the house?” I blurt out before he can turn from me.
His mouth opens as he blinks, but his uncertainty only lasts a second before he transforms back into the confident man I’ve always known him to be. “Julia needed to use my car. Her husband came into town unexpectedly and has her car, so I let her use mine since she has errands she needs to run for the bakery. I’ll just go tomorrow instead.” His mouth quirks into a small smile, but there’s a sadness within.
“Oh. Okay.” I fidget with my hands, rocking on my heels. I’m not sure what I wanted him to say. Maybe that the thought of being there without me pains him. But that’s ridiculous. Isn’t it?
“See ya around, Londyn.”
The WALK signal lights up, and Wes continues in the direction he’d been heading, his frame getting smaller and smaller. As he steps up onto the opposite curb, I finally find my voice.
“Wes?” I shout over dozens of heads.
He comes to an abrupt stop, slowly glancing over his shoulder.
I chew on the inside of my cheek, a hundred thoughts fighting for attention in my mind. “Can we… Can we go talk somewhere?”
He smiles slowly, causing my stomach to do backflips. It’s only a smile, but it hits me deep in my soul.
Facing me, he’s about to step off the curb when I notice a movement out of my peripheral vision. My eyes widen, my heart catapulting into my throat.
“Wes!” I yell. “Car!”
He jumps back onto the sidewalk as a pickup swerves around him, horn blaring. He stares at the crosswalk for a few moments. Then his eyes meet mine, and he shrugs. I blow out a relieved breath, grateful I didn’t just witness him becoming roadkill. And without telling him the truth. If I had any hesitation about whether sharing my story is the right thing, it’s eviscerated now.
The light feels like it lasts hours instead of minutes, both of us staring at each other from opposite sides of the street as we wait. When the WALK signal lights up again, Wes breaks into a trot, crossing in record time.
“Now who needs to guard the corner to keep whom safe?” I joke.
A blush crawls across his face as he runs his fingers through his hair. “Not my finest of moments. Maybe now we can call it even.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Want to take a walk?” He nods in the vicinity of Centennial Park.
“I’d love to.”
Neither one of us speaks as we make our way to one of Atlanta’s most famous landmarks. It’s a little after six in the evening, but the sun hasn’t yet set, tourists still exploring the area and getting their photos taken in front of the fountains and Olympic rings.
After several minutes pass and I don’t think I can take the silence anymore, I finally speak. “You were right.”
“About?” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his navy blue suit.
“When you said you didn’t believe I pushed you away because I’m black and you’re white. You were right.”
He forms his lips into a tight line, nodding. “I know.” His voice isn’t boastful or cocky. More like even and humble.
“The truth is…” I draw in a deep breath, summoning the courage to share my story. “The truth is, I’ve been married before.”
On a sharp inhale, he darts his eyes to mine. “You have?”
I nod, keeping my gaze trained forward. I can’t bear to look at him right now or I fear I’ll break down. I need to get through this. Need to give him the explanation he deserves. What he does with the information is up to him, although I hope he’ll understand.
“I was twenty.”
“One of those married young, but later regret it type of things?”
I wish it were that simple. But nothing in my life has ever been simple.
“His name is Sawyer Ross.” I pause, waiting to see if there’s a flicker of recognition at the name. Thankfully, there isn’t. While Wes isn’t exactly the type of person who would spend his Sunday morning watching a television preacher, Sawyer’s become more than just that in recent years. He’s become an outspoken advocate for civil rights, too. It’s admirable if you didn’t know him. But I do. He’ll do anything for fame and notoriety, even throw his own wife under the proverbial bus.
“He survived the shooting that took my mother’s life. His father didn’t. Saved him by throwing his body over his. Despite him being four years older, we formed a friendship. At least