Layla
Jean stands in the doorway again, with a stern look and hands on her hips. “Don’t argue. You told us what happened, and nobody cares. You promised to come with us tonight, so you’re coming whether you like it or not.”
“I didn’t promise anything. I’d love to get out of here and stop thinking for a moment, believe me, but—”
“No buts! You’ve been working with me in the shop for two weeks!”
“Thirteen days.” I don’t know why I feel the need to correct her, but I do.
She snorts, shaking her head. “More than twenty people see you every day, and yet somehow your lover boy hasn’t materialized in Texas, so don’t try to tell me that if you go out tonight, he’ll suddenly know where you are.”
Aunt Amanda owns a small convenience store on her premises and asked me to help Jean despite my weak protests. She refused to take money for letting me stay here, so helping out in the shop is the least I can do to pay her back.
I sit on the edge of the bed, fidgeting with the hem of my flannel shirt. Jean insisted I wear those while at work. It’s not a piece of clothing I’d buy given a choice, but there’s no denying that flannels are ridiculously comfortable.
“I only work with you because your mother won’t take my money to cover my expenses.”
“We live in the least interesting town in Texas, Layla. You won’t see any new faces at the bar. Only those you already know from the store. We don’t have gangsters around here, and no one has any clue who you are!” She brushes out her braid and gathers her hair into a ponytail. “And you know what I think?”
Not really.
I don’t care, but stopping Jean from voicing her opinions is as easy as stopping milk from spilling over once it starts boiling.
“I think Dante isn’t even looking for you. I mean, why would he? After what you did to him, he sure put a cross on you. I know I would.”
His name from her lips forces my heart to pick up the pace. I inhale a deep breath, grinding my teeth, but the walls seem to close in on me. I miss him, and sometimes, I don’t understand how it’s possible to miss a person so much. How can anyone lovethismuch? How can anyone fuck up their life the way I did before it even properly began?
“You hope he’s looking for you, Layla. You want him to find you because you think he’ll forgive you. I’m sorry for the brutal honesty, dear, but hope is the mother of fools.”
It also dies last.
I’m not ready to admit she’s probably right. “If he’s looking for me, it’s not to forgive me.”
“If he loved you as much as you say, he definitely doesn’t want to kill you. Stop freaking out! You’re safe here.” She yanks the hair tie out of her hair once more, pulling a few hairs with it, and combs the locks with her long fingers, tucking loose strands behind her ears. “There.” She hands me her phone. “Call him. Say goodbye, and let’s start a new chapter in your life. I think Rick is into you, you know?”
I hope she doesn’t plan on playing matchmaker, or so help me God, I might get uncharacteristically violent.
“You want me tocallDante? Are you crazy?! He’ll trace the phone. He’ll know where I am!”
“Then hide the caller ID.” She rolls her eyes, pressing the cell phone back in my hand. “Call him, apologize, and say goodbye. You’ll feel better once you close that chapter, Layla. Leaving things hanging isn’t healthy.”
“Say goodbye?” I stare at the black screen.
How?
How am I supposed to saygoodbye?
The word won’t slip past my lips. Not to him. I don’t know the rhythm, the sentence structure, or the individual words and letters required to say goodbye. It would never be just one word; it’d be an entire monologue to make him understand. I’d start begging, for sure. I’d probably bawl my eyes out too. There are no words in my dictionary or in my language that could easily convey all the reasonswhyI betrayed him and why I followed my father’s orders. And I don’t know a language in which I could say goodbye to him.
I set the phone aside.
Jean sighs, pulling a face that’s half pitiful, half annoyed. “Fine. Suit yourself. Get changed and don’t even try to protest, or I’ll send Tayler here, and he won’t be as nice as I am. We’re leaving at seven o’clock sharp.”
A small smile tugs at my lips. It’s six fifty-two. Jean’s the only person who can bring a smile to my face these days. She’s positively nuts. Since I arrived at the doorstep of this housethirteendays ago, she’s crawled out of her skin to rebuild our long-lost friendship. She might be two years my senior, but she sure acts five years younger.
Or maybe I’m overly mature for my age.
I grew up in a big city, in a house full of criminals, guns, and drugs. Jean had a happy childhood on a Texan farm in a small town where the nearest neighbor lives three hundred yards away, on the other side of a small river. I could scream bloody murder here, and no one would hear me.