Page 37 of Somewhere Without You

Thirty Six

The drive to Clarksburg was awkward. Neither of us said much, just sat there listening to the wind whip through the open windows. Logan kept apologizing for the AC being broken. He kept meaning to fix it but hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

The heathad died down, but the humiditylingered, and the airwasthick enough to make my clothes stick. Iwasrelievedwhenwe’dfinallystopped in Bridgeport, at a small nursery a few miles outside of town.

Onceinside, Logan started chatting with the owner—a round man with dirt under his nails wholookedlike a potted plant himself.

Afterwards, we spent the next half hour wandering the aisles, making small talk as we passed rows of bright, blooming flowers.

“What about roses?”Logan suggested, holding up a vibrant crimson bloom.

Memories of Jackson flooded back—howhe’dusedbouquets of them as a cheap attempt to gloss over his violence.

“No roses,” I said,my words sharper than I intended.

Logan raised an eyebrow.“You’ve got something against roses?”

“Justnever been a fan,”I mumbled, avoiding eye contact.Naturally, he picked up on the edge in my voice but,thankfully, didn’t press any further.

It didn’t take long to fill the cart.By the timewe wheeled it out,we’dgrabbeda little of everything—marigolds, black-eyed susan’s,evena buddleia bushthatLogan insisted would attract butterflies.

“I don’t remember you ever having a green thumb,”I teased, helping him load the back of the truck.

“Idon’t,”he admitted with a grunt.“ButI helped Gary out with some repairs on the nursery last summer,”he added, nodding toward the building.

“The first crew he hired ran off with a bunch of his money. Almost put him out of business. I offered to do the work for free, but he wouldn’t let me.

So now I send folks his way, and he does the same for me. Fair trade.”

“That’s actuallyreallythoughtful of you,”I said, handing over a pot of zinnias.

Logan hopped down from the truck bed.“You sound surprised.”

“MaybeI am.”I meant it as a joke, but it landed wrong. I winced.“Gran would say we’re goingtotallyoverboard with all this,”I added with a laugh.

“And she’dbe right,”Logan chuckled as he lifted heavy bags of soil, compost, and fertilizer into the back of the truck with ease.

I glanced over, noticing the way his arms tensed beneath the weight, a bead of sweat trailing down his sun-warmed skin.

Whendid hegetso. . . solid? The boyI’dgrownup withwasleaner, a little clumsy and a bit awkward.

Butthe man standing in front of me nowwasmore grounded, more sure of himself. And, well, helookedgood.Reallygood.

“Like what yousee?”he teased, a slow grin spreading across his face.

I rolled my eyes.“You’ve got dirt on your face,”I said, motioning to my own cheek before climbing back into the truck.

We rumbled back onto the road as we pulled away from the nursery. Clarksburgwasonly ten minutes out. Silence settled in again, soft but not as awkward this time. The windowswerestill down, letting in warm air now thick with the scent of fresh soil and sun.

Logan drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, glancing over once or twice like he wanted to say something buthadn’tquite decided how.

“Youknow,”he saideventually, “I don’t think I’ve been back to Clarksburg sincethatday your Gran got a wild hair up her ass and made us drive all the way out here to buy copper plates fromthatweird little shop.”

Ilookedout the window, watching the blur of green roll by.“Yeah. Shewasconvincedthey would help‘cleanse the air’or whatever.”

He laughed.“Shewasagoodwoman. Scared the hell out of me when Iwasa kid though.”

“She scared everyone,”I replied with a sigh.“Butyeah, shewasprettygreat.”

We both fell quiet for a moment.

“Feelsweird, doesn’t it?”he asked, his voice softer now.“Coming back when so muchhaschanged.”

“Yeah,”I said.“It does.”

Aswe turned ontothe mainroad, Clarksburg opened up around us, bustling with life and sun-drenched streets.

Storefronts came into view alongside faded billboards.

Up the hill, an old gas station sat with its flickering“Open”sign still clinging to life.

Somehow, the cityhadmanagedto hold onto its small-town charm,evenwith the buzz of modern life swirling around it.

Loganimmediatelypulled into a shaded office plaza—the kind with a jumble of places like a dentist office, and a nail salon. Alowkey tax office sat tucked in the corner.Whenhe parked in front of a law office, I gave him a curiouslook.

