Grandpa clears his throat. “Well, secrets don’t stay buried forever.”
Saylor chuckles. “Thanks for that, Grandpa.”
“You’re welcome, kiddo,” he says, winking at her.
I stare at the door she just walked out of, my chest tight and my stomach in knots. My appetite is gone, spoonbread long forgotten.
“Jett,” Mom starts, but I cut her off with a glare.
I push my chair back and stand.
“Where are you going?” she asks quietly.
“To find her,” I say, digging my keys out of my pocket.
Saylor takes off after me. “Jett, wait.”
“Not now.”
She grabs the crook of my arm, and I glare at our connection. “Give her a minute to process. Don’t go storming over there right now.”
Maybe she’s right.
Ten years ago, I wrote her a letter explaining how much I loved her. How much her friendship meant to me over the years, and how tired I was of being a screw-up.
Inside the letter, I never asked her to wait for me because I wanted her to live her life. But the subtext was that if we found our way back to each other, I’d be waiting for her with open arms and a heart full of love.
As much as I want to run to her, maybe I need to give her a minute to take it all in. I need a moment to process everything too.
Chapter 11
Jett
Thefluorescentlightsinthe grocery store hum overhead, casting everything in that dull, washed-out glow that makes time feel suspended. Like I’ve stepped into a place where nothing moves forward and everything lingers. It’s similar to how I felt when I first came home from the military. Life as I knew it was changing, and I didn’t know how to keep up with it.
Kind of like my life right now.
I grip the handle of the cart a little tighter than necessary as I push it down the aisle, barely registering what I’m grabbing.
My head is nowhere near this store. It’s back at the damn dinner table, much like it has been for the past week. I can’t get the image of her face out of my head. The confusion. The shock. The betrayal. Thehurt.It’s as if the ground had shifted and she didn’t know where to stand anymore. She looked around the table, only to find her dad ducking his head in shame and my mom looking guilty. I’m so fucking tired of hurting her.
I exhale hard, dragging a hand down my face as I skim the coffee brands until I find the one I’m looking for. Crossing coffee off my mental shopping list, I move down the aisle to the bread.
I should’ve gone after her. The thought has been on a loop since she walked out. Instead of listening to Saylor, I should’ve followed Wren out the door. Should’ve begged her to let me explain.
But I didn’t.
I’m such an idiot. We don’t need more space. We’ve had nearly ten years of space. What we need is a chance to talk, because it turns out our whole lives have been formed on the heels of miscommunication and secrets. I’d give anything to sit down and hear about her life. What has she been through? Why California? I want to get to know the new Wren, even though the old Wren I fell in love with is still there, but she’s buried beneath betrayal.
I stop in front of a display case, staring at the neatly packaged cuts of beef–our brand stamped across every label. Years of hard work from generations who decided we were supposed to be for the greater good.
Funny how that phrase always seems to screw someone over.
It’s not just me I’m pissed at.
It’s my mom.
Her mom.
