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She’s already written a message on the paper, so she holds it up for me to see.
Discharge tomorrow around 3.
I nod at the message, looking down at her and noticing the expression of concern etched into her features. She puts the pen back to the paper and writes out the rest.
Will you be there?
My breath comes out of my chest in a heavy exhale. Remembering that night in the church, we shared our biggest dreams with each other, feeling then as if a future was impossible together. The idea that we would justbe therewas such a lofty wish, but now it feels so trivial. There’s not a single thing on this earth that could keep me frombeing there. Truly nothing else matters more than this, than her.
So I grab the pad of paper from her hands and I toss it on the table. Then I wrap her up in my arms, and I press my lips to her forehead.
“I’m not going anywhere, Peaches. I’ll be there. For as long as you want.”
Then she wraps her arms around my midsection and burrows herself against my chest. We lie like that for a while until exhaustion takes us and we fall asleep together.
August
The Boyfriend
Forty-Two
Sage
“Biscuits and—”
Adam holds up his hand. “Stop it. You’re supposed to be resting your voice.” Then he looks up at the waitress. “She’ll have biscuits and gravy with a side of eggs, please. Scrambled. And I think we’ll need another ketchup bottle. This one is empty.”
I smile at him, holding the coffee cup tight in my hands to warm my fingers.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
I’ve been out of the hospital for four days now, and my voice has almost completely come back, except for a slight rasp, which makes me sound like a chain-smoker, but other than that, I’m fine. Still, he’s doting on me. And I know it’s just his way of making up for what happened.
If only I could make him understand that it isn’t just the damage to my throat that I need to worry about. Every time I close my eyes, I see Truett’s hate-filled sneer as he presses his weight into my neck. He wanted me dead, and that’s not something you just get over with some pain meds and a night in the hospital.
I think more than anything, it’s thewhyhe wanted me dead that won’t stop harassing my ego. I didn’t pose a threat to him. I didn’t hurt him or take anything from him. I was a problem to him because of who I am, and that’s the thought that keeps me awake at night. He wanted me dead because his son loves me.
Never in my life have I ever felt the need to apologize for who I am. Being on my own at seventeen, I was like a kid in a candy shop. I had the freedom to be as wild and free as I wanted with the added responsibility of also keeping myself alive with a roof over my head.
I lived for me by my rules and never with anyone else in mind. But what about now?
My eyes settle on another couple across from us at the diner. Everything about them appears compatible, from their matching black shirts to their matching egg-white omelets.
Adam reaches across the table, touching my fingers. I turn my attention toward him.
“I’m thinking about dying my hair,” I whisper, touching my pink strands.
He looks immediately affronted. “What? Why?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m getting too old for pink hair.”
The worried line between his brows grows even deeper. “How many painkillers did you take this morning?”
I roll my eyes before holding up anOshape with my fingers.
“Then, don’t be ridiculous,” he replies, taking a drink of his coffee. “You’re twenty-seven. You could be sixty-seven and it still wouldn’t matter.”
I try to let his words of encouragement settle in, but all I keep thinking about is his promise in the hospital to be there for me for everything. And I wonder if any of that fantasy talk at the church still applies. What if I worked at a sex club? What if he had his own church? Would my lifestyle ruin his? Or the other way around?
