"I’d better not," I finally say, polite smile hiding the storm inside. "I’m still wiped from New York. And tomorrow’s another full day with the drive and being on."
The Duke appointment. Cameras. Sitting beside Woody while pretending all is well and good. Pretending we're an "us."
Jerry studies my face for a second, then nods, taking the out graciously. "I understand. Maybe after y'all get back. You and Sanders can come to my house for dinner next time."
"Yeah," I say softly. "Maybe. Thank you for this. I needed it."
"Of course."
We walk toward the parking lot together, our footsteps crunching over the sand-dusted parking lot. The night is beautiful, the kind that would make any woman happy, but I'm all hollow andfrustrated instead.
When did it shift? When did Jerry’s steadiness stop grounding me and start weighing me down?
Maybe before, being cared for was enough. Maybe a rebound was enough. But standing here tonight, all I feel is the weight of what we never really were.
The answer flashes through my mind: the moment Woody's lips touched mine again.
Damn him.
"Thanks for tonight," I tell Jerry at my door, meaning it but not enough.
He smiles, that sweet, uncomplicated smile that used to make my day better. "I've missed this, Lane. I know we agreed to the break-up, and these three months have shown me that isn't what I want. Don't give up on us, okay?"
Something twists inside me. Guilt? Regret? I can't name it.
"Jerry."
"I know. I know. Sorry. I'll stop. Good night, Lane."
"Goodnight, Jer. Sleep tight."
As I close the door, the warmth of the concert fades fast, leaving only the hum of the engine and the familiar ache I can't shake. His headlights slice through the empty house, illuminating the tangled mess inside me.
The crunchof tires in the front tells me it's time to put on the smile and get ready for a full day together.
Woody’s SUV eases into the driveway, headlights sweeping across the porch in the predawn light. Sanders is sitting in the backseat, waving at me through the glass. He bolts out before Woody even shifts into park.
“Ready, Mom?” Sanders asks as I open the door.
“As I’ll ever be,” I murmur, forcing a smile while locking the door behind me.
I open the car door. It smells faintly of Woody's aftershave and coffee. The same clean, sharp scent that Woody's been using since I've known him.
"Morning," Woody says evenly when I climb in. No trace of New York lingers in his tone.
I nod, arranging my face into something resembling calm. "Morning. Did you boys have a good night?"
"Yes," they both say energetically and in unison.
My fingers fumble with the seatbelt. Sitting here feels wrong. Like slipping into an old skin I can’t quite shed.
Woody glances at me, just long enough to acknowledge my presence, then fixes his eyes back on the road. His hands rest easy on the wheel, knuckles flexing as he adjusts his grip. He clears his throat.
“Sleep okay?” His voice is calm and even.
“I did,” I say, lighter than I feel. "I needed it. I'm still playing catch-up after the trip."
The corner of his mouth lifts, barely there, but enough to send a tug through my chest. My thoughts lurch sideways, unbidden, toward things better left buried. I tug my coat tighter, determined not to follow them.
