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She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
“I see.” I turned away. What more was there to say? My voice sounded paper thin when I mumbled, “Okay, well, I have to get back to work.”
“I’m sorry, Devo.” She pressed her fist hard against her stomach, below her breasts. “I want things to be different, but… I-I wanna be with you. God, I can’t even tell you how much?—”
I shrugged into the darkness and wrapped my arms around stomach. “But you can’t. Or you won’t. We’re in different places in our lives. I thought I’d be okay with it. I really did. I understand where you’re comin’ from. Truly, I do, Abey, but I can’t hide who I am. I’m sorry. I’m not tryin’ to make you feel bad about where you’re at, but the kids I work with—it would feel dishonest to me to be an advocate for them and not be honest with them. I thought I could be okay with it.” I stood tall and took a deep breath. “But I just can’t.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doin’.”
And she left. The curtain fell back into place behind her, the bell on the door clamoring loudly when she opened then closed it, and I wanted to cry.
In fact, I did.
I stood there, staring at the back of the murder curtain as tears dripped from my chin, breathing deeply, trying to understand my reaction to Abey’s rejection. She wasn’t rejecting me as a person. She liked me—maybe more than liked me—but all I felt was shame when I thought about being her dirty little secret.
I couldn’t be anyone’s secret. I couldn’t advocate for LGBTQ youth and, at the same time, hide my own relationship. That wouldn’t be right, and it didn’t feel good.
But not being with Abey again, not touching her again or kissing her, hearing her soft voice or the musical lilt of her laugh, the thought of that didn’t feel good either.
It hurt.
The goddamn bell jingled again. The sound grated inside my head, and a gruff man’s voice demanding service cut through my confusion. Great. One more man to look down on me.
I flicked away my tears, took a deep breath, and went out front to sell guns or fanny packs or whatever else, as the woman starring in the future I’d stupidly let myself envision climbed into her truck outside and drove away.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ABEY
“Why’re you sittin’ out here?” Frank asked when he walked into the station after lunch.
“Where else would I sit?” I asked, annoyed. “This is my desk, ain’t it?”
“In the sheriff’s office,” he said, like duh, Abey.
“This is my desk, dammit. Why’s everything gotta change?”
He stopped in front of me with his hands on his hips. I didn’t have to look up to know it. I could feel it. “What’s wrong with you?”
I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. I’d never shared my feelings with Frank before, not about this. It just wasn’t me to talk about that kind of shit. I wanted to laugh when I realized the old grouch was more in tune with his inner self than I was. “Nothin’.”
Walking behind me, Frank rested his big hands on the back of my chair and then spun me to face him. He pulled his own chair away from his desk and sat two feet in front of me.
Arching an eyebrow, he waited for me to explain my bad mood.
“Things have to change, don’t they?”
“Seems like they do.”
“I’m gay, Frank. I’m a lesbian. I fuck women.”
He nodded. “Mmhm. And?”
Really? That was all he had to say on the matter?
“And I’m also the sheriff, for all intents and purposes. I can’t be seen galavantin’ around town with a woman. And now that I’ve found the one I want, it’s even more important that people respect me. I just can’t. It’s not the right time.”
God, just saying the words hurt. My chest ached so goddamn bad, I had to hold back tears.
