Southern Comfort (Southern 2)

I laugh. “No,” I tell her. “He didn’t say anything to me. I swear.” I hold up my hand like Scout’s honor.

“I don’t want you to go,” she finally says. She wipes away the tears coming down her face, and I don’t even bother hiding mine anymore. “I mean, who is going to help you with taco not Tuesday?” She mentions the time I tried to make tacos, but the turkey meat I bought got stuck to the pan, and it was crunchy when you bit into it. “Who is going to make you watch reality television?”

“We can FaceTime,” I say. “My life is there. My home is there.” I try not to think about how I’ve never called anywhere home.

She takes me in her arms, and I try not to sob. “I’m not dying.” I try to joke with her. “You know I can come visit, and you can come visit.”

“Where are you going to stay?” she asks, and I shrug.

“I haven’t stayed at the Four Seasons in a really long time.” I smile. “I thought I would stay there until I got a new place.” We let each other go, and I get online and book my flight home. The whole time, I ignore all the emotion coming out of me.

She doesn’t say anything to me, and we just hug each other. When Jacob picks her up an hour later, she looks at me. “I’m going to come right back, so we can spend the night watching movies.”

I nod, and when she closes the door behind her, I head to the bedroom. Taking my luggage from the corner of the room, I set it on the bed and open it up. I start packing my things. I fold all my clothes, trying not to think about tomorrow. I’m so inside my head that I don’t hear the back door open, and I don’t hear him stomping his boots on the floor. So when I hear his voice, I jump.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I look up to see that his shirt is almost see-through from the sweat. His face is red all over, and his pants are filthy. He looks like he just ran through the mud.

“Jesus, cowboy,” I say, putting my hand on my chest. “You scared the shit out of me.” I place the last pair of my pants into the bag.

“Answer the question, Olivia,” he demands. I can tell by his tone that he’s pissed, but for the life of me, I don’t know what he’s talking about.

“Good news.” I start talking, hoping my tone is peppy. I’ve been preparing this speech ever since I made the decision this morning to leave. “Since the guy was arrested yesterday, the detective said it was safe for me to go back home.”

He steps into the room, and I can see that his face is dirty now, especially his forehead. “Which detective told you this?”

I try not to breathe in, and my heart starts to pound even harder than ever. “The one working on my case in LA.” I ignore his look or at least I try. “I booked a flight out tomorrow morning.”

“You aren’t going,” he snaps. “You don’t leave until I’m sure the threat is over, and I’m”—he points at himself—“telling you it’s not right now.”

I shake my head, trying not to read too much into his words. It’s not that he doesn’t want me to stay because he wants me here. No, he doesn’t want me to go because he doesn’t think I’m safe.

“Cowboy.” I realize I’m going to miss saying his nickname. I’m going to miss him so much more than I’m admitting to myself. “I’m going to be fine. Besides …” I look over at him. He’s so handsome. I look at his arms and see what looks like little pieces of sawdust. “It’s time.”

“It’s not time.” Charging over to me, he reaches for the top of my head as he pulls the elastic out. “I love your hair down,” he whispers. The whole time, I’m standing here, holding my breath. I don’t even realize that I’m not breathing as I take him in, and when I do, I smell him all around me. He smells of trees and the woods; he smells perfect. He threads his fingers into my hair, and my hands move to his hips. His eyes go darker as he gets close to me. “It’s not time,” he says again, but this time in a whisper. “It’s not time.” His face comes closer this time, and I can feel his breath on me. My heart speeds up, and I wait for it. It’s what I’ve been waiting for what feels like my whole life. It’s also something I know I’ll remember, if only just once.

“Darlin’.” When he says my nickname, his lips come so close to mine, but then the phone in his pocket rings. We both look at each other, waiting for the ringing to stop as my heart beats faster and faster. I want to get on my tippy toes this time and just take the kiss he wants to give me. When his phone rings again with a strange ringtone, he drops his hands this time, and I try not to let it hurt.