Siggy laughs quietly to herself.
“Do you remember her cornbread? Or her fried okra?” She touches her stomach. “That woman could cook.”
“I remember the cornbread,” I say, pissed at myself for crying again.
She smiles at me. “I’ve watched you from across the fence and think about how proud she’d be of you. She would get a great joy out of watching you stand up for yourself and sticking to your guns.”
I know what she’s talking about. I get the thinly veiled reference to Coy.
“Sometimes we don’t have a choice,” I say softly, sniffling.
Siggy walks across the room and stands in front of me. She looks down at me sweetly.
“You and my son are two very special people,” she says. “You were destined for something greater than the mundane, for a love that’s bigger and brighter than the ordinary.”
I latch on to the genuine kindness in her eyes and hold on for dear life. She’s always been such a stronghold for me, someone I’ve looked up to and respected.
She’s loved me like my mom would have. Unconditionally.
“Sometimes we have to go through unforeseen challenges in order to get to where we need to be. It’s like the world knows we’d settle so it pushes us to reach a little harder, to reach for a little more.” She grins. “Don’t give up on Coy. Don’t give up on love, sweetheart.”
I nod, unable to piece together a response.
She pats me on the shoulder before heading to the door.
“If you need anything at all, come on over. The kitchen door is always unlocked—mostly because Boone sneaks in to go grocery shopping in my pantry because he’s unable to find a store on his own.” She opens the door and fire me a look.
I laugh.
“Love you, Bells.”
I nod, my face pinching together as another round of tears disregard my orders and flow down my face.
She shuts the door behind her.
I sit on the edge of the couch and feel my world turn upside down again.
If only things could be different. If only …
Don’t give up on love, sweetheart.
“I’m sorry, Siggy. I think love gave up on me.”
Twenty-Four
Coy
Every light in the house is on. It’s kind of like noon in the middle of the night.
My bag sits unpacked on my bed in the other room. My sweatshirt that still smells of Bellamy is thrown over a chair in the living room—the exact place I decided I couldn’t take it anymore.
I walk to the thermostat and turn the heat up. It’ll be a fucking sauna in here in an hour. But I bet it will still feel cold.
An unopened pizza box sits on the kitchen counter. I was an asshole for ordering a pizza so late—especially one I didn’t really want. So, I tipped the delivery driver fifty bucks. At least I made someone smile today.
It’s so quiet that I swear I can hear a buzzing sound coming from my light bulbs.
Is that even possible?
I scratch my head and contemplate how I’m going to spend the night. There will be no sleep happening. I don’t even want to consider lying down and giving myself the mental space to remember Bellamy’s tears.
I can’t quit thinking of it now. How terrible will it be if I close my eyes and try to sleep?
My phone rings, and I grab it before the first burst even stops. I almost throw it at the wall when I see that it’s not Bellamy.
But of course, it’s not her, you asshole.
“Yeah?” I say, holding the phone to my ear.
“Yeah. You sound just like I thought you would.” Holt laughs. “I’d ask how you are but answer received.”
I run a hand over my face. “Did you just call to piss me off?”
“No. I called to talk some sense into my little brother.”
“Holt,” I growl, “I’m not in the fucking mood.”
“Good. Because, if you were, this conversation wouldn’t be necessary, and your ass would be back in Savannah where it fucking belongs.”
His irritation, bordering on anger, surprises me. He’s angry at me?
“You know, it’s usually Wade that I fantasize about punching in the face. But, tonight, it’s you.”
“If you think you’re big enough, little boy, try it.”
I roll my eyes and, when I do, my fight response flees.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’m just … pissed.”
“As you should be.” He sighs. “Do you want to rehash it? Or do we want to accept that Mom told Boone who told me? I know that a few details will be wrong, but I think I get the gist of what happened.”
I walk into the living room and feel the exhaustion of the day settling over me.
“I’m not rehashing shit,” I tell him.
“Good. I’ll get right to it then. You are fucking up.”
“Fuck off, Holt,” I groan as I sit on the couch. “
“Why? So you can go mope around and think about how sad it is that you let the best thing that ever happened to you get away? What kind of brother would I be if I did that?”