Free Falling Stars by Charles Sheehan-Miles Page A

expression.
    “Seriously? What the fuck, Julia?”
    “What, you ask? Why the fuck are you so considerate now, huh?   Here, you drive. Can I help you with your bags?   Carrie, I can put the top back up .”   Her voice had a mocking, unpleasant tone, but the words made no sense.
    “I don’t get it.”
    Her response came at a shout. “ Of course you don’t get it, Crank! You never get it!”  
    “How the fuck am I supposed to get it, Julia? You aren’t communicating in English! I’m sorry I don’t speak sarcasm and innuendo.”
    “Right. So instead of talking to me, you just put your hands and mouth all over some groupie, huh? Way to communicate, dickhead.”
    All my resolution to slow down and stop left me. I’d planned on asking for forgiveness. I’d planned on kissing her ass until she forgave me. I’d planned on doing whatever it took. Instead, I ground my teeth and gripped the steering wheel harder as my foot pressed into the gas pedal.  
    “You know what, Julia? Yeah, I kissed her. Because I was so fucking pissed. I didn’t have an emotional affair with her right in front of your eyes. You didn’t hear me talking day in and day out about some girl. But I did. I heard every day about Preston fucking Reeve. Preston went to Harvard. Preston’s been in the music business a decade. Preston thinks we should stand on the left. Preston thinks we should stand on the right. Preston thinks we’re too close together on the stage. Preston thinks your perfect little kids will end up taking over fucking Harvard. Fucking Preston this and Preston that—are you fucking surprised I grabbed that girl’s ass and kissed her neck?”
    Carrie leaned forward. “If you guys are going to have a fistfight, do you think you can pull over and let me or Sean drive?”
    “Why did you do it?” Julia screamed.
    “To piss you off!”
    My heart suddenly jumped into overdrive as I heard a loud honk. The car had drifted, at seventy miles per hour, into the other lane.   Carrie screamed.  
    “Crank, pull the car over!” Sean yelled. “NOW!”
    I’m a little bullheaded. Stupid, sometimes, even, but I didn’t want to die. I hit the brakes, rapidly slowing the car, then pulled into the emergency lane.
    The second the car rolled to a stop, Julia opened her door and began speed walking down the highway. I got out and followed her.
    “Julia!” I called.
    She kept walking. Her back was rigid, the hot breeze blowing through her hair.
    “Stop and talk to me, damn it!”
    At that, she turned around. Her face was streaked with tears. She came back at me in a rush, then raised a fist and hit me in the chest. Which hurt.
    “You want to talk now? Why now, and not two months ago? What the hell is wrong with you, Crank?”
    “What the fuck?” I shouted. “I didn’t start this, Julia. It was you and fucking Preston.”
    As I shouted the words, I had to yell even louder, because a semi passed, diesel horn blaring as the eighteen wheels threw gravel and dust at our position on the shoulder.  
    Julia flinched, then shouted, “I love you , Crank! I don’t give a crap about Preston! I never did. He’s a creep. Why can’t you see that?”
    All the anger left me in a sudden rush. This wasn’t some contest of my pride. This wasn’t an argument with some shithead down in the pit or in a bar we were playing in. This wasn’t some groupie.
    This was Julia. And she was hurting.
    “Julia… I’m so sorry.”
    “ What? ” she said, stunned at my sudden capitulation.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “You can’t do that.”
    I literally took a step back, winded.   What? I couldn’t do what?   “I don’t understand.”
    “Crank, you don’t get to suddenly be the nice guy! You don’t get to suddenly stop fighting and apologize and be reasonable. It’s not fair.”
    I had no answer for that. I opened my mouth, then closed it.
    “Say something, damn it!” Her tone was ragged.
    “I was wrong,” I said. “I was jealous.”
    “You were