“Business stuff,”he said, rubbing the back of his neck.“My lawyer dropped the ball last week. I’ve got to sign some paperwork for a contract in Charleston. It’s why I needed to come out this way. I won’t be long, I promise.”

Oncehe disappeared inside, I rested my head out the window, watching the slow rhythm of people moving through their daily lives—families with strollers, couples carrying iced coffees.

It struck me how normal we must’velookedtogether.

Like a regular couple out running regularerrands on a sunny afternoon.

Thatwassomething I neverhadwith Jackson.

I blinked the thought away. I didn’t need to gothere—not now, not again.Andbesides, this whole thingwastemporaryanyway. Iwasonly staying at Gran’s until things settled down.Oncethe dust cleared with Jackson,I’dbe gone again.

Unlessit never cleared.Thenwhat?

I leaned back in my seat, arms crossed, eyes fixed on nothing in particular. The sunhadshiftedjustenough to cast a warm glow across the dashboard. It should’vefeltpeaceful.Instead, Ifeltlike Iwasstanding at the edge of something I didn’tknowhow to name.

Katherine said no oneknewwhere Jacksonwas.Buthe wouldn’t stay hidden forever, not with his name and money on the line. Sooner or later,he’dshow his face.Andwhen he did. . . would he expect me to come running back? All smiles and forgiveness?Becausethatwasn’tgoing to happen.

IfJackson wanted to fix things,it wouldtake real change. Notjusthim saying what he thought I wanted tohear, butactuallyproving it.AndI did want to work things out with him. . . didn’t I?

A small part of me believedI’dgo back.ThatJackson would change,thatthings would settle.Butdeep down, Iknewbetter. Iknewwhat settling with him meant—apologiesthatdidn’t last, promises stretched thin, walking on eggshellsevenwhen things were good.

Andyet, the idea of leaving forgoodstillfeltimpossible, terrifying,even. Not because I wanted him.Butbecause I didn’tknowwho Iwasanymore withoutthatconstant pressure,thatlow-grade survival mode.I’dforgottenwhat itwaslike to breathe without bracing for something.

Logan’s trucksmelledfaintlyof flowers and dirt, and I found myself clinging to it like an anchor. Being here—doing something as mundane as waiting while he ran an errand, itfeltsafe. Familiar, in a waythatdidn’t make my stomach tighten.

Butsafetywasjustan illusion,wasn’tit?Therewasalways a risk tofeelingsafe, to allowing myself to be happy, because it neverseemedto last. Sooner or later, the other shoe would drop, and this time, I needed to be ready.

I took a deep breath, my eyes wandering across the cab of Logan’s truck. A vanilla-scented pine tree hung from the review mirror, faded from the sun. Below it, random coins laid scattered across the center console where a frayed piece of rope peeked out from a small compartment.

Curious, I lifted the lid, my heart squeezing in recognition at the small heart-shaped rock wrappedneatlyin twine.

Suddenlythe driver’s side door swung open and Logan climbed inside.“You hungry?”he asked, throwing the truck into drive.

ButI couldn’t speak—couldn’t find words as I held up the small braceletI’dmadefor him so many years ago.

“You kept this?”I managed,finallyfinding my voice.“All these years, and you kept it?”

Logan’s face shifted, a mix of embarrassment and mild irritation at me digging through his stuff.“Of course I kept it,”he said.“Hell, I wore it every day until a couple years ago. Ionlytook it off ’cause I didn’t want to risk breaking it.”

He opened his hand and I dropped it into his palm, but instead of tucking it back into the center console, hecarefullyslipped it over his wrist.

“I’m sorry I snooped,”I mumbled,feelinga bit guilty.

“It’s alright.Honestly, Iprobablywould’ve done the same thing.”He grinned.“Find anything else interesting?”

I shot him a playful look. “Oh, youknow, a few condoms, an old bottle of whiskey. . .”

“Ah, so the usual,”he chuckled, and I couldn’t help but laugh too.

Inthatmoment, something clicked.MaybeI didn’t want to work things out with Jackson after all.MaybeeverythingI’dbeen looking forwassitting right in front of me all along.