The driver’s side door slams shut, and the car rumbles to life. I look sharply up out of my daze.
“Mom?”
I gasp as the car lurches forward, tires squealing as she floors the gas and takes us peeling out of the driveway.
“Mom! What are you-!”
But her mouth is tightly shut, her eyes wide and blazing, and her knuckles white on the wheel.
There’s a bellowing sound — my father storming out of the back door, but she doesn’t look back as the tires squeal and the car goes roaring down the road, leaving my father on the back porch of the rental house in the dust.
I gasp, whirling on my mother. “What are you-”
“You asked me before if I ever wanted more,” she says tightly, swallowing quickly. “I did.” She turns the wheel, taking us up a tree-lined street, her eyes darting to the rearview mirror before turning to me.
“For you,” she says quietly.
She yanks the wheel, and I grab at the door handle as the car roars up the driveway and comes screeching to a stop.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Rowan
Silas turns the car off, and the Mustang engine rumbles to a shuddering stop. He exhales slowly as I stare silently out the front windshield of the car, just like I’ve been doing for the whole damn drive back from Logan Airport.
“I’m sorry, man,” he says quietly.
I nod. “Yeah, it’s cool.” I turn to him. “Thanks for trying.”
We missed her plane. Even with Silas slamming down his credit card to get me whatever the hell flight he could that would get me through security.
Airports get funny about a disheveled looking guy with a bloody bandage on his head and a crazy look in his eye getting really specific about a certain flight, apparently.
So that was that, and just like that, she’s gone and out of my life.
“Fuck, man,” Silas swears, shaking his head. “Look, we could head down to Georgia like, tonight, man.”
“Silas.”
“Fuck it, right now. We’ll call your dad from the road, promise to take care of the car, and-”
“Silas.”
He stops, his shoulders deflating as he hears the emotion in my voice.
I silently stare out the windshield.
Silas nods up at O’Donnell’s, which we’re parked outside of. “You want to go in for a beer or ten?”
I smile, but I shake my head. “Nah, man. I’m good.”
It’s a laughable sentiment, because I’m far from good. And honestly, a drink or twenty sounds great right now, I just don’t have it in me to be around anyone else.
“Thanks again, man.” I clap Silas on the shoulder as I open the door and step out. It’s drizzling out, but, fuck it.
I thank my friend again, promising to call him in the morning before he cranks the car back on and drives off. I turn, letting the drizzle patter over my face as I look up at the sky. And now, it’s time to get back to square one: me, my dive bar, and nothing else.
Simple, the way things were before that angel walked into my life.
I remember what I thought before, about there being only two scenarios with this thing. One was Eva ends up hating me.
The other was me breaking her heart.
And as I slip the key out of my pocket and unlock the front door, I silently hope to God that it’s only the first.
The door clicks shut behind me, and I exhale slowly in the darkness.
“What’re you drinking?”
I jump at the voice, whirling towards the bar with my fists raised.
They drop.
My heart fucking pulses to life inside my chest.
My mouth gets cottony.
And I smile.
The Christmas lights behind the bar flick on, and there she is, smiling at me shyly, that bottom lip caught between her teeth.
“I can make whatever you want, but apparently, I make a mean margarita.”
I don’t need to know what happened.
I don’t need to ask any questions.
I don’t need to blink.
I just need her.
She’s giggling as I take the room in two steps, hurdling the damn bar and scooping her into my arms. Her arms go around my neck, her lips melt to mine, and in that moment, I know I’ve found it.
Faith. Belief. A higher power.
Whatever the fuck I’ve spent most of my life actively not looking for, that’s where I find it.
Standing in a dive bar with an angel in my arms.
Epilogue
Evangeline
Faith is a funny thing. It’s not always right in front of you, or obvious, and it’s not really ever a tangible thing. It’s not always written in the pages of a holy book, or spoken from a pulpit, or preached in a sermon.
Sometimes, faith is just whatever we choose to hold onto inside our hearts.
Belief is another funny one. Because what is belief, if not what we choose to put our, well, our faith into?