Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
“Not if things stay quiet,” I mutter. He just laughs.
BW is tired and truth be told, I am too. If he had wanted to go back home, I would have driven, but part of me is glad we are going to sleep for a bit. We book a room at the nearby motel that the Sons own. BW crashes first, already out before I step into the shower. I check my phone. Nothing from Dia.
I hesitate, then call.
She answers on the second ring, voice still rough but not as strained.
“Hey, sorry I was sleeping again.”
“You sound better.” I tell her the truth and settle in.
“Someone sent me a delivery order.” She pauses. “I have a feeling that someone is you. So, thank you. Soup helps. It was a nice surprise.”
I sit on the edge of the bed, towel around my neck. “Did you eat it?”
“Half. Couldn’t finish. But I appreciated it.”
Silence settles between us—not uncomfortable, just real.
“Listen,” I say after a minute, leaning back against the headboard, “I know things got tangled between us. But before all of that, I was your friend. Still am.”
She doesn’t respond right away, but I hear her breathing—slow and steady like she’s trying to believe it.
“I miss that,” she says eventually. “When it was easy. When I didn’t have to explain myself all the time.”
“You don’t have to explain shit to me. Not then, not now either,” I remind her on a sigh.
“You always did understand me more than most,” she says, and her voice cracks near the end.
“That’s ‘cause I paid attention.”
She goes quiet again. I wait. “Justin?”
“Right here, darlin’.”
“Sometimes I feel like I’m broken in places no one sees. Like grief cracked me open and there’s no way to close it again.”
I close my eyes, breathing in the ache she’s laying bare. “You don’t need to close it. Dia, you gotta feel it in order to heal it.”
Another long silence. Then, softly: “You always know what to say.”
I grin faintly, though she can’t see it. “I’m just reminding you of what’s real.”
We talk for another twenty minutes. Nothing deep, just old memories and random shit. Her voice grows softer, and by the end, I can tell she’s half-asleep.
“Get some rest,” I say finally.
“You too, Justin.”
When the line goes dead, I sit there a minute longer, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazy circles above me. This road we’re on—me and her—it isn’t going to be easy. But the connection’s still there. Still strong. Still real.
I never planned on falling for her all over again. But life don’t give a damn about plans. And I sure as hell won’t abandon her now. Well for as long as I can I will be there.
Morning comes all too soon. We’re up before dawn. Motel coffee in paper cups, stale donuts from the gas station next door. Nothing glorious about the return trip, but there’s something about this part of the job—just wheels and highway and knowing you’ve done the dangerous part.
I drive. BW naps.
Dia texts back around noon.
Still wiped out. Think the soup saved me though. Had the other half today You’re the best.
It shouldn’t hit me like it does, but it does. I don’t reply right away. Instead, I think about all the versions of us that could’ve existed if timing had been different. The one where I kissed her first instead of her kissing me. The one where I danced with her when she asked me instead of telling her she was complicating my life more. The one where I didn’t leave her in the first damn place.
A storm rolls in around the northern edge of Georgia, fat drops of rain pounding the windshield, road noise drowned out by thunder. BW stirs, groans, wipes at his face like he’s being rained on even though he’s dry.
“Smell of rain wakes me up,” he mutters.
“Useful talent.” I joke with him.
He glances at me. “You and Dia— you ever gonna talk about it?”
I don’t pretend not to know what he means. “Don’t know. I’m not pushing. She’s still healing.”
BW nods. “Yeah. But healing don’t mean you gotta keep pretending you’re just a friend.”
I grip the wheel tighter. I don’t reply though. Nothing I can put into words ever explains the dynamic between we have.
“You think she doesn’t know how you feel? If I can see it my fuckin’ sister knows it.” he adds. “She’s not blind, brother.”
“She’s grieving.”
“Yeah. But she shut everyone out. You, though, she calls you back. She lets you in the house. Actions speak, fucker. That says a lot.”
We make it home by midnight, drop the van at the garage, and check in with Tripp. He gives the nod of approval. “Good work. Clean?”
“Clean,” I say. “Sons send their regards.”
I don’t go home after that. I drive past the shop, past the bar, out toward the island where Dia lives. I pull over beside her car. Looking at the lights being off, I hope she’s resting. I remain in place for a few minutes.