10. Un-Welcome Home #3
She gives me an exasperated sigh that she doesn’t mean, but doesn’t fight it either. “I suppose. Leave the mending to me.” Whatever cute childhood reunion she’d imagined clearly hadn’t panned out. It’s going to suck not getting any of that extra padding on my paycheck, but fuck this.
“Thanks, I’ll see you guys later,” I offer with a smile I know couldn’t possibly have reached my eyes.
I can’t leave fast enough, heading toward the backroom when Gideon speaks directly to me, cutting through the tense silence with zero regard and an unnecessarily sharp blade. “Perhaps a few less drinks next time your friends visit.”
I halt, my heart pounding before picking up my pace.
Stupid involuntary tears well in my eyes, my hands trembling as I gather my stuff with stiff, jerky movements.
Making myself a note about alterations for Jim’s suit, I hear the conversation pick back up out front.
I wrench open the back door only to find Mr. Johnson has pulled up too close again, blocking the stairs.
“Anything in mind for your suit? I have one almost identical to the ones your daddy would buy here!”
My chin wobbles seconds before I jerk open the curtain. I’m halfway to the front door, trying to force his cologne from my lungs, my mind, as I pass him. The eucalyptus and black pepper are a near slap in the face to the woodsy linen from my dreams.
“That’s fine. Here, for your time. You can call me at the funeral home when it’s ready to pick up.”
“Oh, Gideon, that’s too much, son,” Mr. Johnson cuts in, but I can hear swift approaching footsteps making my heart ratchet in my chest.
The door jingles as I burst through it, my eyes squinting against the cloudy sky.
One of those why is it so bright if there’s no sun type of days.
The humidity is sweltering as I stalk past the out-of-place shiny car and around the corner behind the shop.
We’re officially at the time of year when you need a jacket at night and sweat during the day.
I’m walking so fast my hair blows around my face like I’m in a wind tunnel. Even so, I’m not fast enough.
“Audrey, wait!”
The voice rings out like a command, maybe even a plea.
Heartbroken sixteen-year-old me wants nothing more than to listen.
To wilt in front of him, to run back to my best friend and bury my nose in his chest. To have him stroke my hair like he used to.
My shaky hands struggle to get the key in the door of the faded red and white extended cab.
All too soon, his shadow falls over me like an omen. Like heartbreak and long nights spent crying in the woods, all alone. It’s all right there. The urge to blink overwhelms me. I don’t dare, willing my tears to stay firmly in place. The last thing I need is to pull away from work sobbing.
I finally turn the key in the door. Not because I ever feel the need to lock the truck, but because it’s the only way to unjam the damn thing. I step back dangerously close to his chest so I can open the door. “Welcome home, Gideon. Good luck finding a replacement.”
My voice wavers as I slam my small frame up into the cab.
When I try to drag the door closed, he catches it.
The veins on the back of his hand press against his pale skin.
I gasp as the door handle is wrenched from my palm, jerked open further, out of my reach.
My head finally snaps up to find severe blue eyes staring at me.
Wilder than I remember… more desperate, needy? God, that’s not the right word.
We’re stuck, he and I. In this moment. I’m helpless like I always used to be. Held in agony by his silence. He takes his time breaking it. “I don’t want you to ignore me.”
I narrow my watery eyes at him. “You don’t get to make that call.” My palm finds the handle again, leaning way out of the sunbaked cab to do so, giving it a tug that doesn’t budge him an inch.
“You’re angry at me.” He doesn’t ask, just states it like he’s wrapping his mind around the concept.
“Let go of my door.”
I can see the no in his eyes, the threat there. We both know he’s not going anywhere unless he wants to. The first tear escapes, making my chin wobble, and the humiliation burns just as brightly as my anger. His eyes zero in on that tear, widening for a second before he releases the door.
He opens his mouth, but I slam it in his face before he can get the words out.
The roar of the engine quickly drowns out my sniffles, sending a silent thank you up to whatever higher power let the truck start on the first try.
I refuse to look at him as I slam into reverse, backing out of my spot a little too quickly.
I keep my eyes glued to the road as I pull out of the small parking lot, refusing to check behind me. Refusing to think, to breathe.
I don’t go home, only getting halfway to Jess and Bryan’s before I pull over. Nasty wrenching, full-body sobs jarring my chest. For a moment, I’m sixteen again, and my heart is breaking for the very first time.