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“Did it look good?”
“Same as I remember. Even better.”
“Does the past have a name?”
“Lacey McQueen.”
“Holy shitbags. You can’t drop news like that on a guy without warning. You got me wasting good tap and—Shit!—I’m going to look like I wet myself!”
“That’s how it was dropped on me when I picked up Jackson. He asked me to wait for his best friend, Jacob, who was late being picked up. His new best friend’s mother is Lacey.”
“No-fucking-way, man.”
“Fucking way.”
“Timewarp, all the way. Man, what are the odds that both of your kids would end up in the same class, as best friends? Triple shit, man.”
“I know.”
“How is she?” he asks, a ring of concern in his voice.
“What do you mean?” I ask, already knowing what he’s getting at.
“Did she freak out? Was she cool about it?”
“At first she didn’t say anything. Neither did I, until the boys said something. We recovered fast enough. Shook hands, and said a brief nice-to-meet-you. I could tell she was uneasy about me seeing her son.”
“Yeah, well…you all but told her you didn’t want anything to do with him. I know things were difficult. Who could blame you for not wanting to take that on? I thought the choice she made was the most courageous and selfless I’ve witnessed in my life. You had a decision to make, and you made the best decision you could at the time. I, for one, think it was the right decision for both of you.”
“I don’t know.” I fidget with the label on the bottle. “Maybe if I was more understanding we could have made it work.”
“Landon, your head wasn’t in the game for that situation. You were crazy over that girl. You could have—and almost did—kill for her.”
“I’ve never said this, but thanks for having my back that night. You’ve always been there when it counts.”
“Nowhere else I would have been but right beside you.”
That’s why he’ll always be my friend. For life.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do. Jackson came home excited because Jacob invited him to the monster truck rally. I didn’t know what to tell him. I said we’ll think about it, that maybe he was going with his mom to visit his grandparents that weekend.”
“Rough.”
“That’s one word for it.”
“What about Bree?”
“Bree…you know how things are between us. How they’ve always been.”
“You gotta tell her. That inked declaration of love has come between you more than once. She doesn’t know half of the incredible story behind it.”
“I’ll tell her. But I think the last thing she wants to hear is, ‘by the way, I ran into my ex. You know, the one whose name is burned into my skin. Her kid’s best friends with ours.’”
“Rough.”
“You think?”
“Oh, come on. Dammit! Landon, two drunk knuckleheads are about to get their asses booted.”
“Go handle that.”
“Catch up with you tomorrow. Get some rest if you can. Maybe try to leave the past in the past.”
I pour the rest of my beer down the drain and head to my room. Unlike many times before, I let my mind drift back to that night. Trigg with the gun, holding off those guys. Me, covered in blood, hands beat up, out of my mind with the greatest anger and rage I’ve ever felt in my life. Heart racing, rage pounding and ripping through my body. I don’t remember making a decision to stop when I did. All I know is an image of her flashed in my mind, and I stopped. She needed me.
I would have spent the rest of my life in jail starting that night. But I knew she needed me. Damn, I feel myself shaking, just thinking about it. This is why I don’t let myself think too far back to those days; this always happens. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath and think about the good times we had. The shy, innocent, happy girl I once knew. I feel the tightening in my chest, and I put my hand against it.
My life isn’t simple; God knows hers isn’t. I should have anything but her on my mind. But how can I stop? I could never stop thinking about her. As I tend to do ever so often when I’ve thought about her, wondered about the life she has now, my hand goes to my heart. The one place she’ll always be. No matter how much I try, I never succeed in leaving us and the time we had in the past.
