“It’s Colson,” I breathe, my heart still pounding.
A low rumble emits from Barrett’s chest as she scowls over her shoulder. She kicks open her door and propels out of the seat, “Colson fucking Lutz!” she roars, slamming her door so hard, the entire Jeep rocks.
I scramble out my door just as she rounds the back of the Jeep, fists clenched and knuckles white.
“Nice to see you, too, Barrett,” Colson smiles as he walks toward us. He furrows his brow when he sees the dubious look on my face, “What’s wrong?”
“You live behind Bowen?” I blurt out in astonishment, “How?”
Before he can respond, Barrett marches up to him and backhands him across the arm with a crack, “What the hell is wrong with you?” She barely comes up to his shoulder. “I was ready to drive us through the fucking forest!”
Colson glances down at her with amusement and shrugs, “It’s like a drag strip, you get some good speed. Couldn’t you see me?”
“No!” she shrieks. “You could’ve at least—” suddenly, she lets out a scream and stumbles to the side as a giant, black German shepherd appears out of nowhere and pokes its wet nose into her hand.
My shoulders shake with laughter as Barrett hops around in fright. The dog looks up at her with curiosity, its pointy ears twitching as she jerks around. I can’t help it, she’s more wound up than I am. She paces back and forth across the grass, hands on her hips, trying to calm down.
I look up at Colson, “We thought it was a trap,” I mutter before turning back to the Jeep.
I tug the back passenger door open and swing my duffel and tote over my shoulder. I’m tired of carrying them, a reminder of the only belongings I have left. I don’t want to think about that, either.
When I turn around, Barrett is standing next to Colson, much more solemn now. The forlorn look on her face makes me want to climb back into her Jeep, pick up some takeout, and go back home with her to watch Euphoria and send each other memes from across the sofa. But I know I can’t.
My Tahoe is still there. My Tahoe…I scoff under my breath. It’s not even mine. I never got around to adding myself to the title, and Bowen never cared either way. Now I see why…
The GPS tracker is also at her house. She’ll turn it off eventually, but as long as I’m not there, Barrett will be safe and Bowen won’t have any reason to come after her.
“I’ll let you know what I’m doing—you know—when I find out.” I crack a smile as I reach for her.
We hug each other all the time, every time we see one another, but this time feels different. We hold just as tight, like a cocoon woven around all the history and the memories that have kept us together so long. We sear each other into our collective consciousness in a moment that reminds us why we’ve stuck together.
When Barrett lets go, she turns to Colson, her jaw tight and her eyes ablaze, “I know Brett trusts you, and she has more sense than either of us,” she points her finger up at him, her voice raspy and threatening, “but I swear to God, Colson—" she can’t get the rest of the words out before her chin begins to tremble.
Colson gently takes her by the wrist and wraps his other arm around her neck. She lets him pull her to his chest, gripping his shoulder as he presses his mouth to her ear. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but eventually Barrett starts nodding and takes a deep breath. When she pulls away, her eyes are wet and her cheeks flushed, but she looks calmer.
I tap the edge of Barrett’s door as soon as she climbs back into the driver’s seat, “Text me when you get home and let me know everything’s OK.”
“Don’t worry, I have a plan,” she says as she fastens her seatbelt, “I asked Clay to come stay for a couple of days. When I told him why, he got really excited and now I think he’s bringing Dalton, too,” she waggles her eyebrows at the last part.
I glance away with a grin. I can just imagine Barrett’s brother and his best friend posting up at her house; two linemen straight out of the holler, rolling in to clean out her fridge and look for a fight. At least she’s guaranteed to be safe with them.
“OK, before I leave, be straight with me,” Barrett slides her sunglasses up her nose, “was Colson ever serviced by—” she glances over my shoulder at Colson leaning against his STI, “Roto Rooter?”
My soul nearly leaves my body, “No,” I creak out through uncontrollable laughter, “no, he wasn’t.”
And I continue laughing as the Jeep’s taillights shrink in the distance and they disappear around the edge of the pines. I should’ve known Barrett wouldn’t have left here any other way.
Colson reaches into his backseat for his backpack, “What’s so funny?”
“You’d be mortified,” I reply, trying to compose myself. Changing the subject, I nod to the pole building behind the house, “Is your baby in there?” I ask, referring to his Bronco.
“Of course,” he shoots me a knowing look before lifting my duffel bag off my shoulder and taking it from me. “Pony!” he calls to the German shepherd and nods to the house.
Pony runs up the path, leaps up the stairs, and waits for us on the porch. Much lighter, I follow Colson up the dusty walk. The house looks old, like it’s stood here for the better part of a century, nothing like the Gothic waterfront estate he used to live in. He digs into his pocket for his keys, the black German shepherd waiting patiently behind me while he does so.
“You still haven’t said how you came to live right behind Bowen.”
“This house belongs to the family of a girl I know from high school. Her dad grew up here, but nobody’s lived here for years,” Colson opens the door and motions inside, “so, I told him if he let me live here, I’d start fixing it up.”
When I step through the door, it’s like walking into two separate houses. Light from the sliding glass door on the back wall floods into the great room, illuminating the entire first floor. The kitchen looks brand-new, with fresh white cabinets, new black appliances, and stainless-steel countertops, a stark contrast to the living room that still has maroon shag carpet and walls peppered with patches of spackle.
I gaze around the room, “So, you pay rent in renovations?”
“Most of it’s cosmetic, so it’s really not that complicated,” he steps over the threshold and nods for the German shepherd to come in before swinging the door shut and locking it behind him.
Colson leads me up the staircase where smooth, clean hardwood sprouts from the ancient, worn-down carpet. The walls in the hallway still need painted, but the upstairs is otherwise finished, with crisp white baseboards, refinished oak floors, and paint the color of storm clouds in the room where he sets down my bag before we return to the stairs.
“That’s…really nice of you.”
“It’s more than a fair trade,” he shrugs.
But I know the rent doesn’t matter to Colson. There’s still the unspoken reason—the one where Colson chose to live on this property because it’s the closest that he can get to the house where I lived with his sister’s murderer.
●●●
In some surreal twist of fate, I’m finally able to relax enough to space out at the kitchen table. I never thought I’d find myself back in a house with Colson, much less entering one willingly—out of necessity.
I don’t think too much about it at first, because if I don’t laugh about it, I’ll just start crying. The infamous German shepherd named after Ponyboy Curtis lays next to the sliding glass door behind me, staring out the window like a statue, scanning the trees for movement—animal or otherwise. Maybe Dallas was onto something when she named him. He’s a formidable dog with a dark and tough exterior, but all he wants is a good ear scratch, at least from me.
