Oakley
Thirty-One
Slamming the car door behind me, I toss my bag onto the passenger seat and drop my forehead to the steering wheel.
I shouldn’t have snapped at Levi that way.
There has to be an explanation for what I saw, and I fight with myself to figure out what it might be.
After a few grueling minutes, during which my mind plays and replays the image of Layla sitting on Levi’s lap with her arms around his neck, I’m no closer to figuring out what the fuck happened than I was before.
What I do know is that I am absolutely losing my shit. I’ve been on the edge of losing it for a while now, and seeing Layla on his lap is sending me into a fucking spiral. The tattered thread of my sanity, when it comes to Levi, has officially snapped.
I’m so sick and tired of pretending I don’t feel something for him, when every glance from those emerald eyes has me wishing I could hold their attention, if only for a moment.
This thing between us has come to a head, and I don’t know how much longer I can pretend I don’t feel this unexplainable draw to him.
“Ugh!” I beat my hands against the steering wheel, smacking it a little too hard and making the horn blare a short, crisp note.
Maybe I should call Jessie. She’s always down for girl talk.
No, I can’t call her. Besides the fact that it’s super late and she’s probably sleeping, she might be with Justin, who would no doubt eavesdrop and waste no time relaying my girl drama to none other than the offender himself.
I need to ask her to fill me in about their past the next time I see her. I’m dying to know the story there.
This is infuriating. I should have taken advantage of that shift drink I always turn down at the end of the night. I have a feeling that facing Levi when I get home is going to take a little liquid courage.
With a sigh, I turn the key in the ignition and listen to the rumble of the broken muffler as the car roars to life. Before pulling out, I check the mirrors, and something at the other end of the lot catches my eye, causing me to do a double take.
A single car sits across the lot. It’s off, no sign of interior lights on within the vehicle, but is that…?
No. I shake my head, peering back into my rearview mirror as I will my eyes to see what I can’t make out in the dark.
It almost looks like someone is sitting in the driver’s seat, but I can’t be sure.
It’s so dark out that not even the color of the vehicle itself is clear.
It could just as easily be a dark blue as it could be dark red.
Even if it wasn’t pitch black out, besides the solitary street lamp I’m currently parked under, it’s doubtful that I would be able to make out any other details, my eyes already dry and straining after an entire night of pouring drinks in the dim bar.
Yet still, my heartbeat thrums in my chest, the only noise accompanying it being my ragged breaths.
I know that car. Or at least, I think I do.
It looks eerily similar to the old, beat-up Ford Focus Travis drives.
I rub my tired eyes with my fists, knowing I probably smudged my mascara under my eyes, and take another glance in the mirror. I can’t make out anything else. Sighing, I fasten the seatbelt across my lap and throw the car into drive.
As I take the turn onto the main road leading out of town, my mind races with the possibility of that actually being my ex. I know he’s around, but, thus far, he’s yet to show himself. After not hearing from him since the break-in, I’d hoped he had admitted defeat and made his exit.
A wave of unease blankets me, and I take another quick peek in the rearview before breathing a sigh of relief. I half expect to find the car following me.
What would I even do if it was?
I’m being ridiculous. There are plenty of people who leave their cars at the bar overnight after drinking too much, content to hitch a ride home with a friend and come back tomorrow to pick up their ride.
I’ve even seen a few people camp out in their backseats or the bed of their trucks after a long night.
It’s nothing out of the ordinary for a car to be left in the parking lot of Joe’s.
I breathe a little easier as rationalization eases the worry clawing its way up my throat, but it doesn’t stop me from checking the rearview mirror occasionally as I take the winding backroads home. As soon as one worry dissipates, another takes its place.
Levi is likely already home, and I hope that he took my advice and didn’t wait up for me. Every instinct screams that I should be furious at what I witnessed—and it’s true, I can’t tamp down the irritation—but a quiet part of me says I don’t know the whole story, yet.
Just call it what it is, Oakley. You’re jealous.
I am not jealous!
Really? Cause I’m pretty sure at this point you share blood relation with the green-eyed monster.
Would you shut up already?
If you weren’t, why would seeing Layla and him together bother you so much?
