“Which means what?” Ben finishes his beer and sets the empty bottle into the empty square of the six-pack box. I do the same, and let him take a third.
I leave the last beer where it is, and try to find the right words for Ben. “You have to decide if you love her enough to let her go.”
“I’m trying to let her go, Colt! I don’t f**king know how!”
“No, Ben. You’re trying to get over her. Not the same thing.”
He gets up, stalks over to the creek, silent, thinking. “Whatever it takes to show her love, huh?”
I nod, even though he’s not looking at me. “Yep. Whatever it takes.”
“Walk away, you mean?”
“If that’s what it takes. No one wants you to…I dunno…go anywhere, but if the only way to move on and let her go, to let her have her own happiness, is to walk away from the situation, then so be it. And, honestly, sometimes, the only way past the hurt, the only way to really move on, is to put time and distance between you and the situation.” I stand up and move to stand beside him, clap him on the shoulder. “My daughter does care for you. She doesn’t want to cause you pain. She wants you to be happy. You were her best friend for a very long time, and she’s sad that she’s lost that. She’s said as much.”
Ben just nods, and I can tell he’s lost in thought. I walk away, lean against my truck, and watch a flock of starlings whorl in the distance.
“This sucks,” Ben says.
“Yeah.”
“Like, the only way I can think of to really truly walk away from the situation is just…leave Nashville. There’s nowhere here I can go that’s far enough away from her, from them. But where do I go?”
“Sometimes, Ben, there is no where. There’s just go.”
Ben laughs. “Now you sound like Yoda.”
“Trying, I am.”
He laughs again, and then lets out a long breath, rubbing the back of his head. “Thanks, Colt.”
I shrug. “What’s the point of getting old and going through a bunch of shit if you can’t pass on some wisdom every once in a while?”
We talk for a few more minutes, and then head back home. He’s quiet the whole way, but the silence is different. Less morose, less angry. When we’re back and parking in my garage, Ben thanks me again and heads across to his house. He doesn’t look back to see if Kylie and Oz are still on the porch, which I think is an improvement.
Nell meets me in the kitchen. “What’d you say to him?” She leans in for a kiss, then hangs on to my neck, standing on her tiptoes.
“I told him love was a verb, and that he had to let her go, if he really loved her.”
“John Mayer. Good choice.”
I laugh at the fact that she knew exactly which song I’d reference. “Yeah. The allusion was lost on him, but hey, it was worth a try.”
She goes flat on her feet and rests her head against my chest. “Do you think he’ll listen?”
I nod. “Yeah, I think he will.”
“Good.” She kisses my jaw. “I’m glad you talked to him. Someone needed to.”
“Where’d Oz and Kylie go off to?”
“Back over to his apartment.”
I frown. “I wish he lived in a safer neighborhood.”
“Me, too. But our choices are to let them move in together, which I know they’re already discussing, or let the situation stand as it is. I’m not comfortable with them spending time behind closed doors here.”
“Me, neither.”
Nell shrugs. “I have a feeling Oz is going to be getting his own apartment soon. Hopefully it’ll be a safer one.”
“Yeah, and Kylie will end up there as often as we let her.” I sigh. “Rock and a hard place.”
“Also known as ‘parenting,’” Nell quips.
I laugh. “Very true.”
She smiles up at me. “But, since the house is empty…” She slides her hands up under my shirt, and I grin down at her and let her peel my shirt off.
“Now this is a benefit to having an empty house,” I say.
EPILOGUE: There’s Only Go
Ben
I hand in my test paper and leave the lecture hall, step out into the sunlight, blinking as I slide my sunglasses on. That was my last final for the semester. Possibly my last final at Vanderbilt. I don’t know for sure. I don’t know anything for sure.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I know my heart is still cracking and crumbling under the weight of what I have to do. I know my truck is packed. Three duffel bags, five thousand dollars in cash and twice that in my bank account. A full tank of gas. No destination. No road map. I’m heading west, I know that much.
Except first I have three stops to make. First, my house. Give Mom a hug, tell her goodbye and not to worry. Then over to the stadium and say bye to Dad. They both know I’m leaving, and why. They weren’t real thrilled, obviously, but I convinced them this is what I have to do. I’ve promised to call every chance I get. Last stop? The recording studio downtown where Oz and Kylie are cutting tracks. Colt told me they were there. I have to say goodbye. I can’t just vanish on her.
I find a parking spot, walk a couple of blocks to the studio. I charm and flirt and smile my way past the receptionist and back to the booth where they’re playing. I step into the booth, say hi to the producer. Jerry, I think his name is. He holds up a hand for silence, so I bide my time. He punches a button, and the booth is filled with music, Kylie’s voice, Oz’s. Jerry slides the headphones down to rest on his neck.
A few more chords, and the song ends. Kylie and Oz haven’t seen me yet.
Then they do. Kylie’s eyes narrow. I wait, and I know she knows I want to talk to her.
“Let’s cut one more, Jerry,” Kylie says, never taking her eyes off me.
“Okay. What’cha got?” Jerry asks.
“I just wrote this one,” Kylie says. “I’m calling it ‘Not Your Me.’”
She shifts on the piano bench, touches the keys. Oz glances at me, then away to Kylie. He seems surprised, too, as if this wasn’t planned. When she sings, she stares at me, eyes sad, unblinking. Her voice is thick with emotion, lovely and surprising and perfect, just like her:
“A lifetime of you and me
A lifetime of here we are
Day in day out of just be
Of talking free
Of easy and slow
But there have always been
Moments of what if