18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

TALLULAH REGIONAL AIRPORT REDUX

It was almost dawn when Preston knocked on my door. He peeked through the crack, unsurprised to find Rivers' body tangled with mine. It was almost like he'd expected it. Like it was the natural order of things.

"I'm ready when you are, kid."

I thought of waking Rivers to say goodbye, but decided against it. What we'd had in two short weeks was enough to last us a lifetime. Instead, I kissed his forehead, whispering out my thanks for allowing this. For wanting to know me. For letting me know him.

Downstairs, I crept through the foyer, trying to avoid waking Beau, who we'd left sleeping on the couch when we arrived. That plan was shot straight to Hell when my knee banged against something, and a kid's cry echoed out from in front of me.

"Why'd you go and do that for?" Beau asked, sitting in front of the door, rubbing his knee. “You didn’t have to run into me, for gosh’s sake. You gotta watch where you're going. Good grief, you could've broke my dang neck."

"Sorry," I said, chuckling as I knelt beside him. "Hey, little guy."

"You're really leaving?" There was a hint of hurt in his voice. A small, sharp little sound that sliced away at me. I opened my mouth to answer, but all that left me was an exhale. So, when the words failed me, I wrapped him up in my arms and clung to him, kissing his temple. "You won't forget about me, will you?"

"How could I forget you, Mr. President?"

His nails dug deeply into my back, and his shoulders shook a little. "Just the Tallulah chapter."

"That's the only chapter that matters."

The sound of Preston's keys jangling pulled me out of the moment, back to reality. I tried to stand, but Beau's grip just tightened around me.

"Just a little longer, Phillip," he insisted.

"You take care of Fudge, okay?" I said, not wanting to let go of him, either.

"Yeah." He nodded, rubbing his nose against my shirt. I didn't mind that it left a disgusting trail of goop in its wake. Okay, maybe I minded a little, but I knew I could just change in the truck. "And you take care of Mr. Papadopoulos. I know you think he's a naughty boy, but his heart is in the right place. So, you gotta stop calling him a murderer, okay? It'll make him sad."

"I swear," I said, kissing his forehead. "No more name-calling. Scout's honor."

"And you'll come back and visit?"

"All the time." The words were out before they'd even registered, and I knew that going forward, I'd be making more trips back to the city that let me go. The city that scooped me back up in its big, strong arms when I returned. I'd made a promise to a boy, and it was one I had to keep. One I wanted to keep.

"I love you, Phillip," he said, and I had to swallow a sob.

"I love you too, Mr. President."

When we reached Preston's pickup, Jordan rushed past me, hoisting himself up and crawling into the middle seat. Once we were inside, I stared up at my bedroom window. Rivers was up there. All it would take is a flick of a wrist. The tug of Dad's door handle. The truck door would open. I'd be on my feet. In the house. Up the stairs. Back in bed where I belonged. Then I could tell him. I could return to him what was his.

I love you too, Firecracker.

My eyes were misty, but thankfully, neither of the men in the truck called me on it. Instead, Jordan threw his hand over my shoulder and pulled me against him. His lips grazed against my forehead, warm and wet.

"I've got you, Phillip."

I squeezed his knee. "I've got you too, Jordy."

After a few minutes, his arm uncoiled from around me, and then the seat shifted. I didn't need to look at them to know they were clinging to each other, but I did anyway. My dad had my best friend pulled against his chest, showing more affection than I'd ever witnessed or gotten from him.

I didn't call them out, either. I figured I wasn't the only one leaving Tallulah with a broken heart. The least I could do was allow them this. Jordy didn't need catty remarks or snide observations. He just needed that physical connection. When we got home, we could mend our wounds together.

Preston's phone chimed a few minutes later as we drove past the paper mill. He peeked at it, muttering a curse under his breath before shoving it back in his pocket. "Gotta stop for gas."

Jordan stared at the gas gauge on the dash. "You've got three quarters of a tank."

"I like to keep it on four quarters. Bad for the engine if you don't."

"Oh," Jordan said, accepting his word as gospel. Not me, though.

