Page 13 of Between the Stars

Is my statement true now?

Okay, if you need more convincing, my blood alcohol content is probably higher than the percentage of gas in my tank.Thank you, Morgan.

And guess what? I go to work this way because I’ve never missed a day of work in my life and I’m not about to start now. Regardless of my mental state.

With my coffee in one hand, the other on the wheel, I attempt to keep in my lane, but when the road is pure white, what lane?

Exactly.

The snow has finally let up but the wind? Not a chance. It’s a way of life here.

I eventually make it to work, but I can’t tell you if I’m in a parking spot or the road.

First thing I notice is the hole in the side of shop is still there. Remember when I said Kacy (the mystery girl in town) hit the side of the repair shop? I wasn’t joking. She literally drove her car through it. It’s still sitting inside the shop where Barron is convinced he can fix it. Boy fixes farm equipment, but whatever, I suppose he can.

When I get out of my Jeep, I’m met by Lillian in the parking lot trying to glide across the ice without falling on her ass.

“You look like a penguin,” I yell, running across the parking lot and then gliding past her on the soles of my boots like they’re ice skates.

“Shut up, Jace.” She doesn’t bother looking up even after I steal her bright yellow knitted beanie cap off her head. She probably knitted it herself knowing her. When she’s stressed out, she knits. Let’s just say the last year she’s probably made about two hundred blankets. “Don’t make me fall!” she mumbles, concentrating on her half steps.

With my attention on her, I trip over the pile of snow I pushed near the building yesterday and Lillian bursts out laughing.

“Ha. Serves you right. Give me back my hat.”

I roll over and lay in the snow, staring up at the gray sky. I breathe in and think of Abbi. Quickly I divert the thoughts because I don’t want to think of her. In fact, I spend a good amount of time on any given day tryingnotto.

Lillian’s now standing over me. She reaches out her hand for her hat. “What are you doing?”

I don’t say anything as I give her the hat and stand up, reaching for my lunch box I had in my hand that went flying. When Lillian’s underneath the covered drive, she stares at me, and I recognize the confusion. I can say without a doubt Lillian is my friend. She’s a complete bitch to most people—farmer’s daughter and feisty as fuck. I’ve confided in her on more than one occasion because she gets it. She understands what it’s like to want someone you can’t have, but, I haven’t admitted to her I’ve been fucking Abbi for years. Fucking? I guess it should be fucked, past tense, right? Whatever.

I straighten my shoulders and sigh. “I was serious, you and Morgan better clean my Jeep.”

Her cheeks turn a warm shade of pink and she blinks rapidly. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what? You’re the one who fucked in it.”

Her nose scrunches. “Don’t talk about that.”

“Why not?” I smirk. “Because he has a wife?” My breath looks like smoke in the cool air as I blow into my hands. Morgan and Lillian were high school sweethearts. Always together growing up. And then he left for college and came back with a girlfriend and her name on his chest.

“You’re one to talk.” Lillian and I stand at the door as she pulls the office keys from her bag. “It wasn’t like I planned for that to happen.”

I lean my shoulder against the metal building. The cold radiates through my jacket and into my arm. I stare at her. Look at her yourself. Do you notice her demeanor? Okay, I’ll explain it for you. She’s holding on by a thread. She might not have wanted to fuck Morgan, but she doesn’t regret it.

“What’d he say?”

She rolls her eyes and unlocks the door. “Fuck, I’m married.”

“It’s the truth.” I follow her inside and place my lunch box and coffee cup on the counter. “But… ouch.”

Lillian moves through the office, turning on lights and the heater. “Yeah. Not my best night, but then again” She pauses and stares at the bruise on her arm. “it was memorable.”

I reach for the coffee filters in the cabinet beside her desk and begin to make coffee. “Morgan said something about her asking him for a divorce.”

Lillian nods. “She did.”

“But he still said that? Was he drinking tequila?”

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