Page 7 of The Love You Fight For
Macon chuckles. “Where’s the fun in that?”
I laugh and shrug, then follow him to the fence. I hold up a section of it as he drops down and crawls through first, effectively covering his jeans and Run DMC band tee in dirt. Once he’s on his knees, I pass the gas can through to him, followed by the cardboard box, and then I finally crawl under last.
“I’m too old for this shit,” Macon grumbles as if this wasn’t his fucking idea.
I roll my eyes and hoist the box under my arm. He picks up the gas can, and I follow him silently through the grassy open field toward what’s usually the livestock barn when the fair is going on. We spent a lot of time back here as teenagers. It’s weird to see it in the daylight and not high as fuck.
We walk a safe distance from the barn, then stop on a large, empty patch of dirt.
I wordlessly drop the box, then watch as it lands on the ground and topples over. I don’t tear my eyes from the contents as they spill onto the ground, but Macon whistles, low and slow.
“So, she said no, then?” He kicks a pink stuffed animal back toward the box from where it fell.
I stare at that stuffed animal, my jaw tensing as I study it. It’s a little teddy bear, about twelve inches tall, and it’s holding a red sparkly heart. I won it at a carnival in Virginia Beach last summer. We’d only been dating a few months at that point, but it was the first time I told Sable I loved her. It took her three weeks to say it back, and even then, it only came after I’d given her a bracelet worthmore than two paychecks from Franklin Auto Body. I probably should have known then.
I narrow my eyes at the bear. I hope that fucker is flammable.
“She said no,” I confirm with a sharp nod, then flash him a sardonic grin. “She’s got ambition, you know? High standards and goals. Apparently, I was just a detour. Little bit of fun before getting serious with someone moresuitable.”
“She said that?” he asks, anger in his voice.
He’s nothing if not fiercely protective of his people. I nod once in response, and Macon curses under his breath.
“When?”
I sigh.
“’Bout two weeks.”
He goes quiet at my answer, and I can feel his eyes on my face, but I don’t take mine from the pile of Sable paraphernalia. He’s probably wondering why I didn’t tell him sooner. I shrug and give him the explanation he didn’t ask for.
“I needed to process.”
He nods in my peripheral, then bends down to right the box.
Slowly, Macon puts everything back inside of it. I try not to, but my brain catalogues each item, quickly cycling through everywhen,why, andhowas Macon lifts it from the dirt and drops it into the box.
The cards from every holiday. The little “just because” gifts I’d given her. The picture book from our trip to Nashville. The corny shot glasses we’d started collecting. Crayon pictures that the twins drew and colored for her. Even the wool hunting socks her mother got me for my birthday last year (despite the fact that I don’t hunt). Sable diligently collected all of it and dropped it at my house last week. Exactly one week after laughing in my face and telling me that the last thing she’d ever want is to be tethered to me for the rest of her life.
Howthoughtful.
The box contains the story of us. Of me and Sable. Unsurprisingly, the expensive, flashy bracelet isn’t in there, but the engagement ring is.
I called Macon this morning and asked him what he’d do if he had a box full of bad memories.
Douse it in gasoline and strike a fucking match, he said.
Now that I’m here, I have to admit that I agree with him.
Macon pushes himself to standing and I zero in on the black velvet box in his hands. He flips it open and the sunlight glints off the diamond. Makes me wish it were fucking thunderstorming instead of this sunny and sixty-five-degree weather. It would certainly fit the mood and the task at hand.
“You sure you want to torch this?” he asks, pulling the ring out and inspecting it more closely. “You could probably pawn it.”
I huff a dry laugh.
“That’s exactly what Sable said.”
She also suggested I use the money toinvest in my futureso that I couldmake something of myself. I don’t tell Macon that. He’d riot. He and Lennon never said it, but I could tell they didn’t like Sable. They tried to like her because I liked her, but they never thought she appreciated me. Seems they were correct.
