Page 94 of Conception
“Yeah, that’s not what happened.”
“From where I’m standing, it is.”
My momma would be disappointed, but I have zero patience for meddling old ladies tonight. “With all due respect, Mrs. Mayfield, what happened with Amelia and me is none of your business. Judge me all you want. I don’t give a fuck.”
She gasps, and I don’t care.
“I may have left—because Amelia wanted me to—but I’m back now and I won’t stop until I find her. Now, where is she?”
She purses her lips and lifts her chin, steel-gray eyes boring into me. Just when I think she’s about to slam the door in my face, she relents. “I was afraid she was the one who pushed you away.” She sighs. “She’s not here, but she isn’t far.”
I step closer, nodding, waiting for her to continue. But then she decides it’s time to slam the door in my face.
Pounding on the door, I yell her name. “Mrs. Mayfield! What the fuck does that mean?”
The porch light turns off, plunging me into darkness, signifying that she’s already divulged what little she plans on telling me. The rest? Apparently, I’m shit out of luck.
Think, Knox.
So she’s not here, but she’s not far. Snapping my fingers, I race back to my car.
Mickey’s.
Where else would she be?
Except when I slip my leather jacket on, run a hand through my hair, and force myself to remain calm and walk into Mickey’s like I own the place—not exude the desperation I’m feeling—Amelia’s nowhere to be found.
The chime of the door cuts through the Queen song playing on the jukebox, and when I look to the bar, Sunny’s surprised eyes are on mine. She’s in the middle of wiping the bar, her movements stopping when our gazes meet. I make a beeline for her, and she raises an eyebrow as I drop myself into a stool across from her.
She turns away, and I tap my fingers on the counter impatiently while she pours two fingers of whisky then slides it to me.
“Look what the cat dragged in.”
“Nice to see you too, Sunny.” That’s enough for pleasantries. “Where’s Amelia?”
She chuckles. “Wow, you get right to the point, don’t you?”
My forefinger rims the glass she put in front of me. The whisky is calling to me, its sweet scent a promise to take the edge off, to calm me down, but if Amelia isn’t here, I can’t be impaired.
“When you go eight goddamn months away from the woman you love, yeah, you kinda wanna get to the point.”
Her eyes widen. “Well, this certainly is an interesting turn of events.”
“Sunny, as much I enjoy you, I already got the run around from your grandmother.”
She leans across the bar. “You left, Knox. Why should I tell you where she is?”
Irritation swells in me, and I reel in my temper before I do something I regret. Like shaking Sunny until she tells me what I want to know.
Tossing back the whisky, I slam the glass down, wincing when it nearly shatters under my fingertips. “Why do you people keep saying that? She pushedmeaway!”
“You weren’t here, Knox. I was. I was the one brushing her tears. The one forcing her to eat when she had no appetite. She was a mess andyou weren’t here,” she repeats.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to argue with her. Of course I didn’t know what a mess she was. Amelia all but pushed me away. I was ready to jump all in, headfirst, into the deep end with her. Instead, I basically got a, “Thanks for a great summer. Maybe I’ll see ya around,” from the woman who’d captured my heart.
Not wanting to pour out my heart to Sunny in front of the whole crowd who got to witness my summer romance last year, I lean in, lowering my voice. “I’m not a fucking mind reader, Sunny.”
“Maybe you should’ve been.”