"You keep it on full?" I said.

"Four quarters," he said, clearing his throat.

"Which means full. There are only four quarters."

He reached for the truck's ashtray and tugged it down, revealing a hoard of coins. "Got at least twenty in there."

"For fuck's sake," I muttered, slamming the repurposed ashtray shut.

"Just shut up and stop trying to ruin the moment, Phillip," Jordan said, snuggling into my father's chest and closing his eyes. His smile was cemented in place, and he was beginning to resemble the Cheshire cat. My cat, however, was having none of it. He stared up at us and hissed, like he was ready to slaughter us for interrupting his precious sleep.

Preston stopped at the nearest gas station to fill up, and for some reason he stood there for what felt like hours, even after the lever popped, indicating his tank was full. Granted, I wasn't ready for a lengthy flight with Danvers the diabolical dick tease, but I didn't particularly feel like spending the rest of the morning staring at a gas station either. I leaned across Jordan's lap and slammed my palm against the horn.

"Would you come the fuck on already?"

Jordan scowled at me. "Can you please calm down?"

"Listen," I said, sneering. "When we get home, we're going to have a lengthy discussion about your rampant insubordination. I don't know what's gotten into you—"

"Your father," he said, staring longingly out the window.

I choked on my own spit. "Jordan Maxwell Miller! What the fuck?"

"Huh?" It took him a second for the words to register, and then his cheeks turned the shade of a fire hydrant. "Oh, my God, that is so not what I meant. Forget I said it."

"Kind of hard to forget you admitting to riding my father like a horse."

"We didn't!" He insisted. "I just meant—I mean, I wasn't saying—" He covered his face with his hands. "Any chance we can forget this conversation ever happened?"

"I'm going to need therapy after this. I'm sending you the bill."

"Dammit, Phillip. Just pretend I never said anything."

"Pretend you never said anything about what?" Preston asked as he opened the truck door and climbed in. Jordan stared at me with eyes wide as saucers. A silent plea for mercy.

That plea was denied.

"You keep your dick away from my assistant. Do you hear me? Jesus actual Christ on the actual crucifix."

Preston swallowed. Then he slid his hand on top of Jordan's knee and squeezed. "What happens in the privacy of my bedroom is none of your concern, Phillip."

"Oh, my God," I said.

"Dammit, Pressy," Jordan said. "Ignore him, Phillip. Nothing happened."

"Pressy? You have nicknames for each other?" I was wailing. I knew it, and I didn't care. "What's next, personalized ringtones?"

"Does anyone still use actual ringtones?" Jordan mused. "I thought most people just kept their phones on silent."

Preston chuckled, and then he unlocked his phone and tapped his screen a few times. Seconds later, Jordan's phone came to life, blaring out the chorus to The Power of Love by Celine Dion. As Celine belted out that she was Jordan's lady, my assistant's entire body went rigid.

"Who's calling you?" I demanded.

"That's a really pretty tree," he said, pointing at an empty field across the street. "What do you call those things?"

"Nonexistent," I deadpanned. "Answer the question." I stared at my father, who was winking at me like a moron.

"For fuck's sake, Phillip. Can you calm down?" Jordan said. "So, we spent a little time together. It's not a big deal. We just indulged in a bit of light spooning. It wasn't anything sordid."

"Oh, it's a very big deal." I grabbed Jordan by the chin and lightly tugged until his eyes met mine. "Now, I want you to listen, and listen well. If you think I'm calling you dad, you're fucking high."

Jordan sighed, resting his hand on my knee and giving it a pat. "We'll see, son. We'll see."

***

We pulled up to Tallulah Regional Airport shortly after dawn. The second we walked in, it felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my heart. When we'd arrived two weeks earlier, the place had been a ghost town. For my grand farewell, that wasn't the case. Scattered throughout the lobby, at least forty people were waiting to tell us goodbye. The second they spotted us, it was pandemonium. A thunderous round of applause echoed out, getting louder and louder the longer it went on. It must have lasted a solid five minutes until Minnie Sinclair snuck past the velvet rope separating the crowd from the crew. She hobbled over, carrying two Styrofoam containers.

