Sidecar Crush

I had no idea what I was doing with her.

Leah Mae had spent almost half her life away from here, living in a world about as far removed from Bootleg as you could get. And how much of that life had she really left behind? How much did she want to leave behind? She’d slipped right back in easily enough, soon as we were in front of all those Hollywood people. She’d done what they said, like she was happier with someone telling her what to do.

I’d hated it. Hated seeing her like that. I didn’t understand it, and it made me realize, I had no idea what I was doing with her.

I probably wasn’t cut out for a relationship with any woman, but with Leah Larkin? I was damn lost.

“I’m goin’ alone tomorrow,” I said, my voice quiet. “Go home, Leah.”

Then I turned and left her standing there.

32

LEAH MAE

I stared at Jameson’s closed door longer than I should have. The sound of it banging shut seemed to hang in the still air, an echo with no real sound.

He’d told me to go home. And he’d called me Leah.

He never called me Leah. Always Leah Mae, from the first time we’d bumped into each other at the Pop In. Just now, he’d flung my shortened name at me like an insult. Like he didn’t see me the same way anymore. I wasn’t the girl who’d been his friend when we were kids. Maybe not even his girlfriend, anymore.

Had Jameson just broken up with me?

I was too angry to go after him. I got back in my car—my rental car, I reminded myself—and peeled out in the loose gravel. How could he ask me if I’d given Brock a blow job? He knew me better than that. I was insulted, and hurt, and those were definitely not tears stinging my eyes. I blinked them back, determined not to cry. I was angry, and angry people didn’t cry.

When I got home, I sat in the car, not sure I wanted to go in. I hadn’t actually slept here in a while. Despite Jameson’s long hours in his workshop this week—and how distant he’d been toward me—I’d still been sleeping at his place. Sleeping, and nothing else since L.A., which now I could see was a bigger red flag than I’d realized. I’d thought he was just worn out from working so hard, and maybe a little stressed about the unveiling.

Apparently it was a lot more than that.

The cabin was dark. Looked cold. And just like the car, it wasn’t mine. Regardless of my arrangement with Scarlett, it was a vacation rental, not a place meant for someone to stay long-term. Nothing in my life was long-term.

But that wasn’t new. When was the last time anything had been static in my life? I’d moved more times than I could count since high school. I’d hardly spent more than six months in any one place—often less. For years, Kelvin had been the only constant in my life. Looking back, I could see that’s why I’d been with him. In a life where travel and change were the norm, having one person who was always there was a comfort. I’d mistaken that comfort for love.

Had I done that again with Jameson?

I went inside, the tears starting to spill, despite my best efforts to hold them in. I sniffed my way through undressing, tossing my clothes aside, and rooted around the dresser for something to sleep in. I didn’t care that it was early. I just wanted this day to be over.

Although I’d been staying with Jameson, about half my stuff was still here. I was caught in between, existing in a place where I had no real home. No real roots. No real future anywhere. Everything was temporary.

I slipped on a tank top and shorts and fell into bed.

I WAS up early the next morning, wondering if I had a text from Jameson. No messages. I showered and dressed. Had some tea and breakfast. Still nothing.

The longer the morning dragged on, the angrier I got. Was he really going to Charlotte without me? He wasn’t even going to apologize?

Pacing around the cabin wasn’t doing me any good. I was fuming, frustration simmering in my belly like water boiling in a tea kettle. If I’d have been a cartoon, I would have had steam coming out of my ears.

For lack of anything else to do, I drove over to my dad’s. Jameson was probably on the road by now, and it was clear he’d meant it when he said he was going alone. I almost turned up the road to Jameson’s instead, just to see if he’d gone. But I didn’t. Went straight to my dad’s house. If that was how Jameson wanted to be, he could go to Charlotte all by his damn self.