I think, even before she spoke the words, I knew I was going to lose her. Maybe it was why I subconsciously tried to preemptively fill the void with something I knew I wanted. If I’d known that was going to be the nail in our coffin, I would’ve given it all up. Even if only to avoid seeing the look of complete and utter devastation on her face, the way every bit of light remaining in her eyes had died as she walked away from me for good.
Mom squeezed my arm, and I gave her a tentative smile. I was sure my thoughts were written all over my face. Being back home was hard. Too complicated for my liking. At least in Nashville, I didn’t have to watch my back around every turn. Maybe that was why I liked it so much, why I never came home anymore. It was too hard. I wasn’t even sure I could do this, but I knew I was damn well going to try for Mom’s sake.
“I’m thirsty, baby,” Mom said, turning my way. “Will you go and get me a beer?”
“You trying to get drunk?” I asked.
She looked away, hiding a smile. “I don’t know. Maybe. I just want to live a little tonight. I want to have a perfect night with my perfect family.”
“You sure you’re not already drunk?”
“Oh my god, you’re being a buzzkill. I knew you were like your father, but I didn’t realize you got that from him, too.”
“Hey!” Dad and I protested at the same time. “I’m not a buzzkill,” he murmured.
“Honey, you’ve kept one hand on that damn cell phone for the last month, just in case I go down. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had 9-1-1 on speed dial.”
Dad looked down, noticing the way his hand was, in fact, resting beside his pocket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Doesn’t sound like me.”
I leaned over and pecked Mom on the cheek. “Alright, fine. But just because you asked so nicely,” I deadpanned.
“There’s the sweet boy I raised,” she said, lightly patting my cheek with her hand. “Thank you, baby.”
I squeezed past the folks sitting next to us and jogged down the stairs, keeping my head down in hopes I didn’t run into anyone from high school. I didn’t consider myself well-known in any capacity, but there were a handful of times people slid into my DMs after years of silence, asking for autographs or concert tickets.
Yeah, absolutely the fuck not.
After standing in line for far longer than it should’ve taken, I had three beers in hand and was walking back to my seat when someone bumped into me from behind, spilling all three drinks at the feet of two women. I turned around, ready to tear into whoever it was, but I only saw the backs of three kids’ heads as they sprinted to the far end of the arena.
“God-fucking-dammit,” I cursed, reaching down to pick up the cups as a pair of boots turned to face me. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. Let me help you clean?—”
“Grady?”
I jerked my head up, staring into the deepest blue eyes I’d ever seen. The ones that continued to haunt me to this day, every time I closed my eyes. “Cleo?”
Her mouth gaped open, quickly snapping it shut as she scanned the area. “What’re you doing here?”
I stood up, clocking the way her eyes tracked the movement, how the pulse point in her neck kicked up several notches as she sucked in a breath. God-fucking-dammit had been right. What had I been thinking earlier, telling myself she’d been right to let us go? Looking at her now, all I could think about was how wrong it was her hand wasn’t in mine.
“Uh, I’m in town to see Mom. You know, just helping with stuff,” I stammered out. “She asked to come tonight, so…” I gestured to the fairgrounds around us. “Here I am.”
Her fake smile faltered. “She told me. I’m so sorry, Grady.”
“It’s fine. She’ll be fine. She’s too tough to be taken out by something like this.” I knew she talked to my mom on a somewhat regular basis, but for some reason, the fact she knew about the cancer kind of pissed me off. It wasn’t about me, I knew that at the end of the day, but why didn’t she reach out? Why didn’t she ask how I was doing? Losing my mom would destroy me. Didn’t that warrant a text message?
Then again, what was she supposed to do? Text me out of the blue and tell me she was sorry about the diagnosis? It would’ve pissed me off more. None of this was fair.
“She is,” Cleo agreed. “How long are you in town for?”
“Dunno,” I said, rocking back on my heels. “I don’t have anything going on until next month. Figured I’d probably hang around until then.”
Cleo nodded. “Good. That’s good. I know she misses you. She talks about you all the time.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. The sound must’ve taken her by surprise because those big eyes widened like she’d done something wrong. “I’m sorry. It’s just… This is fucking weird, right? The small talk bullshit? I mean, it isn’t like we’re strangers.” I shook my head when she continued to stare at me like a deer caught in the headlights. “Maybe it’s just me, but?—”
“No,” Cleo said hurriedly, stepping forward. Her hand landed on my arm in what I’m sure was supposed to be some kind of polite gesture, but it burned like fire the moment our skin touched. She jerked her hand back, clinging to the beer can in her hands instead. “It’s definitely not just you. I was just thinking about that, honestly. It’s like I’m second-guessing what I want to do or say right now because I could say the wrong thing.”
“Well, what’s going on in your head right now?” I asked.