"Thought you boys might get hungry on the way out," she said, opening the lid to show me her signature waffles. In a small Ziplock bag, there were two tufts of cotton candy, one for each of us. "Wanted to send you off with something special."

Next in line was Aunt Lurlene. Suddenly, the sticky note she'd hung on her door earlier made sense. 'Tummy trouble,' my foot. Her ensemble for the morning was just as ridiculous as ever, and I loved her for it. A powder-blue mullet with pink bangs was perched on her head, but she must've put it on in the car, because it was a lopsided mess. I reached for her, straightening her wig as her hands rubbed back and forth against my forearms. She was wearing a shimmering scarlet jumpsuit with a gargantuan belt with a silver skull and crossbones on the buckle.

"Hey," I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. "You didn't have to come out here today. I know you're probably exhausted after the last two weeks."

"Hogwash," she said. "My Turnip's heading home. I had to send you off in style." She kissed my cheek, her arms stretching around me, pulling me in for a hug. "I'm so proud of you, sugar. I don't know if I could love you more if I tried."

"I love you, too," I said, giving her another squeeze. "And we'll see each other before you know it. I promise."

My father was next to her, standing behind Jordan. He had one arm draped over him, across his chest. He was holding on to him like he didn't want to let him go. "You mean it? About coming back more often?"

"Is that okay?"

"I'd like that, Phillip," my father said. "I'd really like that."

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely." He shifted his gaze to a particularly uninteresting wet floor sign and mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Said, 'I love you,' I guess." He winced, as if the admission had felt like daggers wounding his throat as they worked their way out.

"I guess I kind of love you, too." I coughed. "Dad." I pretended not to notice him wipe a little wetness from his eyes. Scanning the crowd, I saw a sea of familiar faces, none of which belonged to the only two people I wanted there beside me. How could they be? I'd left them both back at Fletcher Family Vineyard; Beau cuddled up on the sofa, Rivers sleeping in sheets that still smelled like me. Onlooker after onlooker came forward to wish me well, but I found myself peering over my shoulder, hoping for a miracle I knew wouldn't come.

After saying our goodbyes, Brenda/Carole motioned for us to hang back while they got the cameras ready on the tarmac. I knew they'd want to get footage of us boarding the plane, and knowing Brenda/Carole, she'd more than likely expect tears. It wouldn't take much to get them flowing. All I'd have to do was think of—

"Rivers?" Jordan said.

I sighed, because somewhere along the way, Jordy had mastered the art of clairvoyance. Fuck. It had been less than an hour, and I already felt like a part of me was missing. I could picture him so clearly. Those beautiful brown eyes that had a way of making my knees go wobbly at the worst possible times. His pearly-white teeth that could send me into a hypnotic state each time he smiled. The rasp in his voice when any time he'd say—

"Firecracker?"

His hand against my shoulder. His breath against the back of my neck. I was walking away from the one person who'd seen me at my worst and cared enough to claim me. The man whose initials were permanently etched into my baseboard. My king. Well, my queen now, I supposed. I could hear him so clearly. Like he was right there beside me.

"Phillip? Baby?" And then the world was spinning. Or, rather, I was spinning. Through no action of my own, I was whirling around on my heels so fast, I almost fell on my ass. Any other day, I might have threatened to sue him for bodily and psychological harm. But not that day. Not when he was standing right in front of me, smiling at me with so much hope in his eyes that I almost couldn't bear it.

"What… Rivers? What are you doing here? You were asleep."

Beau tugged my shirt, grinning up at me. "You can thank me later."

"Mr. President…" I faux chided, my voice cracking as I reached down and ran my fingers through his hair.

"He woke me up right after you left," Rivers said. "Gave me some pretty solid advice, too."

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "He told me if I didn't give you a proper goodbye, I'd regret it for the rest of my life." His fingertips traced my chin, ascending and descending the length of my jaw like they had all the right in the world to do so.

They did. They absolutely did.

"So, I guess that's what I'm doing here," he said.

"Telling me goodbye?"

