Chapter 4: Secrets, Leftovers, and Last Nights

White fat had congealed on top, no steam, but the color was good and it tasted fine.

It tasted like leftovers, but I was too hungry to care. I took another bite, watching him out of the corner of my eye.

Clearly leftovers from the restaurant. When I put it in my mouth, he gave a mocking grin.

He waggled his eyebrows, as if daring me to call him out. I just rolled my eyes, but inside, I felt a flicker of amusement. Typical.

Annoyed, I picked up a piece for him, too.

I wasn’t about to let him off easy. “You have some, too.”

Garrett’s face changed instantly. “I-I already ate.”

He looked like a kid caught sneaking cookies, eyes darting everywhere but at me.

I set my fork down and stared at him.

I leveled him with my best don’t-mess-with-me glare. “Honey, you’re lazy and don’t know beans about cooking. Did you beg these leftovers from a restaurant?”

He stared at the food on the fork, steeling himself for a long time.

He gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing. I swear, I could see the gears grinding.

Finally, trembling, he picked up a sliver of bell pepper and shoved it in his mouth, swallowing like it was poison.

He chewed with the determination of a man facing his last meal, then forced a smile. “See? Delicious.” Yeah, right.

When I turned to wash up, he rushed to the door and gagged himself, throwing up hard.

I heard the retching from the hallway, and for a split second, I almost felt bad. Almost.

Poor Garrett.

He could be ridiculous, but sometimes I wondered if he ever really knew how to take care of himself. Just to tease me—the fisher girl—this pampered pretty boy actually ate leftovers.

That night, Garrett got his revenge, going at it until I thought my back would snap.

He was relentless, like he had something to prove. The old mattress squeaked in protest. I bit my lip, trying not to laugh.

I refused to give in, wrapping my legs around him tight.

If he wanted a challenge, I’d give him one. Sometimes stubbornness was the only thing we had in common.

When it comes to picking a man, you want him good, or at least good in bed.

That’s what Aunt Jeannie always said, and she wasn’t wrong. Ain’t that the truth. Trouble is, sometimes you get one, but not the other.

These years, I put up with him only because I couldn’t let go of that strong body and his stamina.

It was a guilty secret, but I clung to it anyway. Nights like this, I could almost forget everything else.

Even if I’d had my fill and wanted better, it didn’t stop me from one last wild night before leaving.

If I was going to start over, I wanted to remember what it felt like to want someone—just for a little while longer.

After tossing and turning until sunrise, the heat finally faded, but Garrett didn’t fall asleep like usual. Instead, he rested his chin on my shoulder and asked:

He was quieter than usual, voice barely above a whisper. “After the neighbor’s husband died, she wasted away too. If I die one day... will you die for me too?”

I was so tired, I just mumbled, “Yeah, sure.”

I could barely keep my eyes open, words slurring together. It felt easier to agree than to explain how empty I was feeling.

Garrett wasn’t satisfied. He rolled me over, woke me up, and made me look at him while he talked.

He shook me gently, his eyes searching mine. He looked so serious, I almost laughed. “No, I mean it, Lucy. Would you?”

I was so exhausted that tears slipped from my eyes as soon as I opened them.

I didn’t even try to hide them. Sometimes tiredness is the only honest thing you’ve got left.

Before I could say yes, he leaned down, kissed me. Wiped away my tears and hugged me, his voice soft.

“Silly girl, why do you love me so much? Don’t worry, I—this so-called ‘Young Lord’—won’t die. I’ll give you a good life from now on.”

He let the truth slip. I pretended not to notice.

After a while, as if remembering something, he shook me awake again.

He was persistent, if nothing else. “Why didn’t you buy me Southern Belle? Did someone see you at The Magnolia Room?”

I mumbled, “I went.”

My voice was thick with sleep. I didn’t want to fight anymore.

But Garrett didn’t seem to care about the wine anymore. Instead, he asked, a bit nervously:

He hesitated, eyes darting. “Then… did you see or hear anything?” His voice was shaky.

“Of course I heard.”

I let the words hang in the air, watching his face go pale. It was almost funny, seeing him sweat for once.

The look on Garrett’s face—like he thought I’d found out all his dirty secrets—was priceless.

He looked ready to bolt, muscles tensed, as if the truth might bite him.

Just as he was about to bolt, I gave him a mischievous grin.

I couldn’t help myself. “Of course I heard them say I looked like a bum and told me to get lost, not to scare off the customers.”

Only then did Garrett’s tense face relax.

He let out a long breath, shoulders sagging. Maybe he didn’t deserve forgiveness, but for a moment, I almost felt sorry for him.

Then, maybe out of pity or affection, he didn’t even mind my rough old underwear. He just held me all night.

He tucked me close, his hand splayed over my stomach, and for the first time in a long while, I let myself rest.

Half asleep, I heard a sigh above my head.

His voice was softer, almost lost in the dark. “Lucy, what am I gonna do with you?” he whispered.