“Just . . .” I look down at our connected hands, then helplessly up at him, hating that I’m hurting him, hating that I can’t just say it’s okay. My instinct is to soothe him, to make it all better, to shine the light on the darkness within him. But this time I am lost in darkness, too, and I can’t figure out how to get either of us out. “Maybe just give me some space, okay? I need to think and I can’t think right now with everything so . . .”

The initial hurt of being asked to leave by the one person who has always wanted him to stay flickers fast across his features but he schools them quickly and nods, allowing his hands to slip from mine. The shutters he usually keeps between us slam shut in his eyes and I am on the outside once again—no longer privy to the inner workings of Gavin Garrison.

“Okay. I have to be at work tonight so I should go, anyway. But please know I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you or Dallas.” A beat later, just before walking out of my yard and maybe out of my life, he adds, “You’re all I’ve got.”

If I ever wrote a book, I think I’d call it “A View from Rock Bottom,” because that’s where I am right now.

When a knock comes at my door I’m literally lying facedown on my living room floor.

I should probably sweep soon. It’s apparently filthy at rock bottom. There’s dust under the coffee table and what I think might be an old sock under the couch.

He opened up, told the truth, all of it, even the ugly parts I asked for, and I shut him out. I let him go.

As painful as our conversation was, I’d rather have it a hundred times over day after day than see that cold, empty look he gave me when he left.

Gavin is the one person I’d do anything not to hurt; he’s also the one person I know would never cause me pain on purpose.

So why do we keep destroying each other?

I’m still contemplating this when I peel myself up off the floor and make my way toward the knocking.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” I call out, assuming it’s Robyn on the other side of the door. I texted her and Dallas both that I needed to talk ASAP right after Gavin left and upon checking my phone, I realize it’s been nearly enough time for the drive from Dallas to Amarillo. Jesus. That was a good chunk of the afternoon I spent on the floor.

I’m a bit surprised when I pull the door open to find Liam and Mrs. Lawson on my porch.

“Well, hey there, y’all,” I say, forcing myself to sound less dead than I feel. “Come on in.”

I step aside, pulling the door completely open. They do come inside but only just barely.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Mrs. Lawson says, giving me a hug and enveloping me in her potent rose-scented perfume. I love the woman, but she’s like a walking potpourri dish.

“Hi, Mrs. Lawson. Everything okay?” I glance down at Liam, who looks somber and maybe a little sleepy.

“Oh everything’s fine,” she tells me in her singsong voice. “It’s just that I’m having my monthly bridge club dinner and Liam here has had just about enough of old ladies gossiping, I’m afraid.” She smiles down at him before whisper conspiratorially to me. “You know that Mrs. Emerson from Atlanta, she moved into the old Johnson house on Lane Avenue? She’s got the best stories,” my neighbor continues without waiting for my answer. “She can’t make a decent thumbprint jelly cookie to save her life but it’s worth inviting her for the stories.”

Her gray eyes twinkle with excitement and the promise of more gossip so I do Liam and me both a favor.

“Actually I was getting pretty hungry and thought I’d grab a late supper in town.” I decide it’s best to give Liam a choice instead of making him feel like he got dumped off on me. “I’d love some company, Liam, if you’re interested.”

His eyebrows lift and his eyes perk up a little. “Um, okay. That’d be okay, I guess.”

“I can pick him up once the ladies clear out,” Mrs. Lawson tells me, but I wave her off.

“He can spend the night here if he’d like. Dallas’s room is empty and I have sleeping bags if he’d like to camp out here tonight.”

It’s like I said a magic word. Liam lights up like I just told him I had the Golden Ticket or a secret entrance to Hogwarts in my attic.

“What do you think, Liam?” Mrs. Lawson looks at him expectantly. “Want to camp out with Miss Dixie for the night?”

As if he realizes he’s been too obvious with his excitement, he shoves his hands into his pockets the same way Gavin does when he’s trying to pull himself inward. “Whatever.” He stares at the floor and I check for an outline of my body in the dust.

Not seeing one, I escort Mrs. Lawson to the door and tell her I’ll call her tomorrow. She thanks me and leaves, making her way much more agilely down my front porch than I would’ve suspected she could.

“So,” I begin awkwardly, once she’s gone. “Do you like waffles?”

Liam shrugs. “I don’t know. Never had ’em.”

I’m careful not to react to this even though it outrages me. I remember learning that Gavin had never had ice cream before when we were kids and feeling the same type of disgusted disappointment that any adult would allow such a travesty as denying the delicious joy that is ice cream.

“Well, they’re kind of like pancakes but with little squares you can put syrup in. How about hash browns? Ever had those?”

He looks at me like I’m speaking a foreign language. I try a different approach.

“What do you usually eat for breakfast, Liam?”

“Pop-Tart thingies. Or cereal.” He glances around slowly, his gaze lingering on the front window. “It’s nighttime,” he informs me gently as if concerned for my mental well-being.

I laugh softly and nod. “I know. I don’t like early morning meals much, but I love breakfast for dinner. ‘Brinner’ is what me and my brother called it as kids when our Nana made it.”

He stares blankly and I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever get through to him.

“Come on,” I say, grabbing my keys and then opening the front door. “There’s a magical place that serves breakfast twenty-four hours a day for people like me. I’ll take you. My treat.”

He regards me warily for several minutes before finally walking out the door. I breathe a small sigh of relief. It’s progress at least. I’ll take my victories where I can get them.

22 | Gavin

“RENT’S USUALLY FIVE hundred but if you keep sitting in with the house band a few times a week, I guess I can knock it down to four.”

I nod at Cal. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

“It’s not a favor, kid. You don’t pay the rent on time, I’ll take it from your paycheck. Plain and simple.”

I shake his hand. “Got it. And hey, this way I’ll never be late for work.”

My red-faced boss scowls at me. “Somehow I think you’ll still manage.”

Grinning, I nod. “Someone’s gotta keep your heart rate up, Cal. Might as well be me.”

He grumbles something rude under his breath on his way out, handing me the key to the studio apartment above the bar before slamming the door.

It’s empty but it’s mine. Exposed brick walls, a thin film of something on the windows, and heavily scuffed wooden floors don’t exactly scream home sweet home, but it works for me.

Lord knows I’ve lived in worse.

After leaving Dixie’s this morning, I found an eviction notice on the trailer when I got home. It wasn’t the first and I knew it might not be the last, but looking around at that place, the dirty dishes, the stained furniture, and reminders of times I’d lost my temper and kicked in a door or had to remove one from its hinges to save my mom from overdosing on the bathroom floor, I realized there was no way in hell I was getting my fresh start in that shithole. Besides, my mom hadn’t been home in weeks so I was pretty sure she knew she was getting evicted and her sense of self-preservation kicked in so she’d made other arrangements.