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I crack my neck side to side, closing my eyes for a moment.
You don’t like who you are when you drink.
You have come so far.
You don’t want to hurt anybody.
You don’t want to let Walker down.
You don’t want to let yourself down.
A deep breath in, a deep breath out.
I open my eyes and see we’ve arrived at the restaurant, car parked in the back of the lot. Walker sits quietly, letting me center myself, patience holding him stock still.
“I have your back,” he whispers softly, and I let the words fall over me like a warm blanket. I may be heading into a situation with people I don’t feel safe with, but I’m not going in alone.
I don’t have to be alone anymore. Not with Walker.
Unbuckling my seat belt, I lean over the console, ignoring the way it digs into my hip, and kiss him. It’s a gentle kiss, not one leading with desire but with love. He wraps a warm hand around my face, cradling my jaw to keep me there for a moment longer, before pulling back.
“I love you,” I say.
“I love you, too.”
And with that, I pop out the handle on the car door and set my feet on the pavement below, ready to get the next twenty-four hours over with.
36
SCAR
Walker holds open the door for me, beckoning me to enter the restaurant, but I’m stopped as a young couple comes walking out. They’re dressed to the nines, and I do a quick scan of the exterior of the place, and then over Walker and my outfits.
Why the hell didn’t Beth mention how swanky this place was?
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter under my breath, annoyance building on top of anxiety. “Would it have killed her to tell us we needed a fucking dress and suit jacket?”
Walker’s forehead wrinkles as he takes in the couple as well, noticing the same thing I am.
“Well, at least you’re getting used to being stared at,” he tells me, trying to lighten the mood.
I shoot him a dry look, letting the couple pass before we can walk in.
But as they do so, the woman’s eyes snag on me, scanning from head to toe. I survey her back, trying to see if anything jogs my memory.
Do I know this woman?
Besides a slightly downturned corner of her mouth, I can’t read anything else on her face.
Maybe she’s doing a double take because of the way Walker and I appear to be underdressed.
Maybe she recognizes me from my music, or from the article.
Or maybe, and the one that turns my stomach the most, she’s a member of my parents’ church and recognizes Phillip’s oldest, disgraced daughter. We’re now in my parents’ territory, and it wouldn’t surprise me if someone recognized me here due to my relation to them and not because of my career or Walker.
My feet glue themselves to the pavement, unable to move as they finish walking out and the woman gives me one last glance before ducking her head and following behind the man with her.
By that simple act alone, tucking her head down and her falling just a step behind her husband, I think I have my answer as to where she recognizes me from.
