Chapter 12 - Collin

When my day is over and Amon is handing out instructions to the night shift, I slip away and start walking back to Lowyn's house. I know I told her I'd find another place to stay—and I will—but I still have to pick up my Jeep in front of her house and get my things.

The whole place is dark when I get there and that's when I remember that she said she was gonna work tonight. I could go inside. I actually have the key.

But I don't want to. Because if I go inside, this sets a course of action. It sends a message. It means that I respect her wishes—which is fine. That part's fine. But it also means that I'm a quitter. And despite the fact that I quit on Lowyn McBride when I walked out on her twelve years ago—I'm not a quitter.

So I do not go inside her house and collect my things. I don't even drive my Jeep. I walk over to McBooms and leave everything the way it is.

But when I get there, it's dark.

Hmm. Did she lie to me?

I don't think so. Even though Lowyn started our reconnection with a lie about my teenage bedroom, she is not a liar. She was doing nothing but handing out truths this afternoon.

It's possible she got an offer and took it. Perhaps Bryn invited her to dinner? Maybe Rosie Harlow talked her into goin' dancing? Maybe.

But I can't go on that assumption until I thoroughly check out McBooms for any signs of life. I press my face against the window and get an immediate payoff. A little bit of music. Fleetwood Mac. But there are no lights on and I can't see any people inside.

So I knock.

Immediately, a head pops up from the couch in the middle of the store. I can just barely make out her face when Lowyn turns towards the window, wiping her eyes like maybe she was crying, and then, even from the other side of the glass, I can hear that sigh, even though I can't. It's long. Like she's tired.

I knock again. "Lowyn. It's me. Open up, please."

Lowyn McBride is a quiet fighter. She's never gonna show up at my motel room and rip me a new asshole the way Bryn did the other day. It's not her style. But I can say, with one hundred percent certainty, that Lowyn's calm anger, and the way she delivers her truth in the most soothing way, and that soft manner in which she shows her disappointment—her sad, as she put it—is enough to crush a man and make him feel ashamed.

It certainly did crush me this afternoon. And I can't let this day end like this.

She gets up off the couch, walks over to the door, unlocks it, and opens it up a crack. "What are you doing here?"

It's not an accusation, though she's entitled to that. She did tell me to fuck off, in her own way, of course. And here I am, inserting myself back into her life when she's just trying to have a quiet moment of sadness.

"I just wanna say something. And then you can close the door and I'll leave. But I wanna say… No."

"No? No what?"

"It wasn't an ultimatum. This is not how it's supposed to be. And even if it is, I'm not walking out again. Ever."

That sigh she gives me. It's a whole lotta disbelief.

"You don't have to believe me tonight. Or tomorrow. Or next week or next year. But one day, Lowyn McBride, you will believe me. Because one day, when you're old, I'll still be here." I point to the ground. "I'll be right here. Because I made a mistake when I left you behind. I made a mistake when I broke your heart. I made a mistake and maybe I'm not the smartest guy around, but I'm a rather quick learner. And I don't tend to make the same mistakes twice. You were my best friend and I let you down. But I will not do that again. And like I said, you don't have to believe me. I'll just show you."

Then I tip an imaginary hat at her, turn, and I walk away.

"Collin?"

I stop. Force myself not to smile. And turn. "What?"

"Do you wanna come in and make Jell-O?"

"We're having a serious conversation here, Miss McBride."

"I realize that."

"I have no idea what Jell-O has to do with anything."

"It's a thing I do for the kiddie tent. They sell Jell-O squares for a nickel. But I had forgotten because you're such a fuckin' distraction. So I need to make some Jell-O before I go to bed tonight and I thought I'd invite you in to help me do that so you didn't have to look like a sad little puppy who just lost his mama."

"Is that what I look like?"

She doesn't answer. Just opens the door.

Of course I will not say no. And she knows this.

I smile at her as I pass through and enter McBooms. But then I remember something. "Were you crying?"

"Of course I was. I just lost my best friend. Again."

"You didn't lose me."

"I sent you packing."

"But I'm not leaving."

She walks past me to the couch and flops down. There's a boom box on the cushion next to her. I guess she had turned the music off when I knocked, but she turns it back on now and Fleetwood Mac resume their lament about dreams.

"I thought we were makin' Jell-O?"

"We are." But she doesn't get up. Just turns the music down a little so it's not interfering with our talk.

I take the hint and sit down. Not too close, but not too far, either.

