to leave.” With my heart in my throat, I grab Stone by the shoulders and turn us toward the back exit. When he digs his heels in and won’t move, I lean down and bring us face to face. “If they find you here, you’ll be in a lot of trouble,” I plead.
The anger and hurt in his eyes so raw and naked, that it steals my breath.
“You lied to me, Regan.” He wrenches out of my hold.
“About what?” I ask, bewildered and anxious at the same time.
His chest is heaving, and his lip is trembling. He blinks and squeezes his eyes closed sending tears spilling out of the corners of them.
The sight of this sweet, thoughtful, sensitive soul who I’ve grown to care about over the last few months, crying because of something I did, intentionally or not, hurt him brings tears to my eyes.
“Everything was perfect until you ruined it. I love you, but you like him. Even I can tell he’s a bad man. I wish I’d never met you.”
The force of his outburst hits me square in the solar plexus and I have no clue how to respond to what he just said.
Stone, on the other hand, has no problem saying what he thinks. He glances at Weston, and his lip curls in disgust.
“I should have let him choke you to death with his penis,” he growls and then turns and sprints for the backdoor.
Dismayed, I start after him, but the flashing lights and screeching sirens outside the bakery, stop me mid-stride. So, I let him go.
But as I turn back to deal with Weston and disaster that’s bubbling over in the bakery, I have a terrible feeling that I’ll never see that little boy again.
At that thought, my heart breaks, too.
One Year Later
PALESTINE, EAST TEXAS
Palestine
Regan
“Reggie, are you sure you know where you’re going? We’re in the middle of nowhere.” My friend Matty peers futilely out of her window at the fathomless dark. while we zip down the winding back roads. that were that cut through the dark forest.
“We’re in Jerusalem, Texas and the people who live here would be pretty offended to hear you call this little pearl, nowhere,” I drawl in an exaggerated twang.
“A pearl? Wow, the dark must hide all its charm,” Matty, quips dryly.
“And the machete wielding mad- men,” Jack chimes in from the back seat.
“You two are such city girls, you’d think you’d never been out in the country before.” I chide, tongue in cheek. I haven’t even been camping before. I think these woods are creepy as hell.
“So are you, your $1000 cowboy boots don’t make you an expert, okay?” I can hear Matty’s eye roll without looking at her.
“No, but they’ll sure make me feel like one if we run out gas and have to walk. Good luck running from coyotes in those four-inch Manolo's—hey,” I yelp and arch away when her fingers dance over my ribs to tickle me.
“Are there really coyotes out here? Do they eat people?” Jack asks, nervously.
I groan with exaggerated impatience “Calm your tits, tricks, we’ve got plenty of gas and I know where I’m going. I promised you an adventure and I’m delivering. Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”
Matilda and Jacqueline, aka Matty and Jack are my best friends from freshman year. We all had internships at Wilde World this summer. They’ve been staying with me at my family’s house this week. And we’ve been having the time of our lives. My mother seemed to have mellowed and except for her horror over the way I wore my hair, she barely had a word to say about anything.
Growing up, Houston’s humid summers made my hair impossibly frizzy and my mother would drag me to the African hair braider on West Alabama to get my hair braided every week. In the fall and winter when the air was dryer and cool, we spent Saturdays getting our hair rolled, blown out and then pressed with a flat iron.
It was an ordeal. But in Tina Wilde’s eyes, an unruly coiffure was a sign of internal disorder. One of the things I looked forward to most about leaving home was autonomy over my own hair.
In the weeks before I left for SMU, I spent hours reading Black hair blogs. i learned my hair was considered a 3C texture and figured out which products were best for it and went down to Solid Gold on W. Bellfort to buy them.