Page 405 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

“Right now, let’s go.”

He strips the bags off me,

his jaw clamping down so hard

the bone might fracture

and pierce his cheek.

He grabs my hand,

ignoring the walls of stares,

and leads me out of the building.

The freezing wind thrashes across our bare faces as we walk across the lot. He yanks open the passenger door, waits for me to climb inside before tossing the bags into the trunk.

He slides into the driver’s seat,

hits the ignition,

adjusts the rearview,

and freezes.

Sees the blood on his jawline and across his brow. Wipes it off, then stares down at his knuckles, the reality of what just happened setting in.

As he drives off, the dome disappears behind us, the red Civic eating up a few silent miles before Andrew abruptly pulls into an empty lot of a closed Chick-Fil-A off 17 in Ramsey.

He drops the car into park and gets out.

I unbuckle and follow him into the cold, my throat tight with a million burning questions that have been compounding since Goodfellas.

Here, there are no teammates to hold him back,

no Mrs. Robinson to soothe his chest,

no Hunter to distract him.

In this empty fast-food parking lot,

in the middle of December,

we have nowhere to look

except at each other.

“What the hell is going on?” I demand,

the words slashing the wind.

“No, really. Tell me.”

Andrew paces the length of his trunk,

shaking his head slow, saying nothing.

I step into the traffic of him,