"I thought you were goin' bowling, Collin?"

"I'll show up later, maybe."

"They're gonna pick shirts without you."

I smile. "Maybe it's for the best."

She turns to me and her mouth is poutin'. "I want to trust you. And love you like you never left. But… it's hard, Collin."

"What's gettin' in the way? My past actions? Or is it more the uncertainty of my future ones?"

"Future."

"You think I'll take off again."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"I literally just bought fourteen houses eight miles out of town."

"That's not enough."

My eyes widen in surprise. "It's not enough?"

"No. Not for me."

"Should I propose?"

I get a teeny, tiny smile from her. "No."

"You don't want a husband."

"Nope."

"Should I… give you a promise ring?"

"Hmm."

"Oooh. I'm gettin' warmer. Should I… write you a love poem?"

Her smile is big now.

"Damn, woman. You want me to write you a poem?"

"You do have such lovely words. A letter would suffice."

"Words, in written form, can fix this?"

She presses her lips together, smiling. Nodding. "But you can recite it. You don't have to write it."

"Right now? Do I have to do it right now?"

"A rough draft would go a long way."

Now it's my turn to smile. "OK. How about this?" I clear my throat. "Dear Lowyn. No. My dearest Lowyn." I pause to think, but the memory comes right up, like it's been waiting for this moment since the very day it happened. "I was in Bali one early morning. I had been up all night working—three days, actually—and I was so tired, I could barely make it back to the hotel from my post. So I took a shortcut through the fruit and flower market and the scent of it all, it struck me dumb. For about ten seconds, I just stood there, in the middle of the market, and slowly turned in a circle."

"Why?"

"Why?" I look right at Lowyn. "Because I smelled you, that's why." She smiles. "It was the flowers. Baskets filled with little flowers. They call them jepun there in Bali, but they're called plumeria here."

"Oh." She smiles bigger now. "I love plumeria."

"I know. You wore that scent every day in high school. But the story gets better. Because an old woman saw me, and came up to me, and asked me who I was missing."

"Did she speak English?"

"No."

"You speak Balinese?"

"No."

Lowyn laughs. "Then how did you know what she was saying?"

"I dunno. But I did. I didn't answer her, though. Because, obviously, I don't speak Balinese. So then she said, ‘Come with me.' Then she took my hand and took me out of the market to a tree filled with pink and white flowers. The trunk was goin' this way and that and the top was shaped like an umbrella. A pink umbrella. The old woman said, while waving her finger at me, ‘You don't pick them. You gather them.' And she pointed to the ground. There were children there too, picking up flowers that had fallen off the tree. But there were so many flowers, there was more than enough for all of us. So I picked up the flowers and…"

Lowyn tries to be patient, but I've caught her imagination now and she can't help herself. "And what? What happened?"

"I woke up." She smacks me. Playfully. "I woke up, Lowyn. In my hotel bathtub, surrounded by those same pink and white flowers."

"What? I don't understand. It was a dream? Or it was real?"

"I don't know. But I was thinking of you, and those flowers, and the next thing I know, magic happened. You're my magic, Lowyn. And that's my love letter."

"Rough draft."

"Right." I smile. "I will polish the fuck out of that story and turn it in."

She chuckles a little, mostly to herself. Then she draws her legs up to her chest and settles back against the couch cushions.

"So. I've been thinking about our conversation this afternoon."

Her eyes dart to mine. They are bloodshot because she's been crying. Her make-up, while not streaked down her face or anything, is smudged under her lower eyelashes. She's still wearing her costume, but no shoes, I notice. And she's taken the jewelry off.

"And I think I know where I went wrong."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Ya see, Lowyn, I forgot to tell you how those two seconds affected me too."

Her sad look becomes even sadder. I don't want to have this conversation because it won't paint me in a nice light. It won't soften my edges, it will make me hard and sharp. And I hate that this is the man I turned into, but there's no way around it. I am this guy.

"Before I got up from the couch to go see what was happening, and before I picked up that rifle—thank the fuckin' God above, it wasn't the shotgun—and before I squeezed that trigger—even though the man in front of me specifically, and deliberately, asked me to spare his life—before all that I was…" I sigh. She's entranced by this story, even more so than the last one. "I was… good, Lowyn. Good enough, at least. I was a good enough ball player to get a scholarship to Ohio State. I was a good enough son to my daddy to still be worth his time. I was a good enough student, and a good enough boyfriend, and pretty much a good enough everything. And then, two seconds later, I was a murderer."

