The Gun Runner(58)

“And guess what else, Tripp? Back in 1860 there wasn’t such a thing as a text message or a phone call. You wanted to get something resolved, you talked face to face. Here’s my suggestion.” He raised his bottle of beer. “Take a step back in time.”

“Go see her?”

“No.” He chuckled. “Steal her horse. Yeah, dimwit. Go see her. It’s a damned good thing you got me for a friend, I swear.”

“And say what?”

“I’d start with I’m sorry.”

“I can do that.”

After a few long seconds of glaring at me, he tossed his hands in the air.

“What?” I asked.

“I’ll lock up when I leave,” he said.

“It’s eight o’clock at night. You think I should go now?”

He cleared his throat. “Do you love her?”

My response was immediate. “I do.”

“I’ll lock up when I leave,” he said.





Chapter Twenty-Five

Terra

I stared up at the ceiling. It reminded me of the night Michael and I talked about the definition of making love. I rolled onto my stomach and turned my head to the side. It reminded me of how I encouraged him to spoon with me.

I took one of the pillows and put it between my knees and tried to get comfortable.

Instead of comfort, I felt like I was going to cry.

In the week that had passed since Michael and I broke up, I had slept little, eaten nothing and drank just enough alcohol to reduce the pain in my heart, mind and spirit enough that it dissipated to a dull thud. Nothing, however, seemed to make it disappear.

As much as I knew his disguising the truth led to the problems that caused our breakup, I couldn’t help but feel tremendous guilt for not telling him who I really was. Although I told myself the secret I was keeping from Michael was miniscule compared to his, I wondered what portion of the pain I felt was a result of my guilt for not being completely truthful.

Over and over I wished I had told him who I really was before I found out about his gun dealings. Now I would never have the chance, and the guilt was slowly killing me. If I learned nothing else through all of the pain, I learned the value in being truthful with the man I loved.

And I loved him deeply.

In the period of time we had been separated I realized that my love for Michael was real. The pain I felt was confirmation that my expression of my love while we were together had not been simply wishful thinking or a greedy desire.

Once in a lifetime love was real.

And he was gone.

A knock on the door startled me. I sat up on the bed, convinced myself it was something else, and almost immediately, it came again. I stepped off the edge of the bed, walked to the door, and peered out the peephole.

Michael stood outside my door. My throat constricted. My mouth went dry. I looked again. Instantly, the pain increased to an almost crippling roar.

“What did I tell you? Go away!”

“I want to apologize,” he said.

There was nothing he could say. I wanted the pain to end, and seeing him wasn’t helping. Talking to him would only make matters worse.

“I’m not willing to listen.”

“Terra...”

I wiped away the tears. “Go. Away. And, don’t come back. Please, have some decency and don’t make me ask you again.”

I peered through the hole. With my eyes pressed to the door, I watched as his distorted image disappeared.

And I prayed it would be the last time I ever saw him.





Chapter Twenty-Six

Michael

I sat in a hipster coffee shop a few miles from my office and sipped a cup of coffee. Convinced I was never going to love or be loved again, I tried to find a new path to walk upon that would allow me to live a life without Terra, yet maintain some degree of sanity. I had serious doubt I would be able to live in the same area as she did—without her in my life—and not go insane, regardless of where I decided to hide and have my coffee.

“So you think she’s gone forever?” he asked.

“That’s the problem. She isn’t gone. She lives five minutes from here. But, is she out of my life? I’m afraid so.”

“Dude. That sucks.”

“Sure does.”

A thin mop-haired kid who just graduated from high school shared a table with me. The coffee shop was long, narrow, and filled to the seams with people. Two dozen high-top tables lined the wall in a single line, from the entrance to the rear of the facility. Filled with adults, college-aged kids, and teens, the place was an eclectic mixture of what Kansas City’s suburbs had to offer.

He lifted his eyes from his sketch pad and flipped his hair away from his eyes. “No chance of getting her back?”

“I don’t think so. She won’t talk to me.”