She’d had enough of the past dictating her present. It had driven LJ all the way across the country from her. She knew he would have gone whenever his mom needed him, even if they weren’t fighting. But that would have felt more temporary, the space between them shrunk to nothing by teasing text messages and calls full of laughter. Not this gaping, silent lack in all the moments that used to be filled up with his gregarious presence.

She circled the kitchen, trailing her fingers over things as if her fingerprints might make up for the lack of his. The wobbly table didn’t wobble anymore. He’d fixed it at some point. But of course he had: LJ fixed things. That was who he was.

It was why he couldn’t stand thinking he was causing her panic attacks, but it wasn’t him at all. She felt safer here, among the few things he’d left behind, than she did anywhere else on her own ranch. Of course, he couldn’t know the truth of that, because he wouldn’t even answer her calls. It was sex she was messed up about, not him, even if she couldn’t make him understand the distinction.

She’d listened to his voicemail message enough times it was stuck in her head. It started with a chuckle, as if just by calling, you were part of a joke he was sharing only with you.

Y’all probably called this number by mistake, but just in case your taste in friends is really this bad, leave a little ditty at the beep, and I’ll call y’all back.

She loved the slow wrap of syllables around the word “y’all.” He’d never said that word to her, but there it was in his voicemail. Twice. Maybe it was one he used all the time, and she hadn’t known him long enough to notice.

Maybe there were a lot of things she hadn’t noticed about him. The LJ she knew would never have ignored her calls—not for anything. That had never changed until her messed-up reactions had ruined their first time in bed together. No matter when his mother’s health improved, she suspected he wasn’t coming back, because he probably thought it was better for Andra that way.

She tipped the bottle up and swallowed over and over again until it was empty.

The floor tilted under her feet as she walked to the door, and she had to catch herself against the wall. Either that beer was especially potent or what little tolerance she’d had in college was long gone, but the buzz felt surprisingly nice. It had been beer in a red Solo cup that Gavin had slipped the drugs into, but it was about damn time she stopped blaming every bottle of the stuff for the sins of that single long-ago beverage.