I square my shoulders before knocking on the white painted wood.
It takes a minute for the bolt to disengage. My breath seizes, a lump in my throat I wish would disappear. But no amount of swallowing has it moving anywhere, and the door is swinging open now.
Oakley goes stock-still upon seeing me standing on his stoop. His eyes, the blue and brown, swing over me, from my face down my body and back up again, as if he’s trying to determine whether or not I’m real.
I am. Very.
He looks freshly woken, although I doubt I was the cause. His hair, sun-streaked brown, is rumpled. His stubble is thick. He’s still wearing pajama pants, the fabric a lightweight gray. I know for a fact he doesn’t sleep with a shirt, but I’m not surprised he threw one on to greet his guest, even if he didn’t know his guest was me.
Almost nothing has changed since the last I saw him, even as everything has.
“Law?” he says, my name spoken in a mixture of astonishment and plain disbelief.
My eyes prickle, but I stand tall and say what I came here to. The words I’ve been reciting in my head ever since I got in my truck to drive across the country and retrieve my friend.
“You’re coming home.”
Chapter 2
Oakley
I stare in shock at Lawson, who shoulders past me without another word. He beelines for the hallway, looking into the bathroom before finding my bedroom at the next doorway.
He disappears out of sight.
“Lawson?” I call, shutting the front door before hastening to catch up to him.
The man is in my closet now, pulling out a suitcase he unceremoniously tosses to the ground.
“What are you doing?” I question.
“I told you,” he says, unzipping the large bag. “You’re coming home.”
For long seconds, all I can do is blink at the man, trying to reconcile him being here in the first place with the fact that he’s currently trying to shove the contents of my wardrobe into a suitcase.
“Law.”
He grunts, pulling a few shirts off their hangers, his motions agitated. “You gonna help or what?”
“Am I gonna… All right, hold up.”
Lawson stops only once I grab his arms, my shirts piled haphazardly in his grip. There’s a sheen of moisture in his brown eyes that takes me off guard, but Lawson blinks and it disappears.
“What’s going on?” I ask carefully, feeling very much like I’m dealing with a spooked animal right now.
“I told you—”
“Oh, I know what you said. But I toldyoulast we talked that I’m staying here. I have a job in this town and a life—”
“A life,” he practically spits, sounding incredulous. He tosses the shirts down, and I let him go, taken aback by his uncharacteristic ire. “Youhada life. And you left it.”
“That’s not fair. You know why I left.”
“For Stevie,” he says, crouching down again and shoving my shirts into the suitcase, unfolded. “And where’s Stevie now?”
I suck in a breath, and Lawson stills, his gaze meeting mine. There’s apology there, but he doesn’t back down, even as his voice gentles.
“Y’all broke up months ago, Oak. They’re gone, but you’re still here. Why haven’t you come home?”
