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She shook her head quickly. “No. Don’t say a word. It’s not your place.”
“Since when is it not my place to defend you against people taking advantage of you?”
“Since that person is my mother who likes you.”
I shrugged. “I don’t care if she likes me. All I care about is how she treats you.”
“Well, I care if she likes you. So don’t screw that up tonight, okay?”
I paused. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to press a button.”
“Can you just drive, please?”
I pulled out of the parking lot and we rode back to her house. Silence fell between us, and I hated it. After the night we’d spent together this past weekend, I figured things might change. That her attitude toward me would change. That her opinion of the things I did might change. But after we woke up the next morning, it felt as if nothing ever happened, like we hadn’t made passionate love before falling asleep beside one another. She couldn't wait to get home. She didn’t even stick around for a cup of coffee before she rushed out the front door.
Like I was nothing but a little booty call that got too out of hand.
I hated all of this.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
I drew in a silent breath. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay. Nothing about me is okay right now.”
“We’ll get through it. Like we always do.”
“We’ve been trying to get through it for a while, now.”
I came to a stop at a light. “Can I be blunt?”
She nodded. “Sure.”
“Is this you trying to break up with me?”
She whipped her eyes to mine. “No. Hell, no! Why would you think that?”
“Just seemed like the perfect wind-up before the swing, that’s all.”
She took my hand. “I’m not breaking up with you, Clint. I just--know I’m not okay right now. And I don’t know how to get okay again.”
I brought her hand to my lips for a kiss. “Just stop shutting me out. You’re doing it all the time. Like I told you, even if your thoughts are jumbled, I want to hear them. I want to help you work through them. Like you did for me.”
“I’m not good at this, am I?”
I chuckled. “You’re really not. But that doesn’t mean you can’t get better.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. You’re used to being everyone’s rock. And sometimes, a rock that has been standing on its own for too long forgets how to lean against another structure. Because it’s too dug down into its ways.”
She paused. “Where in the world did you pull that from?”
The book I’m writing. “Just came up with it.”
She giggled. “You should write it down somewhere. Use it in one of your stories.”
Just tell her about the book, Clint. “Maybe I will.”
