Free Unstable by S.E. Hall Page A

twice, and he still wouldn’t talk.”
    Forgetting for just a moment that I’m sitting in a graveyard, next to the resting spots of the two most important people I’ve ever loved, the tiniest smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. “You beat up Merrick?”
    “Twice,” he humbly boasts.
    “I was in California, near the beach. But I didn’t get a single glimpse of the ocean. Until I checked out that is, then it’s the first place I went. And stayed. You ever seen the ocean?”
    “My parents retired to Florida.” He arches a brow and grins. “Yeah, I’ve seen it.”
    “It tells me there’s a God. Water, vastness with no end as far as the human eye can see. Only something bigger than this world could’ve made something so endless. After I was free, to go there when I wanted, it wasn’t so bad. Sometimes, in the early mornings when it was just me and the wonderment of something bigger, I could forget the pain for a little while.”
    If there was any doubt before this is all taking its toll on my sanity, it’s obliterated…because I’m talking calmly, openly , to Keaton. I’ve officially lost it.
    He next speaks in an angered, yet gentle tone…that most people couldn’t pull off, but there’s not much, that I know of , Keaton Cash can’t do.
    “That’s good and all, but the whole thing was still bullshit. I’m sorry they did that to you, Hen, real fucking sorry. Never agreed with it and made it known, in no uncertain terms, to your mom. Guess that’s why we didn’t do much talking ever again. But my mom tried to make me see things from your mom’s side, probably so I wouldn’t hate her. Didn’t like her, but didn’t hate her either. And tried like hell to save her.” He looks away on his last words, apology heavy in his voice.
    “Yeah, you mentioned that before. Wanna tell me what you mean this time?”
    He returns his focus on me, his eyes assessing and contemplative, yet compassionate. “You sure you want to hear about that right now? It’s been a helluva day, Hen. It can, probably should, wait.”
    I bark out a facetious laugh. “I already know the worst part, the ending. How bad could the beginning possibly be?”
    He smiles, but only slightly, then his eyes brighten a bit. “Wanna grab a beer, or three, for this talk?”
    And in mind-altering surprise, I actually hear myself say, to Keaton Cash , “Hell yes.”
     

     
    WHEN A GIRL FINDS herself in the bed of Keaton’s truck, leaned back against the cab and three beers in, old town rumors of our youth would lead one to believe that girl is one of three things: looking to get laid, drowning in self-destructive sorrow that she’ll smother out by getting laid…or she’s bat-shit crazy.
    I buried my mother and woke up in a graveyard today…at this point, I’m past the point of reason, but the last option is still the only one applicable in my case.
    We’re parked in the middle of one of his many fields, the sky above us filled with more stars than I can ever remember seeing at one time, with the local country station playing low in the background. “Sure Be Cool If You Did” by Blake Shelton our current, soft serenade…great song that I’d sing along to if alone. Or in the mood to sing. Ever.
    “This is a mighty fine farm you’ve got yourself here, Eatin’ Ass ,” I slur a bit and laugh. If my buzz wasn’t apparent before, it is now…‘cause I just called him by the nickname I’d branded him with all those years ago…playfully. I don’t do playful without a buzz. And even those odds are fifty-fifty at best.
    ‘Bout time I reminded him of it though—he’d come up with so many plays off Hen ley that I’d taken real pleasure in changing Keaton Cash to Eatin’ Ass. Still just as catchy as ever.
    “Eh, not real big on eating any ass, but I’m big on eating , and ass ,” he gives me his cockiest grin, “just not together.”
    “Ugh,” I groan. “Spare me the details, playboy. And by the way, I’m not sitting out