Page 63 of Somewhere Without You
We both fell quiet for a moment.
“Feelsweird, doesn’t it?”he asked, his voice softer now.“Coming back when so muchhaschanged.”
“Yeah,”I said.“It does.”
Aswe turned ontothe mainroad, Clarksburg opened up around us, bustling with life and sun-drenched streets. Storefronts came into view alongside faded billboards. Up the hill, an old gas station sat with its flickering“Open”sign still clinging to life. Somehow, the cityhadmanagedto hold onto its small-town charm,evenwith the buzz of modern life swirling around it.
Loganimmediatelypulled into a shaded office plaza—the kind with a jumble of places like a dentist office, and a nail salon. Alowkey tax office sat tucked in the corner.Whenhe parked in front of a law office, I gave him a curiouslook.
“Business stuff,”he said, rubbing the back of his neck.“My lawyer dropped the ball last week. I’ve got to sign some paperwork for a contract in Charleston. It’s why I needed to come out this way. I won’t be long, I promise.”
Oncehe disappeared inside, I rested my head out the window, watching the slow rhythm of people moving through their daily lives—families with strollers, couples carrying iced coffees. It struck me hownormalwe must’velookedtogether. Like a regular couple out runningregularerrands on a sunny afternoon.
Thatwassomething I neverhadwith Jackson.
I blinked the thought away. I didn’t need to gothere—not now, not again.Andbesides, this whole thingwastemporaryanyway. Iwasonly staying at Gran’s until things settled down.Oncethe dust cleared with Jackson,I’dbe gone again.
Unlessit never cleared.Thenwhat?
I leaned back in my seat, arms crossed, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. The sunhadshiftedjustenough to cast a warm glow across the dashboard. It should’vefeltpeaceful.Instead, Ifeltlike Iwasstanding at the edge of something I didn’tknowhow to name.
Katherine said no oneknewwhere Jacksonwas.Buthe wouldn’t stay hidden forever, not with his name and money on the line. Sooner or later,he’dshow his face.Andwhen he did. . . would he expect me to come running back? All smiles and forgiveness?Becausethatwasn’tgoing to happen.
IfJackson wanted to fix things,it wouldtake real change. Notjusthim saying what he thought I wanted tohear, butactuallyproving it.AndI did want to work things out with him. . . didn’t I?
A small part of me believedI’dgo back.ThatJackson would change,thatthings would settle.Butdeep down, Iknewbetter. Iknewwhat settling with him meant—apologiesthatdidn’t last, promises stretched thin, walking on eggshellsevenwhen things were good.
Andyet, the idea of leaving forgoodstillfeltimpossible, terrifying,even. Not because I wanted him.Butbecause I didn’tknowwho Iwasanymore withoutthatconstant pressure,thatlow-grade survival mode.I’dforgottenwhat itwaslike to breathe without bracing for something.
Logan’s trucksmelledfaintlyof flowers and dirt, and I found myself clinging to it like an anchor. Being here—doing something as mundane as waiting while he ran an errand, itfeltsafe. Familiar, in a waythatdidn’t make my stomach tighten.
Butsafetywasjustan illusion,wasn’tit?Therewasalways a risk tofeelingsafe, to allowing myself to be happy, because it neverseemedto last. Sooner or later, the other shoe would drop, and this time, I needed to be ready.
I took a deep breath, my eyes wandering across the cab of Logan’s truck. A vanilla-scented pine tree hung from the review mirror, faded from the sun. Below it, random coins laid scattered across the center console where a frayed piece of rope peeked out from a small compartment.
Curious, I lifted the lid, my heart squeezing in recognition at the small heart-shaped rock wrappedneatlyin twine.
Suddenlythe driver’s side door swung open and Logan climbed inside.“You hungry?”he asked, throwing the truck into drive.
ButI couldn’t speak—couldn’t find words as I held up the small braceletI’dmadefor him so many years ago.
“You kept this?”I managed,finallyfinding my voice.“All these years, and you kept it?”
Logan’s face shifted, a mix of embarrassment and mild irritation at me digging through his stuff.“Of course I kept it,”he said.“Hell, I wore it every day until a couple years ago. Ionlytook it off ’cause I didn’t want to risk breaking it.”
He opened his hand and I dropped it into his palm, but instead of tucking it back into the center console, hecarefullyslipped it over his wrist.
“I’m sorry I snooped,”I mumbled,feelinga bit guilty.
“It’s alright.Honestly, Iprobablywould’ve done the same thing.”He grinned.“Find anything else interesting?”
I shot him a playful look. “Oh, youknow, a few condoms, an old bottle of whiskey. . .”
“Ah, so the usual,”he chuckled, and I couldn’t help but laugh too.
Inthatmoment, something clicked.MaybeI didn’t want to work things out with Jackson after all.MaybeeverythingI’dbeen looking forwassitting right in front of me all along.
Thirty Seven
