“No, but it’s a nice coincidence that I almost got to take you down too,” she says, cocking her head to taunt me.
I’m done playing games, so I push out my cig into the wood on the dresser and march toward her, shoving my gun straight between her eyes. I unlock the safety.
“Give me one good fucking reason not to pull this trigger right now,” I say.
She gazes up at me with that same courageous look, her radiant eyes still as beautiful and wicked as they were before … before we were ruined to ashes. “I can’t.”
The clock hanging on the wall ticks eerily loud. Seconds feel like an eternity as I decide her fate. Just one pull on the trigger and she’s gone forever. Evaporated. Just like my happy memories of her that single devastating night.
I could finish this right now. Make my uncle happy. Make my papa proud. Make the world whole again.
But it wouldn’t change a thing about the past.
Slowly, her hand rises to meet mine, our eyes never breaking contact. When our fingers touch, lightning shoots through my veins. She wraps her hand around mine and grasps the gun.
“You can’t,” she says, her voice unwavering, just like her spirit.
My throat feels dry. After all these years, she can still read my mind and heart as if it’s child’s play. Fuck.
I sigh and lower the gun, tucking it back into my holster. I’ll use it if I need to, but right now, I can’t kill her. Not until I find out why she did what she did.
We hate each other so much, yet we’re forced to be in each other’s vicinity. It’s like someone up there has decided they want us together. After not seeing her for so long, it’s hard for me to believe she’s actually here, in the flesh.
We parted ways on such bad terms. It’s still in the forefront of my mind and probably hers too. It’s on the tip of her tongue, the seething hatred spewing from her eyes. She loathes me as much as I despise her.
But we had love … once.
A long time ago, everything was different, so different, and I don’t even know how we ended up this way. Where did we go wrong?
* * *
Past
September 21st
I go to the Burrell farm on my own accord. I’ve never been invited onto the property, not by Dixie or her family. I know how they feel about me and my papa, but I gotta try someday. I don’t think they’re as racist as my papa tries to make me believe. He just doesn’t like them for some fucked-up reason.
But screw him. I’m going to find my girl and hang out with her instead.
I walk onto the property and press the doorbell. A dog barks loudly, so I straighten my back, wondering if I’m gonna have to defend myself. However, a hulking man opens the door and blocks its path. He kicks the bulldog in the side, and growls, “Back off, Sparky.”
“Uh … hi, Mr. Burrell,” I say.
“What do you want?” he spits, looking around. “If you’re trying to sell me stuff, I’m not interested.”
He tries to close the door, but I put my foot inside first, stopping him. “Wait. I’m not selling you anything. I just wanna know if your daughter is home.”
“My daughter?” He frowns, narrowing his eyes. “Wait a minute … are you Locklear’s son?”
“Yes, but—”
“No,” he says.
He tries to shut the door again, but I persist. “Wait, sir—”
“I’m not having one of them redskins hang out with my daughter. No fucking way,” he barks. “Leave.”
What the hell?
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Leave,” he hisses, then he slams the door shut before I can say another word.
I knew they were racist … but I never expected him to say it out loud like that. Now I know why his sons are the way they are.
As I walk off, I kick a rock lying on the ground. It ricochets against a tree and hits me straight in the face.
“Ow!” I grab my cheeks. “Fuck, that hurt,” I mutter.
Someone laughs. As I take my hand off my face, Dixie’s smile makes me forget the pain instantly. She’s at the gate’s entrance to the property, just closing the door of her truck.
“Hey,” I say as she walks up to me.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“I dunno … thought we could hang out or something,” I say, trying to look casual, throwing my hand behind my head. However, I hit a tree branch instead, which makes her giggle even more. God, I feel like such an idiot sometimes.
But the smile quickly dissipates from her face. She’s staring at her house. When I turn my head, I spot her dad glaring at us through the window.
“Um … I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she says, licking her lips.