“I hope you know my door is always open for you, trouble.”
“You’re going to have to stop calling me that now.” She laughs sadly. “No more pet names.”
“I don’t think that’ll happen.”
More tears slip from her eyes, and one leaks out of mine, too.
After more tears, thanking each other and stalling, Flo leaves the property, and I watch from the porch with Leo on my hip, after having helped her load up her bags.
Regret rushes through my veins.
I regret not telling her a lot of things.
That Gracie really never had anything to do with the interior of the cabin. I picked the blue colours of the furniture out because they matched the flecks in Flo’s eyes, and I couldn’t get them out of my head.
That I’ve had plenty of time to call people to fix the roof of the cabin, but I hated the idea of her moving back into it, so was never going to get someone out here to patch it up.
That she’s made me feel more like myself than anyone ever has. My old self, before the press began to hound me and my insecurities I try so hard to bury forced their way into every crack and crevice of my body.
That I love her. I love her so much that it’s causing me physical pain watching her car turn the corner off my land and take my heart with her, knowing it’ll never belong to anyone else.
32: Flo
Leaving Montana was supposed to feel like I was reclaiming my freedom, like stepping into that camper van was a giant leap into my new life, where I would discover what I needed and where I belonged.
After I left Starbound, I was certain that this solo adventure was exactly what I needed. Was what I was supposed to be doing.
But as I glance out of the van window at the gravel of the road we’re hammering down in Florida, with my new road trip friends all giddy with excitement, disappointment surges through me that I’m not feeling the joy I thought I would.
Seeing the entirety of America and Canada sounds incredible, so it’s not like I’mnotlooking forward to watching some ice hockey in Vancouver, exploring the Walk of Fame in Hollywood, and relaxing on the beach in California. But this journey is supposed to be about self-discovery, and I’ve never felt less like myself after walking out of Evan and Leo’s house.
Six months is a very long time.
A lot can change.
However, a lot can change in two months as well. And those two months with those boys changed my priorities. Changed my outlook on life. Changedme.
“Hey, Flo, come on!” Tyler, one of my fellow sightseers, says as he tries to pass me a plastic cup with some wine in it. He’s young, freshly turned twenty-one, I believe, and has exclaimed how much fun we’re all going to have waking up at the crack of dawn to surf about ten times already, and we’ve only been on the road for just under an hour. “We’ve just set off on the journey of a lifetime. You gotta cheers with us.”
He slips the cup into my grasp, and I allow a small smile to creep onto my face before holding the cup up and taking a large gulp.
I feel like a moody bitch. Am I being a moody bitch? Do they think I’m being a moody bitch? Yes, obviously. Well, now they’re stuck with a moody bitch for half a year.
“To the journey of a lifetime,” they all yell. I hold my cup up high, but the words won’t come out, and I find myself scrolling on my phone, sifting through photos of Evan, Leo and me. Somewhere along the way, Evan let me know that he didn’t mind if I photographed his son, as long as I sent them all to him too, which, looking back, is a massive kick in the teeth. Evan West gave me permission to take photos of his son—something he never does with anybody.
That kid’s goofy smile is infectious. I’m even going to miss Donkey. But then I swipe again, and on my screen is a photo of Evan, sound asleep on the couch with Leo snuggled up to him. They both look so handsome, so much like each other. My soul buzzes, and the deep ache of missing them nestles itself inside my heart.
Myboys.
“Is that your kid and boyfriend?” Tyler questions from over my shoulder, and I yelp, dropping my phone. Luckily, it’s face down so he can no longer see the picture. The last thing I want is for them to question me about why I have photographs of Evan West.
Picking up my phone and locking it, I shake my head at Tyler. “No, they’re—”
A maternal instinct punches me in the gut, and suddenly, I don’t want to tell people Evan and Leo aren’t mine. I shouldn’t be feeling this way, but I am. I am, and I can’t stop it.
Tyler hums, before leaving me be. My vision shifts to my camper mates, who hang out up front with Jenna as she drives.
This may be a journey of a lifetime for them, and if you had asked me months ago, I probably would have said the same.
