‘That’s awesome. I’m real pleased for you.’
‘Thanks.’
We lapse into silence. I know I was the one to call her. I spent the entire weekend thinking about her. Yet I still don’t know how to unpack this whole thing.
‘Jake?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I was hoping that you would let me explain some things to you. I’m not… at the club tonight. Can I meet you somewhere? I could drive up to the cabin. I just need to look in on my dad.’
I associate the cabin with the Serenity from before. Right now, I don’t want to meet her there. Yet we don’t have anywhere else.
‘Does your dad know about me?’ I ask.
She pauses. When she speaks, her voice sounds thicker. ‘No.’
‘I’d like to see where you live.’
‘Jake… we can’t. What if we’re seen?’
‘Give me the address. I’ll head out just before it gets dark. You can let me in real quick.’
She goes quiet. ‘You’re mad at me. That’s why you want this, isn’t it?’
‘I wanna know the real you, Serenity. Not some version of you. I want the truth. Just tell your dad I’m a friend. Does he know—’
‘—that I work at Surly’s?’ she finishes for me. ‘He knows.’
‘Alright then. Message me the address. I’ll be there tonight.’
She doesn’t respond for some time, like maybe she’s wrestling with something. ‘Okay,’ she then says. I hear her exhale. ‘I’ll see you there.’
We hang up. I wait for an address. Eventually, it comes through.
2932 Spring Chase, Temptation Heights
When I moved to Canyon, there were two places folks told me not to go: Temptation Heights, and the township of Rapture, in the northeast.
I check where to find it exactly. Temptation Heights is on the southwest side of Canyon, due farther southwest than Surly’s Tavern. It’s not somewhere I’ve ever visited. I’ve never had a reason to.
Until now.
At some point on my way to Temptation Heights in my pickup after dark, the landscape changes and the traffic thins out. Tall buildings give way to low-rise houses made from wooden slats painted white and surrounded by chain link fences. Some windows are boarded up and covered in graffiti. The streetlamps don’t work so well out here. Where there is grass, it’s patchy and dry.
It’s not the Canyon I was sold when I signed my NFL contract. Far from it.
In front of me, a racoon crosses the road, the headlights bouncing off its feral eyes. I jam on the brakes and my tires screech to a halt. I peer out. The road surface is littered with potholes and fractured concrete.
I take a left into Spring Chase and slow my speed. The houses here are small and close together. I lower my window, and I can hear a dog barking in the night air over the sound of the cicadas.
Outside number 2932 – the number painted on the side of the white mailbox – I pull up onto the curb behind Serenity’s parked car. I raise my window, kill the engine then crane my neck. I can see through the window that the lights are on. There’s a small wooden porch and a screen door.
I look down at the flowers I brought with me. Suddenly, it feels like they’re too much, but I pick them up by the stems anyway and open the door.
On the street, the dog barking grows louder. I glance around me, but there’s no one else around. As I enter the gate, the screen door opens. Serenity comes out onto the porch. In the shadows, I can see she’s wearing jeans and a fitted white tee, her hair tied back in a high ponytail.
‘Hey,’ I say, and even after the events of Friday night, it’s like I’m looking at her in a whole new light. I don’t think I ever gave her enough credit.
