I’ve practiced this, prepared for this moment. This is where I pretend I don’t care, that I am unaffected and over him—or that I never loved him at all. Funny how the reality plays out so differently, though, because this tiny insight into Cody and what he’s feeling has my heart burning a hole through my chest, it hurts so badly.

I fold my hands in my lap and just stare down at my thumbs. I hate that he’s hurting. I hate that I’m not there to help him with it. And I hate that I still love him after what he said.

“How bad?” I say, my eyes still staring into the steam rising from my bowl.

Jessie leans back in her seat and wipes her lips with her napkin, pushing her plate forward and folding her arms. She’s been waiting for this moment—an in.

“At his worst, and then worse than that,” she says, forcing my eyes up to hers. I’m expecting to see a hardened face—the angry one that comes to Cody’s defense. But I don’t. Instead, she looks worried, and she looks genuinely sorry for me.

“Where is he?” I ask, biting hard on my lower lip as I wait for her answer. I lie awake every night wondering if Cody’s near by, wondering if we’re listening to the same whistles of the train.

“He’s in Cleveland, staying with a friend of ours. His name’s Danny; we knew him from the tour,” she says, holding her breath, holding back more.

“Oh,” I say, moving my gaze back to my lap and reaching for my spoon.

“He knows you’re with us. That’s why…” she starts, but then she looks out the window, literally biting her tongue.

“Why what?” I ask, my voice a little louder now.

“That’s why he doesn’t come over. He’s afraid to see you,” she shrugs, then reaches for her pack of crackers and rips them open, crumbling them on the plate in front of her and picking at the pieces.

“Afraid to see me?” I say, my voice now drawing the attention of the older women sitting behind Jessie. I ignore their stares and whispers, and press on. “He says I didn’t give him a choice, Jessie, but he made his choice pretty f**king clear that night in Jake’s shop, and it’s obvious he blames me for everything that happened!”

Jessie stands up from our booth and throws twenty bucks down on the table, grabs her purse, and heads for the door, jerking her head forward and urging me to follow. Once we’re outside, she stops and props her foot up on a bike rack, tying a loose lace.

“I don’t know how long you’re going to go on believing that he meant any of that,” she half mumbles. This is the Jessie I expected—the one that would be on his side no matter what.

I’ve never been an aggressive girl, but something in me clicks when she speaks, and I push her off balance, knocking her to the ground.

“He said he would have chosen the shop, Jessie! He had a choice—me or the shop! And he chose that goddamned garage!” I yell at the top of my lungs, my jaw clenched, and my teeth tight together.

Jessie finally stands back to her feet and brushes the dirt from the back of her jeans, a faint laugh coming out by the end.

“What?” I shoot back, folding my arms and stomping my feet like a child—my version of a tantrum.

Jessie shakes her head and looks down. “Come with me,” she says, walking along the sidewalk to her car.

I follow along, my arms still folded the entire way. When I get to her car, I refuse to get in at first, but Jessie just sits in the car and honks, repeatedly, with the engine running, until I give in from embarrassment.

“That was really f**king mean,” I say, looking out my window.

“Yeah, well…you’re being a child,” she says.

And I actually “hmmmph” in response.

I know where we’re going the moment we get on the highway, and I think seriously about flicking the lock and rolling out of the car. We’re going to the shop—and I never want to see that place again. It’s now my number two, right beneath Louisville.

“Jessie, you know I don’t want to go there. Please…just stop, turn around, and take me home,” I say, my throat starting to close up with panic, and the beating of my heart filling my stomach.

“It’s different now. You need to see it. I think…no, I know you’ll understand when you do,” she says, and I roll my eyes at her, pretending not to believe her, pretending not to care about Cody or his stupid dreams. But I do care—I care because I know what it means to have something material tied up with your best memories, and I hate that he’s lost it.