Why don’t you like it?”
He shakes his head, frowning. “Too many songs remind me of things I don’t want to be reminded about.”
“Then only listen to the new ones.”