She exhales. "It was self-defense."

"Maybe." I shrug. "Maybe it was. Maybe he was gonna kill one of us. He did have a gun and he was kidnapping my baby sister right out of her bed. But he put his hands up, Lowyn. He asked me not to shoot. And I didn't even blink. I blew his fuckin' head off. And it's not because I was scared, either. It's not even so much about the anger, though I was angry. There was just this…" I let out a sigh. "This very strong voice inside my head, ya know? This voice that said, ‘No, sir. No. Sir. You don't get a second chance after this. You. Are. Dead.'"

Lowyn presses her lips together. "I think that's what the sheriff was trying to tell me, Collin. Sometimes a person crosses your line and they don't get to come back from that."

"Right. I get it. I've even accepted it. That I'm one of those men, ya know? But the hard part for me was how I felt about myself afterward. You told me the other night that I made you feel safe. That what I did was something that ruined you by lifting me up."

"That's not what I said."

"Those aren't the words you used, but that is what you said, Lowyn. I don't make myself feel safe. I scare myself. That's what you don't know about me. You see me, this man with pretty words, or whatever, and think I'm him. And I'm not. I'm… that kid who blew that guy's head off. I'm that guy. I didn't feel safer after I murdered that man. I felt… powerful. But also dirty. Awful. Ugly. Evil. And you…" I stop here, because her eyes are watering now. "You, Lowyn, you're like the nicest, purest thing these fuckin' hills have ever seen. You're just… one of them, ya know?"

"One of who?"

"The good ones. You're one of the good ones. You're like… like the glory that comes after the rumble. And I used to be one of them too. At the very least, I had it in me to maybe be one of them too. And then I killed a man. And since that night, I've killed a lot more."

Her face falls. "Where? In the Marines?"

I nearly scoff. "No. No, Lowyn. I told you the military made a private army. I killed people as a hired gun."

"What kind of people?"

"Bad people. They were bad people. They were all trying to kill someone I was hired to protect. But you see, that night… it turned me from good enough to no good at all. And so, when we were having our conversation this afternoon, I was not trying to be flippant about our destiny, or lack of one. I was just trying to say all this, all these words, with the fewest number of letters as possible, and it came out wrong. It's not that I am content to let us be, or not be, based on fate. It's that I am content to let us be, or not be, based on whether or not I deserve you."

"What does that even mean, though? I mean, there's no Grand Poobah controlling the world handing out badges with the word ‘Deserving' written on a banner. You just got to accept what people offer, Collin. Whether or not they choose to offer it isn't really any of your concern."

I just stare at her for a few seconds. Because she's right. It's not up to me what other people think. Or what they offer me, even if it's something I don't feel I deserve, like trust. She should not trust me. But it's not my place to tell her who to trust. And honestly, I know with one hundred percent certainty that she can trust me. Because if this really is a second chance then there is no way I will fuck it up again.

Without saying anything Lowyn hikes her dress up and slips into my lap, her legs straddling mine, her fingertips gently touching my cheek, and our eyes locked—the same way we used to do it in high school.

And automatically, and without a single thought or hesitation at all, my hands slip to her smooth, cool thighs and reach around her ass to tug her closer.

She sighs. And smiles. "Thank you."

"What for?"

"For all those letters you didn't want to string together to make all those words."

"It's enough then?"

"It's enough."

And then she leans down, slowly and deliberately, and kisses me.

I let this first part go slow. I let it torture me. Because this kiss is everything right now and I want to remember every single second of it. Her lips are soft and tender. And when she opens her mouth and slips her tongue right up against mine, I am crushed by all the seconds I've wasted in life without her by my side.

I see everything that I've missed in this one moment. All condensed, and squished up, and packed into a single fleck of time.

And then that moment passes and I can't take it any longer. I reach up and grab her face and kiss her good. When we've had our fill of that we pull away, breathless. Then she's scootin' backwards. Getting away from me. I grab her hand, but she put her finger to her lips and says, "Shhhhh."

So I let go.

And she stands up, smiling at me, something coy about it too. And then she hikes her Revival costume dress up her thighs and then the next thing I know, her panties are dropping to the floor. Then she puts her bare foot right up between my legs and starts rolling down her stocking.

I about die. "Woman, what the fuck are you trying to do to me?"

She just smiles—more coyness comes with it—and she does this same move with the other leg too. Then she grabs my tie and pulls on it until I get the hint and stand up.

