Chapter 28 Jesse

I should have rescued her when I saw the look on her face.

I'd called Lauren after she drove Sam home and at least made her give me the bullet points on what the hell changed since last night. I hated that Sam felt like she couldn't text me for a ride. I understood not wanting to be vulnerable in front of other people—I'd become quite good at deflecting in the past year or so, but I wanted her to know that I wouldn't feel sorry for her or make her feel small.

"Hey, Jesse," a once-familiar voice sounded from behind me on my walk back to the booth.

I turned and tried to wipe the panic off my face.

"Christy, hey. How're things?" I stood still so she could catch up. She looked the same since the last time I'd seen her in passing a few years prior, and really hadn't changed much since we graduated.

"Good! How's the knee? I heard—"

"Well, it was great to see you. Have fun at the festival."

I nodded politely at her and walked away, not caring about what I was sure was an offended look on her face. I held no leftover anger toward Christy. Well, I really didn't hold leftover feelings for her at all; we had let things run far past their course, and I didn't feel obligated to put energy into a conversation for the sake of social niceties.

Fuck .

I just wanted to drive over there and knock on Sam's door until she answered, but Lauren told me to give her until her mom left the following day before I demanded anything else from her. It was a fair request and probably the right thing to do, but I didn't have to like it. I walked the rest of the way back to the Garrett's Hardware booth and offered to take over for my dad so he could go home.

"Nah, you can go enjoy the festival or go home if you need to rest your knee."

My father was almost a copy of me, just a few decades older. He'd aged significantly since his heart attack though, gray overtaking his blond hair, deeper wrinkles around his eyes.

"Okay, if you're sure. Need me to do anything while I'm here?"

"I said I've got it, son." His voice was soft but firm, and it made me feel like a child being chastised.

I just shot him a thumbs up and walked away, shoving my hands in my pockets. What a spectacularly shitty day it turned out to be. His refusal to admit that I had taken over at the store and done a damn good job was more than irritating. Maybe even moreso because I didn't want to be damn good at this job, but that line of thinking led to a dangerous place called What the Fuck am I Going to Do with My Life .

Not a problem you're going to solve today. Just go home, ice your knee, and call Sam tomorrow.

Dr. Merrill taught me that small actionable steps helped calm the panic. It worked. I just didn't know how long I could avoid the big, abstract, life-determining questions.