Every feeling comes at once, too fast to sort.
Relief because he is here. Anger because I asked him not to come. Guilt because I made him wake up alone after giving him the kind of night a woman should not use as goodbye.
Desire because his mouth is still my last good memory of Kentucky. Well, not just his mouth. Fear because if he is here, then all my reasons for leaving have to stand in front of him and defend themselves.
And love.
No.
I don’t want that word.
Not here. Not with Hot Mama standing somewhere behind him, watching like a woman who knows exactly when a heart stops lying. Not with the Queens of Anarchy spread around the campground, pretending not to stare and failing because women are only slightly better than men when romance blooms in public. Not with children running, bikes shining under pine shadows, and my mother’s ghost hanging over this place like smoke.
Love is too big.
Too dangerous. Too much like a door I don’t know how to walk through without checking whether it locks behind me. But the feeling is there anyway.
Derby says something to August. August answers, holding up Princess Chomp like she deserves formal introduction. Derby looks at the little green dinosaur, then toward Hot Mama. I can’t hear what he says, but Hot Mama’s mouth curves, and that means someone has either pleased her or given her a reason to sharpen a knife.
Then Derby looks at me. The whole campground disappears. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t storm toward me. He doesn’t demand, curse, grab, accuse, or do any of the things a man like him could do with a hurt like that in his chest.
He stands there with August pressed to his side and asks me with his eyes before his mouth ever moves.
Can I come closer?
That almost drops me to my knees. Because Derby, furious and wounded and cross-country exhausted, still asks.
I take one step.
Then another.
August looks between us, sensing the size of what he is standing inside. He stays tucked against Derby’s leg, one hand fisted in his belt buckle like he isn’t ready to let go. Derby’s hand rests on August’s shoulder, not trapping him, just there.
Mine.
Not mine.
Safe.
Not safe.
Everything in me contradicts itself.
When I reach them, I stop a few feet away. Close enough to see the road dust on Derby’s boots. Far enough that he has to choose distance too.
His eyes move over my face, fast and careful. Looking for bruises. Tears. Hunger. Regret. All of it.
“You safe?” he asks.
My throat burns. “Yes.”
His jaw flexes. “You want me gone?”
The question hurts worse than yelling would have.
I hear Hot Mama somewhere behind him go quiet.
I hear Lottie’s old warning in my head, even though she is already back in Kentucky.