Page 14 of Sexting the Tattooed Outlaw
“Sorry,” Kay says quietly.
"I’m not offended.”
“It’s okay if you are.”
“I’m not,” I shake my head. “But…earlier, you said I didn’t wrong you. You acted like you didn’t care that I left, that the only people I hurt when I left town were your folks. Clearly that’s not the case, if you’re throwing out barbs like that.”
“I didn’t mean to say it like that,” she replies. “I didn’t mean you leftme.I meant you left…you justleft. Okay? The town.”
“Right.”
I’m not convinced. In fact, I’m ninety-nine percent sure that if I could see Kay’s skin under the light of day right now, it would be red. Tomato red.
We drive in silence back to the ranch house and park in front. She’s waiting for me to cut the engine. I’m waiting for her to jump out of the truck and run inside. But neither of us moves, paralyzed in place, staring forward through the windshield at the headlight-illuminated trees in the distance.
So I take a chance.
Saying the thing I should have said as soon as I saw her after rolling into town.
The thing I’d imagined saying to her a hundred times before I returned to Wild Bronco. I look at her and our eyes meet.
“Kay…I have always loved you. Always. Past, present, and future. I love you. I left town because I felt like I’d messed things up past the point of fixing. Not just with your parents, but with you too. I never felt like I deserved a girl like you to begin with, but I was trying. I was trying to become the kind of guy who could deserve you. I was cleaning up my life. And then in one night, I screwed it all up.”
“You never even explained why,” she says weakly. “You just…packed your things up and left. Just an empty bedroom left behind. It was like you were never there. I think I deserve to know why, Sam.”
“You do,” I reply. “But I don’t have a great reason.”
“Why did you do it?” she presses. “You stole from my dad. Stole the keys to my grandpa’s Bronco. You know, that’s all we had left of him. My dad took care of that truck like it was his second child. It was his baby.”
“I know,” I say, my voice rough with regret and shame.
“So why?” she asks.
“I got drunk. It was stupid. I was…so angry. And I didn’t know what to do. I ran into some old friends I hadn’t seen in a while — hadn’t seen since I’d moved in with your folks and started to turn my life around. We decided to get drunk and ride around and…I said I knew someone we could borrow a vehicle from.”
“Were you the one behind the wheel?” she whispers.
I wish I could tell her no.
Instead, I nod.
“Sam,” she sighs.
“I know.”
“Why? What were you so angry about?”
“My dad, my mom…”
“Your dad?” she asks curiously. “I thought your mom didn’t know who your dad was.”
“Yeah,” I say bitterly. “I thought so, too. But that was a lie. My whole damn life was a lie.”
“Who is he?”
I look at her.
“You know Dr. Baker?” I ask her.
