Just Let Me Love You (Judge Me Not #3)(15)

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling at me the whole time. “Let’s go, tiger,” she says.

I’m still not sure where to go, so we hit the road with no set path. As we head north of Vegas, I let the road be my guide. The hum of the bike, the rippling sound of the wind, cruising through the open desert is hypnotic.

When I finally take note of where we’ve ended up, I discover we are in the same area my dad used to let me drive the bike, the same bike we’re on this sunny, fine day.

It’s quiet and desolate out here in the middle of nowhere, but in the best kind of way. It’s blue skies and open road, until I catch sight of an old general store—the only sign of civilization for miles.

I yell back to Kay, “Hey, are you thirsty? There’s a shop up ahead.”

The scorching sun has been beating down on our backs for over an hour, so I’m not one bit surprised when Kay replies, “Yeah, definitely. Let’s stop for a while, Chase.”

It’s decided, and we pull in and park at the general store, before going in for our drinks. After paying, and armed with two big bottles of soda—orange for my girl and lemon-lime for me—we push open the flimsy screen door at the entrance and collapse onto two wooden rocking chairs out on the front porch of the establishment.

The porch is a few steps up from the parking lot, affording us a very nice view of the desert horizon—jagged peaks and valleys, brown and dusty, covered in all varieties of cacti.

“It’s nice out here,” Kay says.

“It is,” I agree.

We kick back, and as we sip at our ice-cold drinks, a little brown lizard on the railing runs by.

“Aw, cute,” Kay says, smiling over at me. “Is that the kind you and Will used to catch?”

Chuckling, I lean back in my chair and reply, “Yeah, but let’s get that story straight. I was the one who used to catch the lizards. Will was adept at one thing only—scaring them away.”

Kay laughs just as the wind whips up, sending dirt and sand in the parking lot spiraling up into little, mini tornadoes.

Over the noise, she says, “How can I forget, Chase. That lizard-tale was one of the first stories you ever told me.”

I close my eyes. “It was, wasn’t it?”

“Yep,” she says quietly, “it was one of the first…and one of the best.”

We remain quiet, lost in our thoughts.

Kay has always loved that story—the tale of Will and the evasive lizards. I shared that memory—one of the best—during one of our first lunch dates. That day now seems so far away, even though, in reality, it was just a few short months ago.

I sigh. This woman and I have been through so much together that the weeks feel like years.

I send a glance Kay’s way, and find her shielding her eyes from the sun while biting her lower lip.

Is she thinking about our first days spent together, getting to know one another?

With a contemplative expression on her beautiful face, one that leads me to think she may very well be thinking the same thing, she slips her sunglasses from where they are perched on her head to down over her eyes.

With her eyewear in place, she glances over at me. It’s hard, though, to discern what’s going on behind those dark lenses, so I ask, “What are you thinking about?”

After taking a long sip of pop, she says, “I was thinking it feels like we’ve come such a long way in such a short time.”

I can’t disagree, since I was just thinking pretty much the same thing.

“It does,” I agree. “It sure does.”

I take a long pull from my soda, feeling a bit contemplative myself.

This little store is not only close to where I learned to ride the bike. Out here, in this part of the desert, we’re not far from where my dad is buried.

Maybe I drove in this direction for a purpose. Maybe I did it self-consciously. Maybe Kay’s right and I do know where I need to go to start healing.

Tentatively—I still don’t know if this is such a good idea—I ask her if she’d be okay with stopping by the cemetery.

“Just for a minute or two,” I say in a rushed tone.

“Of course, Chase. I don’t mind stopping at all.” She sends a supportive smile my way. “And we can stay as long as you like.”

“Thanks, babe,” I murmur.

After a beat, Kay adds. “You know, I’ve actually wanted to see where your Dad is buried for a long time now.”

“Hmm…” I trail off.

I’m sure what Kay is saying is true, I’m sure of this for a few reasons. First, she is well-aware the stone angel at my Dad’s grave was the inspiration for the kneeling angel inked on my back. She’s curious to see the real thing, no doubt. And then there’s the fact she has shared with me everything about the little sister she lost a few years back. She not only took me to where Sarah is buried many times, but she’s also shared with me the memories she holds closest to her heart.

Sharing things with me, taking me to a place she holds sacred, those things helped Kay heal. Maybe sharing with her my dad’s final resting place will be a starting point for me.

“Let’s get going,” I say to Kay as we finish our sodas.

We’re back on the bike in minutes and heading to the cemetery. We are quiet on the way, and we remain silent as we walk to the grave.