The Reluctant Romantics Box Set (The Fall, The Mind, The Heart)

“I’m going to stay with Aunt Jackie for a while.”

My chest started to ache as I looked at my daddy head on. “Is it because he yells at you all the time when you are sad?” He took a step back as if I’d kicked him, and I felt good about it.

“No, Grant, this isn’t Daddy’s fault,” she said, taking my hand as she sat on the bed before pulling me to her.

“I need you to be a big boy now. You are almost seven years old and look at you...walking from the bus stop all on your own.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t even scared,” I said, puffing out my chest a bit. She smiled, but it was not the one I wanted her to give me. It was not the best one she had.

“Can you do that for me every day? Can you be a big boy and do your homework and chores while I’m gone?”

“Momma, don’t leave.” I turned to Daddy, who just stood there and watched momma as she started to pack again. “Daddy won’t yell no more. Will you, Daddy? Tell her!”

My daddy stayed silent. I knew I was not supposed to cry, but my stomach hurt too much. I looked at my father through narrowed eyes. “Daddy, tell her you will listen to her like she asks you to all the time. Tell her you won’t yell at her anymore!”

A small sob escaped my mother’s lips as she shut the suitcase. “Grant,” she whispered, “don’t blame this on your daddy.”

“It’s his fault, Momma. Don’t go. I’ll listen to you. I’ll take care of you when you’re sick.” She bent down to give me a kiss as she held me to her so tightly I couldn’t breathe. I pushed away from her to look at my daddy again.

“Don’t you let her leave!” I didn’t recognize my voice as I said, “I’ll hate you, Daddy. I’ll hate you. This is all your fault.” I gripped the handle of my mother’s suitcase and tried to pry it away from her.

“Grant, I’ll be back in a couple of weeks. Let go...Grant...Davis!” Momma looked at daddy to help her and he took a step towards me. As soon as he reached me, I started to fight him. My mother’s skirt brushed past the bedroom door and the pain in my stomach got worse.

“Don’t, Momma! Don’t go!” I fought my father’s grip as hard as I could. He audibly exhaled and I looked up to see a teardrop rolling down his cheek. I was happy to see it. I was glad he was hurting, too.

“I’m so sorry, son.”

“No, you aren’t. You made her leave! I heard you tell her you couldn’t help her. That you were tired of trying to help her!” I managed to get one arm free and then the other, but I already knew it was too late. I hated him more than ever as I chased her blue pickup down the drive.

I couldn’t catch her so I picked up rocks from the gravel path and threw them as hard as I could. One hit the tailgate, but the truck kept moving. I threw rock after rock as I cried so hard my sight became blurry, screaming promise after promise to her.

“Come on, son, come inside.”

Ignoring him, I kept throwing rocks until I was so tired I couldn’t lift my arms. Even more tired than when I played all day in the woods with Garrett. Wiping my tears away with a dirty hand, I turned around to face my daddy.

“If you loved her like a daddy ‘posed to, she wouldn’t be gone!”

He nodded before turning around to walk back into the house. The screen door slammed behind him and I jumped at the sound. I’d never talked to my daddy like that. Usually, he’d spank me real good then talk to me about respect. I wondered if he would have the strap on the bed when I got inside. I didn’t care. It was his fault Momma left and he knew it. I wouldn’t even cry if he strapped me.

I’d show him.

I walked back up the stairs and towards my bedroom, ready to face my punishment, but he never came.

I blinked hard against the recollection of that day as I pulled into campus, sighing at the usual traffic I had to fight to get there. I’d spent the hours on the road from Tennessee thinking about the shitty task ahead of me, and about the day my mother left my father and how horrible it felt. A little over six months after she left, he’d brought another woman home, but it didn’t last long. He’s been alone ever since. My momma was alone, too, right up until she died a year ago. My whole life I knew they still loved each other, but they were too stubborn to do a damn thing about it. Maybe they weren’t meant to be, but there’s something to be said about never picking up the pieces of your life and moving on with someone else twenty-two years after your divorce. I could only speculate what they did to ease the ache when I was in between their homes in Texas and Tennessee, but to my knowledge, neither one of them ever fell in love again. Now, my mother was gone and my father was close behind.

I pressed my forehead to the steering wheel, stuck in a line of cars waiting to park, dreading the words I was about to say. I’d wasted another six months in a dead-end relationship, and now I had to be the one to break it off. Maybe it was the lingering guilt of remembering my mother leaving and the look on my father’s face, which I knew now was devastation, which was making this feel harder than it should be.

However, this was nothing like that. This wasn’t love at all.

This...was strangely pathetic, a new low for me. She wasn’t even my type, yet I’d led her on a little bit by just staying in the relationship, if you could even call it that. No, if this feeling were anything like the way I felt when my momma left, I wouldn’t be here ready to break it off. I would be holding on for dear life, making every effort to ensure we stayed together and that she was happy. I was no fool, and if the day ever came that I felt that way—that fear, that type of panic over losing a woman—I would do everything in my power to keep her, whoever she may be.

A horn sounded from behind me, and I lifted my gaze from the steering wheel with tired eyes. Hours of driving and fatigue seeped through my bones. All I wanted to do was sleep. This could wait.

A text came through just as a spot opened.

You coming? I’m so nervous! Please!

Fuck.