I have to admit, I'm smiling as well. Not coyly. Not at all. Maybe a bit loftily. And then she's sliding my suspenders down my arms. And before I even get a chance to catch up, she's got her dainty little fingertips on the top button of my trousers. All five of the buttons down my fly come open.

I might die again.

And she knows this, because she laughs as she pushes me, making me fall back into the couch cushions. Then she steps up to me, looking down at me, smiling at me—and she sits herself back in my lap. Arranging her dress to flare over her thighs. Placing her hands on my shoulders.

"Do you want me to keep going, Collin Creed? So you can watch with your mouth open a little longer?"

I almost guffaw. Almost. Instead, I grab her hips, flip her sideways onto the couch—which makes her squeal like she's a teenager again—and then I push that dress right out of my way with one hand, getting my hard-on out of my pants with the other, and even though she deserves more than just a little bit of foreplay time, that can come later.

Right now, I just want to be inside her.

And a moment later, there's where I am.

I brace myself on my elbows, take her face in my hands, and I look her in the eyes as I love the fuck out of her for the second time ever. And this time, maybe the setting could be a little nicer, a bit more romantic, but either way, it's everything I ever wanted from lovemaking.

Lowyn closes her eyes, opens her mouth to moan a little, and then her back is bucking up as I slip in and out of her and then before I even have a chance to calm her down, she's coming. Writhing under me as Fleetwood Mac softly sings about lightning striking—maybe once, maybe twice.

And it is twice. In our case, at least.

Because this is everything a man could ever want in a second chance.

When I come, I do not pull out. And I'm not gonna regret that tomorrow. This is the woman I will marry. I don't care that she doesn't want a husband. So when she's calmer, and I've got my face buried in her neck—kissing it, nibbling on her ear—I let her know this.

I say, in a soft, soft whisper, "When the trying times come, we will hold hands. And when the heavy times come, we will walk them together. And when the depressing times come, and you feel the burden of life to be so vast and wide that you feel forsaken, I will be there to carry you. No matter how long it takes or how far we must travel, no matter how many miles it be, I will carry you, Lowyn McBride. I will carry you."

She is holding her breath that whole time I'm whispering. And when I'm done, she lets it out real slow. "That's a Revival wedding vow you just recited, Collin Creed."

And I just smile into her neck as I squish us together on the couch. "Indeed it is, Miss McBride. Indeed it is."

She turns her whole body into me. Burying her face in my chest. Pressing herself up so close to me, I can feel her heart thumping in her chest.

And this, I think, is probably the best night of my life. And for the first time in more than a decade, I slip into sleep without a single thought of how much blood I have on my hands.

I startle awake, rubbing my eyes and groggily trying to open them. "What the fuck is that noise?"

Lowyn groans beside me, pulling my arm over her head to try to cover her ears, not the least bit interested in waking up.

But I can't help myself. I would love to stay on this used couch from the Seventies inside her store, but that noise… "Oh, shit." I sit up, taking Lowyn with me.

"Mmmmmmm," she protests.

"Lowyn, get up. We slept through Saturday."

"What?"

I'm already on my feet, buttoning my trousers back up.

"What are you talking about?" Her question is sexy as all hell because her voice is so… low, and deep, and filled with satisfaction.

"Listen." I point to the ceiling.

She squints her eyes. Like this might help her hear better. And then I say the words with the loudspeaker outside. "‘When you look upon the hills, the sun shining on the peaks, and you hear the rumble in the distance, don't you ever forget that behind it comes the glory. And as that rumble resonates into the echo on the water, let it be a sign! A sign that the righteous will find comfort in the brave. And the danger will exist only in the damaged. Because when you give yourself to something higher, you will feel the relief that comes with the emptiness of anger and you will know, in your heart, that the blessing of grace is now upon you!'"

And then I look at Lowyn, who is standing now, her hair all askew and a little bit of dribble at the corner of her mouth. She manages to say a few words. "Is that what I think… but… it's not Sunday. We could not have slept two nights, Collin! It's not possible!"

"Those are my daddy's words." For some reason, I'm upset about this. Like… borderline angry about this. "Why the fuck is my daddy's voice booming through the town loudspeakers when it's Saturday morning of opening weekend and there is no fuckin' Revival scheduled?"

Lowyn pats at her hair, still trying to wake up. "I don't know. What's goin' on?"

"Put your panties back on, Lowyn. We've got to go."