The voice in my head has a point. Why would I care who he spends his time with if I don’t wish that it’s me instead?
And now I’m agreeing with the voice in my head, like it’s not literally my own conscience telling me something I don’t want to recognize. I’m fucking losing it. Or maybe it’s the weight of the confusion over my feelings for Levi and exhaustion from tonight that’s clouding my mind.
Pulling up to the house, I take my usual spot off to the side in the grass and cut the engine, the quiet of the night surrounding me.
In the suburbs, I’d fall asleep to the sound of cicadas and crickets, along with the distant sounds of the nearby city: sirens and car engines, airplanes, and the thumping of music from a party next door.
But here, not even the crickets seem to chirp. At first, the silence was deafening, and it took a while to get used to the quiet long enough to fall asleep. Now, I don’t know how I ever slept with all that noise around me.
I grab my bag from the front seat and exit the car, the slam of the door echoing among the trees that surround the house.
They stand tall and foreboding, as if keeping watch over the house, their shadows swaying gently in the breeze that ripples through the peaks and valleys of the scenery that lies beyond the darkness.
A singular lightbulb lights the walkway up to the house, and I smile a little that, despite the shit show this night turned out to be in the end, Levi is still kind enough to leave the light on for me.
Anxious butterflies erupt in my stomach at the faint sound of the television through the front door.
I steel my nerves and push open the door as quietly as I can manage, hoping that Bandit is asleep and won’t hear me come in.
There’s no doubt he’ll alert the entire surrounding area, woodland creatures included, of my arrival.
Thankfully, no movement or sound comes from the living room as I carefully toe off my shoes, pick them up, and carry them with me as I climb the stairs on light feet.
I exhale the breath I’d been holding the moment I’m on the other side of my bedroom door, my shoulders slumping and eyes falling closed with exhaustion.
Tossing my bag down in the corner, I shed my shirt, lifting it above my head and dropping it unceremoniously on the floor beside the bag. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. Right now, I need sleep. Everything else can wait.
Stripping out of my pants and underwear, I catch the faint whiff of alcohol and groan, remembering the drink Layla had not-so-subtly spilled down my front earlier tonight.
I’d tried to mop it up as best I could, but the sticky residue, mixed with my sweat from the night, has my body crawling with discomfort.
I need sleep, but I need a shower even more right now.
Wrapping a towel around myself, I pull open my bedroom door and cross the hall into the bathroom.
Fiddling with the faucet, I set the water to hot, intent on vigorously scrubbing the night off my body as soon as I’m under the warm spray. While I wait for the water to heat, I hang the towel on the hook and turn to the mirror, gazing at my tired reflection.
I was right. My eyes are rimmed with the black smudges of my mascara, and their normally vibrant blue-gray coloring looks dull and drained.
Even my skin looks paler in the light than usual, the color I’d acquired over days spent in the sun now faded like the splotchy remnants of a spray tan.
My blonde hair hangs in limp, frizzy waves, the once-bouncy beach waves now bearing a striking resemblance to that of an electrocuted raccoon.
I step into the shower and promptly let out a loud shriek when the ice cold water hits my naked ass.
I involuntarily jump to avoid the stream, my feet sliding out from under me and sending me tumbling to the bottom of the tub.
I land hard on my hip, a sharp pain shooting through the joint while a dull ache radiates outward from the point of collision.
I also manage to bang my elbow on the tile wall on my way down, the force of the strike causing the skin to split and blood to seep from the wound.
“Oakley!”
The door to the bathroom crashes open, and the shower curtain is ripped away before the icy spray cuts off.
I groan, trying to push myself up as a towel is wrapped around my body.
Before I can move to a sitting position, I’m being lifted out of the tub.
“I’ve got you, baby. Shit. You’re bleeding. Where are you hurt?”
My hip throbs, and isn’t it just my luck to fracture my hip falling in the shower like some geriatric patient in a round-the-clock care facility? Embarrassment coats my insides, but the pain radiating from my hip, coupled with Levi’s gentle tone, soothes the humiliation a fraction.
“My h-hip. And m-my elbow,” I whimper, the tears already starting to spill over, as adrenaline mixes with pain and embarrassment and courses through my body.