“I don’t want you to lose anything,” I rush to assure her. “I like you just the way you are, and I wouldn’t—”
“Please, let me finish.” She lifts a hand between us, her fingers trembling a little. “But I’m more scared of what you said before, of staying stuck in the past. In the dark.”
I nod, honored that she’s trusting me with this.
“Because no matter how much I try to deny it,” she says, pulling in a shaky breath, “things have been feeling a little dark lately. I keep telling myself I’m not lonely and that I don’t date because none of the guys I meet live up to my standards, but that’s not really true. I’ve been letting all the old, dark stuff keep me from giving anyone a real shot.”
Her gaze locks with mine, the look in her eyes so vulnerable it makes me want to wrap her up in a big hug and never let go. “But there’s something about you. Something special. Like you said. I don’t know if you’re going to be good for me, or bad, but I don’t want to run away before I find out.”
I cup her face, brushing my thumb gently over her cheek. “So…fresh start?”
“Fresh start,” she confirms, before adding in a lighter tone, “But no more fuck ups from you.”
I grin. “No more fuck ups,” I promise.
And I mean to deliver.
Chapter Eleven
Faith
We make it to the airport in plenty of time.
We’re almost out of the woods!
But, knowing my mama the way I do, I know better than to relax my guard too soon.
“You’re so welcome. It was no problem at all.” Mick hefts Mama’s suitcase from the back of the truck with an ease that belies the massive size of the thing.
Mama beams from the airline’s curbside check-in, and I do my best not to make eye contact. But even without it, I can feel the delight vibrating in her general vicinity.
Priscilla Ann Miller is in ecstasy that I arrived in New Orleans with a handsome man who swept into her dingy hotel room like a knight in shining armor.
She practically talked my ear off while Mick was off fetching coffee and breakfast for the three of us, going on and on about how “gorgeous” and “gentlemanly” and “wonderful” Mick is and how proud she is of me for landing such a great guy.
Landing.
Like Mick is a fish I dragged out of the river and hit over the head with a rock so he couldn’t go flopping back in.
All the gushing and cooing and fish metaphors over a complete stranger would have been bad enough even if it wasn’t for that other part…
The proud part.
I was never a great student—more due to a lack of enthusiasm, than intelligence—but I led my junior high volleyball team to a state championship, lettered in soccer, volleyball, and cross country in high school, and graduated top of my class at the fireman’s training academy. I also earned straight A’s in my EMT certification courses, have helped save over a dozen lives, and am well on my way to my first big promotion within the department.
But not once, after any one of those things, did Prissy ever say she was proud of me. She congratulated me and saved up to buy me a letterman’s jacket and helped Jamison pick out a really nice cake for my academy graduation party, but never have I heard the “P” word pass her lips.
The fact that the first time she uttered it wasn’t because of anything I did, but because of a man I managed to “land,” stings.
A lot.
Enough that when she pulls me in for a good-bye hug, I can barely force my arms around her narrow body.
“Good-bye, baby,” she coos, the giddy note in her voice making my nose wrinkle. “Thank you so much for coming to help your mama.”
“You’re welcome,” I grumble.
She pulls away, fluffing her short blond bob as she glances over my shoulder to where Mick stands by the truck. “And thank you, Mick! You two have a nice nap today and take good care of my baby girl on the way home.”
“I will, ma’am,” he says with a warm smile I want to run over and wipe off his face.
Or kiss off his face.
After our talk in the truck, I was totally looking forward to more kissing. It really felt like we were on the same page and that, for once, things might actually work out. I drove into New Orleans feeling high on life and exciting possibilities.
Now, I feel…curdled, like milk that’s gone bad at the back of the fridge and is sitting there festering, waiting to ruin someone’s cereal.
As we wave good-bye to Mama and swing back into my truck, I slouch in the passenger’s seat, glaring out at the unreasonably sunny day, wishing I knew where my sunglasses had gotten off to.