I tried to sleep on the flight, but I couldn’t get comfortable in my seat. The leather was exquisite. The padding was cloud-like. The problem was me once again.
I considered asking the flight attendant for a drink, but I had a feeling alcohol would only make this pity party sadder than it already was. Maybe if I asked nicely, the attendant would whack me on the head with a mallet and put me to sleep that way.
A long sigh flooded out of me. Things were dire if I was considering cartoon logic. I needed to get a damn grip.
With no other choice, I white-knuckled my way through the rest of the flight, no booze, no sleep, no Clara. Just a small bag of honey-roasted peanuts and a headful of questions.
We finally landed and it felt like I was about to be released from a long prison sentence. I rushed off the plane and got in the rental car waiting for me. The nice thing about private airstrips was they had no problem catering to folks like me. If I wanted a rental car waiting for me on the tarmac, they would make it happen.
In my bag, I had the deed to my cabin. Troy had won the bet, after all. I would hold up my promise, even if it wasn’t high on my list of worries. What my brother really deserved was an ass-whooping for sending those texts and blowing up my life with Clara.
He had framed the situation in the worst way, making it impossible to explain it to Clara without sounding like a bastard. She thought I’d made that bet with my brother with her in mind specifically.
I could understand how the timing seemed suspect to her. Telling her the rest of the truth wouldn’t make it any less suspicious. All I’d told her about was what Troy would get if I brought home a girlfriend for Christmas. I hadn’t told her what I would get if I won.
Troy could never mention the candy-cane incident at the high school Christmas Spectacular again. That was my prize. The incident that happened with Clara. Of course, she would think I had gone after her specifically.
In my defense, I didn’t offer Clara the deal because I thought she was an easy target. I’d asked her because she was fucking hot and she needed a lifeline. I wasn’t sure if she would appreciate the distinction.
The drive to Harrison City was silent. I thought about turning on the radio, but if a Christmas song came on, I might end up driving off a bridge.
The trees whizzing by had no leaves. Their bare branches spread up toward the gray sky, like grasping hands begging the heavens for help.
Say a prayer for me, too, trees. I’m going to need a miracle to fix this.
The winding road to the ranch house took me home. I hadn’t lived there in a decade, but it would always feel like a safe haven. That might change once Troy arrived, but right then, only my parents’ vehicles were parked in front of the garage. That was a definite relief.
Mom welcomed me home with a lot of fuss and hugging. Even Dad, always the stoic Texas rancher, seemed happy to see me again. I needed to come visit more. There was no excuse. I had the money and the means. I just needed to make time for them. Not just out of guilt either. It felt genuinely good to see them. I didn’t feel so painfully alone.
They sat me at the table, made us all coffee, and served some apple pie that was still warm from the oven. There was no easy cure for heartache, but fresh apple pie and coffee sure took the edge off my pain, blunting the sharp edges so they didn’t cut so deeply.
I hadn’t told my parents anything about what had happened between Clara and me, but Mom clearly knew I was struggling with something. Otherwise, she never would have suggested dessert before dinner. I guessed moms just knew sometimes when their kids needed some extra love.
They did most of the talking and I enjoyed listening to Harrison City drama. My high school ex Dixie was shacking up with the mayor, who was like thirty years older than she was. Rumor had it she had broken up his marriage, but no one said anything because the mayor threw money around town like confetti.
Money bought a lot of goodwill, it seemed. Instead of being a scandal, folks just shrugged and let him do it. I wanted to get angry about it, but I had offered Clara a hundred grand to pretend to be my girlfriend. My moral high ground was pretty shaky. I wasn’t a creepy old pervert politician, but my hands weren’t totally clean, either.
And at the end of the day, I didn’t really care what Dixie did. She was ancient history to me. Still, I hoped she hadn’t actually destroyed a marriage. Things between us were never meant to work out, but I hoped she was living a better life than that.
Then again, Dixie had always cared more about herself than other people. It was what had finally made me break things off with her. I confronted her about stealing that role in the Christmas Spectacular from Clara. It led to a giant fight and I walked away forever.
It was just another reminder of Clara. She had an amazing heart. It was just too bad I had hidden things from her, runningher off. Maybe I didn’t deserve a nice girl like her. Maybe the best I could do was women like Dixie.
If so, I would rather put on a robe and become a monk. Chicks like that had been fine before. Who cared about their personality? I hadn’t been interested in talking. Now I couldn’t imagine spending the night with a woman I couldn’t connect with on an emotional level.
Shallow connections no longer appealed to me, now that I knew how much better things could be. When genuine affection combined with sizzling physical chemistry, the result was mind-blowing.
Or maybe it was just Clara who made me feel that way, and I would never again find that kind of deep passion with anyone else. She was definitely special, and I had never met another woman like her.
If soulmates were real, Clara was mine.
Later in the evening, my parents cuddled up together on the couch to watch their shows, and I decided to go to the bar. Maybe part of me was hoping I might run into a gorgeous redhead with an ass like a juicy peach. Mostly I wanted to drink until I couldn’t feel anything anymore.
I was on my fifth beer when I heard a familiar voice. Not Clara. Not Nic. But Mrs. Fletcher, my old English teacher. Seeing one of my teachers at Tipsy’s was like seeing a team mascot take off their mask. It was easy to forget there was a real person underneath their professional veneer.
The woman had to be in her fifties, although she was just as energetic as I remembered. “Is that little Luke Whitaker?”
I was buzzed enough that I hugged her with excitement. “Mrs. Fletcher, no way!”
