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I take off my backpack and plop down on the bench, taking out my peanut butter and jelly sandwich from the front pocket. I’m in between classes and starved after eating only a fistful of Cheerios on my way out the door this morning, due to sleeping through my alarm. I’ve been doing that more and more lately. Not only because the baby growing in my belly is making me tired, but because…I think I messed up really bad.
I’m sad.
It’s hard to get out of bed when I’m sad.
I’m doing my best to be upbeat for the baby’s sake, but every time I close my eyes, I see Hoss’s face. His mask of pain and adoration and need. I trust myself to remember that I was truly afraid of him the night he returned. How could I not be when he killed two men so easily? When all of his movements were so sharp and raw and alarming?
I told him I couldn’t go with him.
That I needed to stay.
But I didn’t know I would be left feeling so hollow once he vanished.
I’m losing my mind a little, too, in his absence. I swear I feel him everywhere. Even when I’m sleeping at night, there is a sort of electric presence in my apartment. As if he left a piece of himself behind to haunt me. Haunt my decision to let him go.
I miss him.
I miss the way he looks at me, like I’m the ultimate treasure. I miss the way my heart trips over itself at the sound of his voice and the cherishing manner in which he kisses me, strokes my skin. I read somewhere that pregnant women get really aroused as the pregnancy wears on and I can now attest to that. My nipples are so sensitive that I am flushed by the time I finish fastening my bra in the mornings. I’m waking up wet and achy on the regular—and I can’t seem to get the same relief that Hoss gives me. What I manage to do with my fingers pales in comparison to the consuming rush I get with him inside of me.
Why didn’t I ask him to stay? Why didn’t I ask for time to get used to the new, rougher edges of his personality? It would have been worth it to feel his love right now.
To give my love to him in return.
Because I do. I love him.
It gets stronger and more obvious with every day that he’s gone.
I bite into my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, chewing even though it tastes like dust in the wake of my troubling thoughts. Where is Hoss? Is he all right? Does he still think and worry about me? Am I imagining the tingle at the back of my neck when I’m walking home at night? Or switching classes during the day? Maybe. Possibly. I don’t know, but I always, always feel safe now, no matter where I’m going. Or what I’m doing.
It's like I’ve been surrounded in a protective bubble.
Last month, I started working as a campus tour guide to make some extra tuition money, so I could cover the extra costs not included in my student loans. After one day on the job, I was toast. Pregnancy and three hours on my feet did not mix well. I went home that night sore and frustrated. The next day, I was let go from the position—with six months’ worth of pay. My supervisor told me they wanted to help out a single mother in need, but I didn’t quite believe him. Still, it’s crazy to think Hoss had anything to do with my unexpected windfall, isn’t it? If he was near, I would know. Wouldn’t I?
I take a second bite of my sandwich and start to reach for the caffeine-free iced tea in my backpack, but something across the street from campus catches my eye. A new shop. The sign is colorful. Bright. Why does something about it feel almost familiar?
It takes me a moment to grasp why.
The font used on the sign is the same one used on the cover of the Comeback Girl covers. And the name of this new shop is Comeback Comics.
I drop my sandwich. “What…the heck?”
Before I know I’ve moved, I’m on my feet, backpack dangling from my fingertips as I walk through the crosswalk, drawn to the shop by a magnetic force. The font, the name…it has to be a coincidence, right?
Only, when I walk through the door, there is a scent in the air that immediately wakes up all five of my senses. There is the smell of musky comics mingled with fresh ones, yes, and that is enough to make my fingertips tingle. But underneath that is a dangerous frosted pine aroma that my body would know anywhere. My mouth salivates at the introduction of it and I make a small sound in my throat.
I spin around in the center aisle, my vision a kaleidoscope of color. “Hoss?”
There’s no answer.
There is nobody in the store, except for me, making me wonder if I’m imagining all of this. Like some weird pregnancy hallucination?
Seconds pass with nothing but the sound of my breathing and then I hear it. Rummaging coming from the back room. I turn in that direction, drop my backpack and start jogging, almost crashing into the very prominent Comeback Girl display.
Not a coincidence. This can’t be a coincidence.
“Hoss?” I call, running into the back room.
A man is bent over a stack of boxes, a ballcap pulled down low over his face.
