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“He’s leaving.”
“Leaving? When?”
Sniffing hard, I pull my sleeves over my hands and use them to wipe my tears again. “He had a work thing come up, and I don’t know why I’m so upset. It’s not like we’re going out. We hooked up, like, twice.”
“Okay?” Her brows crease.
“He asked me to road trip to Nashville with him,” I croak. “I feel so dumb, like he thinks I’m a groupie or something, so I said that, and he seemed really hurt. He said something about how his job had fucked up his life and went back to the house.”
She stops, and I can almost hear the gears in her head churning. Serena is a lot more happy-go-lucky than I am, far more reckless, but she does have good insight. I wait while she taps her nails against the back of her phone and stares at the wall. Finally, she takes a breath and releases it.
“Here is the thing,” she says. “You’re right that it changes things that he’s famous and he’s asking you to do this, but I’ve looked up everything there is to find online about Coen, and he’s not known for being a player. He’s not one of those guys flying out models and dumping them. He’s pretty quiet, only with a couple of public relationships.”
“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t fucking around behind the scenes.”
“I know, but it doesn’t mean he was.” She leans in, eyes wide. “What does it matter if he was?”
I pause, checking in with the little ache in my chest. I like him, and I want to protect my heart, but I also know in my head that Coen and I will never be anything real. Our worlds are too far apart.
“You’re saying I should just do this for fun?” I whisper.
“Be real. You’re gonna regret it if you say no.”
My stomach does a little dip and soars as I imagine it for the first time. Driving across the desert with him, windows down, wind whipping in my hair. No responsibilities until we get to Nashville. Maybe Serena is right—the worst that could happen is I get a broken heart, put it back together, and move on. Someday, I’ll tell my kids about the time I drove across the US with Coen Taylor, and they won’t believe me until I pull out a handful of worn polaroids.
Serena’s face swims back into focus, her eyes so earnest.
“Go, Brina,” she says. “Aunt Eugenia will be here in a few days, and Dad and I will be fine until then.”
“What will Dad say?”
“Oh, he’ll have a fit. You leave before he gets up. I’ll take the heat.”
My jaw drops. “What?”
Her face is all lit up, like it used to when we’d come up with a plan to sneak out at night. “Pack your shit and leave with him before Dad gets up. If you don’t, you’ll have to go around telling people you almost ran off with Coen Taylor. Is that what you want? Almost?”
I shake my head, heart hammering. “No.”
“Then go.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
COEN
I pack everything, set my alarm for six, and go to bed, feeling like an idiot. I don’t know where asking her to come with me came from, but I should have shoved it down hard. Now, I look like either a player or an idiot, both of which I’m not thrilled about. Somehow, I fall asleep and stay that way until my alarm sends me bolting upright, hitting the bedside table to silence it. Through the window, the sky is dark, a pale blue line like ice behind the distant mountains.
I get up, gazing out at it.
I came back here in hopes of finding something, and it wasn’t here. That hurts, and I need the trip home to compartmentalize that. All my life, I assumed if I could just go back, I’d find the Coen I was before the industry bled me dry. Then, I came back, and there wasn’t anything left of my home but a few boards and an overgrown driveway. If that’s not a metaphor, I don’t know what is.
“Fuck this shit,” I say quietly. “Onwards and sideways.”
Jamie always says that: onwards, not always upwards, but never standing still. Defeated, I shower up and dress in the same dark t-shirt and jeans I showed up in.
Quietly, I gather up my bags and leave the key on the table. The box of Scott’s things still sits on the table for Jamie. I’m not taking it back. If Jamie wants it, I’ll have it shipped, but knowing Jamie, he’s not in the business of looking back.
I should say goodbye to Bill, but I think I’ll call him on the drive and explain, once I feel up to it. I’ve been on the road so long, goodbyes don’t mean much to me anymore. I don’t think I mean enough to Bill for him to care anyway.
