So. Long(248)

A cameraman follows a few yards behind him.

I’m gonna get that woman. I bet she did that on purpose. She left me here to deal with Buck—and his crew. Crap.

Fine. I’ll just pretend I’m not home. I drop the blinds and dash to my room. He can just knock until his fool head comes off. I’m not answering. Nothing says I have to answer. If he thinks a few lilies and long-stemmed roses are going to erase the past, he needs to think again.

The knock at the front door jars me, even though I’m expecting it. I steel myself to ignore it, but he just keeps knocking. I twist my hands, pacing the length of my room.

Finally, he ceases. I drop to sit on the edge of the bed, in the same spot Buck sat the last time we talked. I lean forward, in the same position, elbows on knees, head in hands.

A knock on the exterior door to my room makes me jump to my feet.

Shit. Now what?

I start into the hall to get further from the door he’s now banging on, but the knocking ceases. Then the strumming of a banjo halts my steps.

What the fuck?

My mind is immediately carried back to the last time I heard that instrument.

Buck must’ve been about twelve and I was probably almost eleven. Bucks’ Pops had gotten a new guitar and Buck wanted so badly to play it. But, being the smart man he was, instead of giving Buck the guitar to play with, he dug out an old banjo from the closet and gifted it to Buck, who grinned like he’d been given a brand new Fender or Gibson.

He tried for the longest to learn to play. Never was very good, bless his heart, though he did try. He only managed to learn one song.

I shake my head. It was the song he plays now. Old Suzanna.

My hand covers my mouth, when his voice comes through the closed door.

Oh, my freaking lord.

He sings off-key, “Oh, I come from California with my banjo on my knee,

I'm going to Louisiana, my true love for to see.

Oh! Loula Mae, Oh don't you cry for me,

For I come from California with my banjo on my knee.

For I left my pride upon a shelf; I hope she sees that I

Try to change her mind about our love. Loula Mae now don’t you—”

I wrench the door open. “Oh, for the love of sanity. If I let you in, will you shut the fuck up?”

Buck tosses the banjo to the deck and turns, giving the camera guy a thumbs-up over the railing.

I let him in and shut the door, and then I double check that the curtains are closed.

I turn to him. “You are seriously disturbed.”

“No, I’m desperate.”

His blue-green gaze won’t leave me. I look away, but when my eyes flick back to him, he’s still watching me.

“Well, you’re in. Say whatever it is you need to say, so you can leave.”

He grabs my hands. “Lou, I know what happened. I didn’t see it before, but I think I get it now.”

My chest freezes. I want to answer with some scathing remark, but there just aren’t any words left in my sarcasm tank to spew at him at the moment.

He drags me to sit on the bed. “You said the other day that I left like I was gifting you your freedom. I was. That’s exactly what I was doing. Maybe you were looking at things from a different perspective than me.”

“Ya think?”

He pulls out his phone and taps the screen.

I stare at him for a moment, but it’s taking forever.

Meanwhile, the little ridiculous kernel of hope in my gut fades. “Look, Buck. Go take care of your business. You obviously have more important things to do than talk to me right now.”

He looks up. “No. I’m trying to load something for you to watch. You need to see this.”

“I thought you came here to talk.”

He nods. “I did. I even brought my cameraman to catch that badly out of tune display of affection because I want you to understand that California, Hollywood, my career, none of it is more important to me than you. It never has been.”

I step back, holding my hands up to stop him. “No. Please. Let’s not do this. You don’t need to lie to me. We both know how important your career is. It’s all you talked about that last year before you left.”

“Well, yeah, it’s important, but never more so than you. I kept talking about it, because I had to keep it in my mind that I was leaving…that things between us were going to change. Otherwise, I’d never have been able to leave so you could have a better life.”

He pushes his phone into my hands, though I try to shove it back toward him.

He brushes the hair out of my eyes. “Please, just watch. If you’ll allow it, they’re going to air it tomorrow night on the show.”

I swallow, my stomach tripping over itself and tangling into knots.

He taps the screen in my hands. “Watch.”