Page 6 of Homesick

“That’s good to hear. I’m sure they’ve come a long way since serving us underage when we were in high school. I still remember making Chris pick us up and he was so pissed because I cock-blocked him.”

“Ah yes! I remember that night,” Emma smiles before turning down the radio a little. “Okay, enough reminiscing. Why did you need to get out of the house so bad?”

Even after scrubbing myself raw in the shower earlier, I couldn’t erase what had happened a few hours ago.

“I saw Blake at the farm. It was the first time since he . . . well, you know. Then I found out him and Chris are friends again which basically means there’s no avoiding him anymore.”

Emma was also there for me during the break-up. She wanted to slash Blake’s tires after the whole thing went down, but I stopped her. I knew it wouldn’t make me feel any better and there was a slight chance she’d get in trouble. Not that Blake would ever press charges.

She’s the one that called me on my bullshit when I was getting black-out drunk every weekend at school and sleeping with any guy that would give me the time of day. I was in a dark place, and she was able to bring me back to life.

Now that I think back to that time, I realize how much I hated myself and all because some stupid boy decided he didn’t want me anymore. That was when I learned that hard way that love can really mess with your head and it’s best to keep your distance until you’re one hundred percent sure it’s safe.

“Oh right, Blake. I figured you’d run into him. I saw him a few weeks ago because I had to take our pup in for a checkup at the vet. But don’t worry, I gave him the cold shoulder,” she says proudly. “I didn’t know him, and Chris were hanging out again. Chris is pretty good at holding a grudge so that’s honestly surprising.”

“Well, I can’t tell him who to be friends with and my mom says he’s been helping around the farm. God knows my dad could use the extra hand. I’m just going to be mature and act like an adult.”

That’s easier said than done. Especially after stomping away from him like a two-year-old earlier. Emma gives me a knowing look and shakes her head.

“If you say so. Let’s just have a good time tonight and not think about him. This mom needs a drink.”

I still can’t believe she’s a mom.

We pull into the Rustic Inn parking lot, and we barely find a spot. I’m shocked at how busy they are, even for a Saturday night. Emma finds a spot and we make our way into the bar.

The Rustic Inn has been a Honey Grove staple all my life and probably for most of my parents’ lives. It sits across from a cute little lake and if it wasn’t such a dive on the inside, it might be mistaken for a sweet restaurant in the country.

I follow Emma to the front door and pray that I don’t see too many people I know in here. I can feel my heart rate start to speed up at the thought of any social interactions. Even the liquor from earlier doesn’t seem to dull my nerves.

The bar is almost shoulder to shoulder, but I can’t help noticing a difference in the air. It seems like most of the same crowd, but with some slight improvements to the interior. The hole Jackson Cook punched in the wall after losing a tense game of pool is nowhere to be found and the smoke- and alcohol-stained walls have been covered up with a fresh coat of paint. I might even call this place cute if I didn’t know all its dirty little secrets.

Emma attempts to yell over the music and thankfully years of best friend telepathy tells me she’s going to go find us a seat while I get drinks. I take a deep breath and saunter over to the bar. I have to squeeze between two old guys that are locked in some bullshit political debate.

I immediately flag the bartender down and order two wine coolers. I figure the easier the order, the quicker I’ll get my drink.

However, I’m wrong because the young woman behind the counter is more interested in flirting with whoever is going to give her the biggest tip.

Once I finally get my drinks, I scan the sea of people in the small bar to get a better assessment of the crowd. I feel the music pump through my body and it’s surprisingly something current and not an old country ballad that I would most likely know the words to thanks to my dad’s constant control of the radio station. I usually feel very vulnerable and tense in crowds, but I feel content in this moment. I feel at home here.

I nod to some old friends from high school and even a few family friends, but I’m dead set on making it back to safety with Emma wherever she is. I finally see her in a corner locked into a tense conversation with someone who has their back turned to me.

I typically don’t notice men’s backs, but I can tell the stranger is well built by the way his flannel clings to his muscles. I follow the shirt down to a tight ass in Wrangler jeans and I immediately realize I’ve been deprived of blue-collar men in the city.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a man in a suit but there’s something different about a guy that works with his hands.

I snap out of my weird infatuation with the stranger’s back and catch Emma as she looks up from her conversation. There’s a weird panic in her eyes, and I scrunch my eyebrows together in confusion. The stranger with the nice ass notices her attention has gone elsewhere and turns slowly to see where she’s looking.

I’m excited to see the man behind the Wranglers until he turns around. I’ve just spent the past minute checking out an ass I’m a little too familiar with. Now I remember why I hate small towns.

CHAPTER 3

I’ve been sitting in the same place for hours. The second my feet touched the gravel of the driveway after I shut his truck door, I found an old rock and planted myself. Break-ups are hard, but it’s even worse when you don’t see it coming.

I can feel the cold October air begin to nip at my cheeks, but I welcome the numb feeling. At first, I took my post on this rock in hopes that Blake would change his mind and turn around. That hope was quickly replaced by a sinking feeling in my stomach that this was real. Blake had ended things.

I don’t notice I’m crying until I feel a bitter saltiness drip on my lips. The longer I wait for him, the more tears come. I’m afraid that they’ll never stop. That I’ll never rip this terrible feeling from my heart.

I feel like everything I’ve known since I was a kid is a lie. I thought he loved me, but how can someone who loves you hurt you like this?