"Well," he coughed, his eyes looking everywhere but at me. "That, or…"

"Or what?"

"I just—Phillip…"

"Hey," I said, cupping his face. "Look at me, Riv. It's just you and me right now, okay?"

"There's at least fifty people here, Firecracker." He still wasn't looking at me. It was like he'd taken that first step, but was too scared to follow through with the second. I knew that fear. I'd lived that fear for twenty years. Never again. Not when it came to him.

I shook my head. "It's just you and me. None of them matter right now."

"Well, that was uncalled for," Aunt Lurlene huffed. "I show up at dawn to see him off, and he goes and tells the world he doesn't give a rat's behind about me."

"I blame Mayor Rivera," Danvers called out, taking a sip of his coffee. "I wouldn't put up with that, Mrs. Fletcher. You ought to forbid this. Cut Phillip off financially if he doesn't break up with him right now."

"Well, sugar, why would I do that?"

I stroked Rivers' cheek, soft and slow. His eyes were still focused on the floor, every trace of his courage having left him. This man. This silly, ridiculous little man.

"You should give me a go at him," Danvers said. "I'd have him barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen where he belongs."

"He doesn't have ovaries," Beau said proudly. "I learned that in class."

"You're seven years old," I said, my eyes never straying from Rivers' face. "What school teaches first graders about the reproductive system?"

"I'm nine," Beau grumbled. "I've told you at least a hundred times."

"That's sexist," Aunt Lurlene said to Danvers. "I'm not having a misogynist for a son-in-law. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Danvers Davenport. Does your momma know you talk about potential partners like this? Do I need to call Thelma and give her the business?"

"Hey," I said, pressing my forehead to his. "Just look at me. Please?"

Rivers sniffed; a soft, gentle sound that tugged at every heartstring I had. "I'm scared, Firecracker. Scared of—"

"Just say it. You don't have anything to be scared of. The entire ride over, I wanted to tell my dad to turn the truck around. I wanted to run back up those stairs and crawl into bed with you, right where I belong. It feels like it did back then. Like I'm running. I don't think I want to run anymore. So, whatever you want to say, please… Please? I'm not going to hurt you."

He gripped my hip with his hand, his nails digging so deeply into my skin that I had to stifle a cry. "You promise?"

"I promise," I said, kissing the corner of his mouth. "I promise, I promise, I promise." Brenda/Carole, noticing something was amiss, grabbed the camera from her crew member and ran toward the airport, smacking her head on the glass when she tried to enter.

"Rivers," I said, nipping his lips with my teeth. "What I told you last night—"

"That you could've loved me?"

"I could," I whispered, and then, "I do. I love you, Riv. I love you, and I love Beau. Yeah, I know it's fast, but I don't really give a damn. I've never been good at this stuff. It never ends well for me. After a while, I just gave up on it altogether. Then you come in like some goddamn white knight to save my heart like a cliche cartoon hero, and make the world bigger and brighter than it ever was. Honestly, I could probably sue you for psychological damage." His hands gripped tighter around me as Brenda/Carole barged in, screaming that we needed to restart the scene. I flipped her off. "But I want this with you. I want to try. I'm just as scared as you are, but you're worth that fear. Every bit of it."

He paused, blinking back tears, and then he looked up at me with dripping eyes, and the briefest hint of a smile formed on his mouth. "Please… please stay."

"That's what you want?"

"Yes," he breathed. "More than anything. I love you too, Firecracker."

I kissed him. Right there, in front of everyone and no one, I made my choice. Hell, I was pretty sure I'd made it before I even left Aunt Lurlene's. And, sure, we were rushing things, but at that moment, I couldn't bring myself to care. Rivers Rivera—my silly little mayor—had chosen me. And wasn't that just something? Of all the people he could have picked, he'd cast his ballot for Phillip Firecracker. A man who'd never been particularly pick-worthy. A small-town kid who'd lucked out. A singer who couldn't hold a note. A reality television personality with a less than stellar personality. He chose me to be the man he loved.

And so, I said, "Yeah, Riv. Of course. Of course, I'll stay."