Page 71 of Deviant
“Oh.” Cash chuckles. “Yeah. He’s a…problem. The two dated a few years back. Not a great sign if he’s with…him.” He glances over at me. “You know…after everything.”
I sit there for exactly thirty seconds.
Then I put cash on the bar, finish my beer in two long pulls, and walk out to my truck.
Two towns over.
I know exactly what I’m doing. I know it’s irrational. I know I have no claim, and I know I’m the reason he left in the first place. I know all of that and I’m getting in my truck anyway because I’m done being the man who knows the right thing and does the cowardly thing instead.
I’m going to go get what I want.
And god help Randy.
RHETT
Halle ended up texting me the location she had from Colt’s phone and I followed it, finding his motorcycle parked outside of a two-story apartment building three blocks off the main drag of a town about two hours away from Cedarbrook. The lights are on in the second floor window, so I continue to just watch.
I stay in my truck for a few hours, in the dark, across the street from the building, just watching that same lit window, waiting for something to happen.
Finally, Colt comes out, dressed in dark jeans and a black T-shirt, his chain necklace catching the porch light. He’s saying something back over his shoulder—laughing, almost. The sight of him hits me the same way it hit me at the bonfire at the beginning of the summer. It’s like a full-body recognition. Like a gravitational pull that I can’t stop.
A woman follows him out. She links her arm through his and they head down the sidewalk, getting into her car before leaving the parking lot.
Is Randy a fucking woman?
Goddamnit, Cash and Halle. The two of them probably already knew this and thought it would be hilarious to fuck with me.
I file that away for later, knowing I will need to kick someone’s ass for that.
I start my truck and follow them at a distance. Eventually, the girl pulls into the parking lot of a dive bar. I pull into the lot and park on the opposite side of them and watch as they get out and enter the bar.
After about ten minutes, I get out of my truck, but stop myself before getting to the door.
There’s a window at the front of the bar, the kind with the neon signs that lets you see inside, if the angle is right. I find the angle and stand on the sidewalk of a town that doesn’t know me, in the dark, and I look through the glass. I find him again and watch.
He’s at a high top near the back, beer in hand, laughing at something she said. The woman says something else and he throws his head back, the laugh lines around his eyes crinkling.
I watch him for a long time.
I watch the way he talks with his hands, the way he leans forward when something interests him, the way his whole body shifts when he’s genuinely amused versus performing. I’ve spent a summer cataloguing him without meaning to, and standing here, in the dark, I let myself do it on purpose for the first time.
Because he’smine.
The thought arrives without drama, and isn’t followed by a list of reasons why it’s wrong. He’s mine the way the ranch is mine, the way Cedarbrook is mine, and the way some things just are without requiring an argument.
He’s mine and he doesn’t know I’m standing outside this window, but I’m going to walk through that door and I’m not leaving without him.
I watch them for the better part of two hours. Eventually, I make my way into the bar and order a beer. Lucky for me, my hat is able to shield my face and the place is busy enough where they don’t even notice I’m there.
I’m not proud of being his new, creepy stalker—I’ve become exactly the thing Molly was and I’m aware of that. But I’m doing it anyway because there’s a difference. I know exactly what I am, I know exactly what I want, and I’m not going to use what I find to hurt him. I’m going to use it to go get him.
Him laughing at that table, not knowing I’m here, makes my dick rock hard, which only fuels my fire to get to him as soon as possible.
It doesn’t matter who she is. It doesn’t matter what she is to him. Whatever Randy is or was or could be…she’s not me.
I finish my beer, set the bottle down, then pull my hat off and leave it on the bar because I don’t want anything shielding my face when he sees me. I want him to seeme. I want him to know I drove here, that I foundhim.
I cross the room and about halfway over, our eyes meet.
