Page 50 of Where the Blacktop Ends

Georgia: Is that a question or a statement?

Troy: Question.

Before I can respond, Liam tugs on my sleeve. “Look! Look! A ’susss!” he exclaims, pointing at a squirrel munching on an acorn just off the sidewalk.

“Good job, buddy!Squirrel,” I pronounce the word slowly, exaggerating each syllable.

“A ‘swirl,” he repeats, trying again and doing better this time.

“Woohoo!” I cheer, and we do a little celebratory dance in the street. His determination to mimic the words is so heartwarming, and I couldn’t be prouder. I squeeze his hand as we continue our walk, Liam excitedly pointing out every squirrel we pass on the short walk from the station to his home.

By the time we get back, I’m wrapped up in dinner prep, then bath time, and finally, tucking him into bed at precisely 7’oclock, under his new tractor bedspread—the one we picked out in the city and paid for with Troy’s money. His new bedside lamp casts a soft glow, illuminating the pages of his chosen book for the night, ′Where’s Spot?′

Only when Liam’s fumbling to open up one of the flaps on the page to findSpotthat I realize I never responded to Troy’s text from earlier.

Oh well.

“Is he under the bed?”

“No!” Liam squeals, flipping up the bedspread flap in the book and squealing when it’s a crocodile instead.

“What about… in the dresser?”

“No!” Liam squeals again, opening the doors to the dress and finding some monkeys. His grin widens.

“What about in your… belly?” I joke, tickling him furiously under the blankets as he squeals happily and tries to squirm away.

“Alright, buddy. I’m going to turn off this bedside lamp, but your night light’s still on, and I’m just down the hall, sleeping too. If you need me, just call out and I’ll hear you through that camera on the wall, okay?”

Liam nods, a slow yawn stretching his little mouth as his eyes blink heavy and slow. We’ve been running all over the city today—he’s going to sleep hard tonight. His fingers curl around mine, warm and trusting. “Goodnight,” he mumbles, already halfway under.

“Good night, Liam. See you in the morning.”

His breathing deepens almost immediately, his chest rising and falling steadily as he drifts off. I linger for a few moments, watching him in quiet awe. There’s something so magical about children—such innocence, such beauty. His dark lashes fan over his cheeks and his fists relax. I think of Troy’s son, the one he talks so highly of, and it’s hard to imagine how anyone could walk away from seeing this—these simple, profound moments that he’s missing out on.

I lie beside him for a few minutes, my mind racing—running through the week ahead, the possibility of it all being ripped away if Troy moves him to North Carolina and what I’ll do next.The thought tightens in my chest. Carefully, I slip out of bed, moving slow, quiet. I ease the door open, sliding out with my back to the room—only to collide with something. No—someone.

“Eep!” I squeak as a strong hand covers my mouth and pulls me backward.

“Shh... sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Troy’s voice whispers. “I don’t want to wake him.”

He spins me around, his hands now firmly planted on my hips, holding me so close I can feel him against my chest.

He smells like cologne and something darker—bourbon? Whiskey, maybe? I didn’t know Troy drank, but the scent is an intoxicating blend that makes me instantly relax in his hold. His body presses against mine, and even though he’s holding me to keep me from freaking out, there’s something else in the way he grips me, something unspoken that says he wanted to touch me, too.

I’ve been avoiding him since Saturday morning, and now, with his dark hair perfectly styled messier than usual, his suit jacket off, and his white button-up shirt rolled at the sleeves revealing tattooed forearms, he’s a welcome sight. His eyes—strong, intense—are locked on mine and I wonder if he’s missed me too.

“Were you... lurking there, waiting for me to finish with him?” I ask, raising an eyebrow once I’ve gathered myself enough to speak.

He shakes his head. “No, I wanted to say goodnight to him, but then I saw you two together, and I just…”

“Watched us?” I finish for him.

Troy lets go of my hips and smooths a hand down the front of his pants as if he’s wiping away the feel of my skin. “Yes, I did.” His voice is firm, unapologetic.

Troy has always been direct—something you’d expect from someone working in politics—but I wasn’t prepared for him to admit that he’d been standing there, watching us, for who knows how long.

“Do you normally do his bedtime? When you’re not out, you know, campaigning to become governor of an entire state?”

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