Page 22 of Tell Me You Love Me

“It would be best for us both if we avoid each other.” She swallows, her throat bobbing with the action and her eyes flickering between mine. “I know there’s a lot of history here. I know there are hurt feelings.”

I scoff.

“I know I’m the reason for all that history and those hurt feelings. But I’m not in a position to change the past, and I won’t apologize for leaving town. I did what I had to do. I did what was right.”

“What was right foryou,” I spit out. “With no concern for the lives you left on the road in your wake.”

“If I see you in town, I’ll walk the other way. If we end up in the same shops, I’ll abandon my cart so you can go about your business. I won’t cause a scene, and I won’t interfere in your life.” She backs up a step, taking the delicious coconut scent with her. “I’m here to care for my mom and raise my little boy. And seeing as how his very existence enrages you, it would be best if you stay away.”

“Stay away from him?”

“From us both. I could apologize a million times over and it wouldn’t fix a thing. So I won’t. My only choice now is to leave you to live your life in peace. However, if I find out you’ve transferred even a sliver of the contempt you hold for me onto my son, if you so much as look at him sideways or make him feel like his existence is a bad thing,” she stops moving and meets my eyes instead, deadly serious, “I’ll take my father’s hunting knife, and I’ll slide it across your throat without a slick of remorse. I’ll end your life, Tommy. To save my son, there’s nothing I won’t do.”

“Why didn’t you give him your husband’s last name?”

My question surprises her. It wipes the sneer clear off her face.

“What?”

“Married or not, by the time Franklin arrived, that dude was in your life. He became your husband. Why is Franky’s surname Page?”

“That’s my business. And his.” She backs up, then steps to the right and circles me. “Not yours. Come on, honey.” She strides to the truck door and gifts my brother with a smile that she refuses me. “Chris.”

“Alana…” He opens the door and climbs out, stretching tall and towering over her the way I so enjoy doing. “Good to see you again.”

She’s so fucking sad. She’s hurting. But she extends her hand and waits for her son to latch on.

“I hope you’ll forgive me someday. I know you’re both angry, and I have nothing to say that’ll make it better.” She sets her free hand on his arm, squeezing gently. “If we run into each other around town, I hope, at the very least, you don’t Hulk smash me into the pavement.”

Chirs chuckles, glancing down at her touch, then across to me like heknowshe’s stealing from me.

“Maybe you could leave Franklin home with his grandma one night soon. Head on down to Darlene’s and have a drink. Tequila always did get you talking.”

“Tequila is alcohol,” Franklin butts in. “Alcohol is for alcoholics. Are you an alcoholic, Mom?”

She drops her hand and reaffirms the other around Franky’s, then she turns, refusing me the opportunity to see the girl I once knew. “I’m not an alcoholic, honey. I promise. Now let’s go have some breakfast.”

“I’ll see you in class on Monday, Franklin.”Fuck it. Fuck it all.I’ll burn this motherfucker to the ground.

Like I knew she would, Alana skids to a stop and swings back with a fiery glare. “What?”

“Three days a week. Guess Bitsy signed him up and forgot to tell you. And we have contracts down there now. It ain’t no backyard tire-throwing outfit. We even had lawyers read over the paperwork before we rolled it out. If Bitsy committed him to the summer, then I guess that’s that.” I shift my focus and beam for the boy who is neither glaring, nor thrilled. He has the perfect poker face, which is a skill I never quite mastered. “I really enjoyed our session the other day. And Grandma Bitsy already paid for the whole season, so I hope you’ll come back.”

“You trained at his gym?” Panicked, Alana turns again and drags him toward the house. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I told you about Molly. I said how she thinks she’s my friend now.”

“Pretty sure you’re heading to prison.” Chris meanders forward and stops when his shoulder brushes mine. “Lashing out at her and using her son? That’s gonna send you down the river.”

“I’m not lashing out at anyone.” I stare at her long, toned legs and the small swell of ass her itty-bitty shorts expose. And because of how she twiststo talk to her son and still walks forward, her tank top rides up, showing off a single tattoo roughly inked above the dimple on the right.

It’sus. It’s where we began. Fuck, it sets my heart on fire to realize she kept it, when she had ten years, a whole marriage, and plenty of opportunities to have it removed.

But she didn’t.

No. She couldn’t.

It’s the ugliest fuckin’ penmanship I’ve ever seen in my life.

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