“Yes.”I sleep with Kane’s file.“I dream every single night.”
“Maybe I’ll try it tonight. I need to dream of something good. You can pick a book for me if you want. Pick your favorite book and I’ll visit them in my dreams.”
“Okay. Are you looking for babysitters, or Fabios? Hunger Games, or vampires?”
“You choose. Something nice. Something not scary.”
“So, no to the Hunger Games. I know a good one. I’ll bring it when I come in for my sleepover.” Sliding into my car, I slam the door shut and blow out a breath. “He’s a vampire. She’s human, but it’s not that one you’re thinking. She’s a badass fighter. I wish I was as cool as her. She takes no one’s shit.”
“Okay.” She sniffles. “I’ll like that one. I wanna be badass, too.”
“You’re badass, Laine. You stood up to Jack, and that’s brave. He’s a monster.”
She lets out a desperate laugh. “That was forever ago. That was…” She sighs. “I wanna be her again. I wanna be the old me.”
I can relate.
I can relate so damn much, my chest aches.
“We’ll do it together, Baby. I’ll bring your book, we’ll eat snacks, down a couple shots of Tequila, then we’ll make our own stories that’ll make Dolly blush.”
“Okay.”
I switch on my car and do an illegal U-turn on the quiet street. “Alright, Laine. I better go before X tickets me for talking on the phone and driving. I’ll be home in a couple hours.”
“Okay.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too. See you in a bit.”
I toss my cell aside and turn my radio up. Calum Scott sings of heartbreak once again and forces tears into my eyes. I clamp my lips closed and ride the song out with him. It’s like he’s become the soundtrack to the end of my world. Everywhere I turn, his music meets me. Every time I turn the radio on, he’s there.
It’s both beautiful and painful.
I pull across the train tracks that lead out of town and pass Oz’s ranch house. Minutes later, I pass Marc’s. Everyone I know is living their happily ever after. Weddings and babies abound. Pretty houses, and happy families. Everyone has their happily ever after.
Then there’s me.
And Laine.
Maybe we can be like those eighty-year-old women on the internet. Single. Cat ladies. Sayfucka lot.
I pull onto the freeway and head toward Paddy’s as the wind billows in my open windows and dries my tears. I’m so tired of crying. So fed up with always hurting.
Would I go back and choose tonotmeet Kane if I could?
If I never went to that club, I never would have met him. Were those weeks together worth this? Were they worth this unending, blinding, fiery and pain-filled sorrow?
Yes.
They were.
It takes a full twenty-five minutes to reach the truck stop. Not speeding. Not going slow. I just cruise in the middle lane and think of each distinct minute we spent together.
I shouldn’t still bethisobsessed. This broken. It’s been months, and I knew him for such a short time. But when theonecomes along and takes a chunk of your heart, there’s just no way to stop hurting over that chunk.
It’s impossible.