Page 51 of Where I Should’ve Been

I’m back in the guest room, sitting cross-legged on the bed, the faint smell of syrup still clinging to my sweater and a half-finished yellow scarf pooling in my lap. My knitting needles click quietly in the silence in a soft rhythm that’s almost meditative. My stitches are uneven, my yarn keeps tangling, but somehow, it feels grounding.

My phone buzzes on the quilt beside me.

Logan’s name lights up the screen again, but this time, it’s a text.

Logan: Breeze. For fuck’s sake, stop ignoring me. Call me back. Clearly, I’m struggling without you, but I also really miss my sister.

I stare at his name for a long beat, the familiar frustration and feelings of betrayal coiling in my belly, but I still can’t bring myself to respond to him. I swipe the notification away and open my ongoing text thread with Tad instead.

My thumb hovers over the message bubble, and before I can stop myself, the truth spills out in typed words that feel like a confession.

We went to the cemetery to visit Summer’s grave today. I miss her so much. I don’t know how my brother survives it. And I keep wondering if I spent my life chasing the wrong things. If I let time run out on something I didn’t even realize I wanted until it was too late.

The sight of it on the screen makes my chest ache. Because it’s true. All of it. But it’s too much for what I have with Tad. Too open.

I stare at my own words for a long time, biting my lip hard enough to taste copper.

Eventually, I delete every word, backspace by backspace, until the screen is empty again.

And I start over, sending something safe and teasing and casual. Just like it’s supposed to be.

Me: Hope your sheep behaved today. Or should I be watching for your mug shot in the Chronicle tomorrow?

Three dots appear immediately, and a smile already tugs at my lips.

Tad: They’ve been plotting all day. Crosby’s their ringleader. I swear he’s one union meeting away from demanding benefits.

A laugh slips out, and I set the knitting needles aside to text back.

Me: You should probably give them dental. Or at least better snacks.

Tad: You volunteering to bring treats, City Girl? You seem to have a thing for lost causes.

Me: Oh, c’mon, Tad. You’re not a lost cause. I can name at least fifty single ladies in Red Bridge who would sign that petition.

Tad: Would you be one of those fifty ladies?

Me: Hell no. I’ve seen how badly you burn pancakes.

Tad: You LOVED my pancakes.

Me: I couldn’t even finish them, Farm Daddy.

Tad: That’s only because I distracted you with orgasms.

Me: Oh, that’s right. I forgot about that.

Tad: Woman, you best not ever forget the power of my tongue.

Me: Is that a threat?

Tad: It’s a promise. One I’d like to make good on tonight. My door will be unlocked.

Me: Door unlocked? That sounds like a safety hazard…

Tad: Only if you’re planning on breaking in.

Me: What if I am? Hypothetically.