Down an orange-tinted Texan interstate sped a pretty silver Hyundai Sonata whose destination was a small town far on the outskirts of Austin, the city it came from. Inside the vehicle, a beautiful, petite, twenty-something sat in the drivers seat while several of her bags flooded the back seats of the sedan and in the passenger seat sat her expensive tan Kate Spade purse with a white envelope sticking out like a sore thumb. Addressed to Lyla Garrity, the letter contained a desperate plea from a convict to his beloved, estranged daughter. The convict needed legal (and familial) representation and hoped with all his heart that his daughter, a newly minted lawyer, would come to his aid. It's clear from the state of the letter and it's damaged, frayed envelope that this was not an easy request for it's recipient to accept.
Right at this moment in time, Lyla had other matters troubling her mind. (A first, as the letter captured her attention every moment since it came into her hands.) Rather, Lyla's anxiety stemmed from one little disturbing fact: she hadn't been back home to Dillon much since she first started college five years ago. No one in Austin has ever heard of Dillon. When she tells them it's home of the number one high school football team in all of Texas, it's met with stares and shrugs. Lyla learned quickly that high school football is not as important to people outside of Dillon. Out in the city, it was all about college football and the NFL. You weren't considered a true fan of football unless you owned an orange Longhorns sweatshirt and a navy Dallas Cowboys hat with one perfect white star. High school football never entered the radar unless UT was out scouting for top tier recruits.
But even then, Lyla had opted for law school, where football had no place. Law students knew nothing about football and had no desire to learn about it. Her stories of Dillon and their passionate devotion to the sport bored her colleagues. Those who expressed interest treated her like a foreign exchange student, as if Dillon and it's all it's football devotees were from a whole other country. Five years was enough time for Lyla to get used to the culture shock and carve out a life for herself in Schulman & White Law Firm in Austin, Texas.
But driving down this old familiar road brought the life and the memories she'd left behind back to the forefront. It almost seems like a lifetime ago that she had been a cheerleader for the Dillon Panthers, cheering on her high school sweetheart and quarterback Jason Street. It seemed like a dream – a nightmare. She was not the same girl who had left Dillon five years ago. She had evolved into the successful woman that she is now.
A road sign approached her. Dillon – Next Exit, it read. Lyla took a deep breath and ever-so-slowly let it escape, hoping that her deepest fears would blow out of her system and trail behind her in the plume of red dust her car had kicked up. Elvis blared out of her car radio crooning, "It's now or never…" and Lyla couldn't help but concur. "It's now or never," she spoke aloud as her car veered into the exit off the interstate and onto the dirt-filled highway.
Dillon was too small a town to warrant a welcome sign, but the parading restaurants and businesses greeted her just fine and their alternating red and purple décor gave Lyla that warm, calming feeling of home. As she passed the Alamo Freeze, an overwhelming sense of nostalgia struck her. She remembered the nights spent with Jason there and hanging out with her cheerleading friends. One night a spot of chocolate fudge stained a small patch on her uniform and Jason raced to help get it clean. Passing the high school brought up uglier memories. The sickening crunching sound of a linebacker tackling Jason. The way he laid so still as the crowd watched in eerie silence. Lyla could still feel that surge of panicked adrenaline filling her entire body as they brought out the stretchers. She couldn't help but remember that devastating sense of rejection after all the girls in the school learned of her affair with Tim Riggins and turned on her.
It wasn't long before she had found herself in front of her father's apartment. She missed her old house, the one they used to live in before the divorce. Lyla spent some of her last days in Dillon in this apartment and it never quite felt like home. It felt temporary and she could not believe that her father still had not found a more permanent residence than this bland two-room beige apartment. Her father made Lyla keep her key to the place even after she left for college and now she was thankful for it.
Five whole years away from the temporary residence, and nothing had changed. It was like walking out of a time machine and into the past. The only noticeable difference was the replacement of purple Dillon Panther decorations for red East Dillon Lions décor. It didn't take longer than a few minutes to get her stuff up to the spare bedroom and to feel restless.
Lyla's sense of duty compelled her toward the county corrections center that held her father captive. She thought she had dressed appropriately for the jailhouse, wearing a nice tan business suit with a white cami underneath and black closed-toe heels, but that wasn't enough to dissuade the attention of a few prisoners who eyed her like she was a fine piece of steak being dangled in front of their cells. Finally the guard stopped at her father's cell.
"This is your lawyer, Garrity," the guard rasped. "Make it quick."
Sitting in the cell was Buddy Garrity. Dressed neck down in an orange jumpsuit, the man in the cage looked older and wearier than she had ever remembered. His salty hair was longer than it should have been and his body was rounder than the last time she'd seen him. His face, though. It wore the burdens of an old man who had a lot of time to think about all the regrets in his life. But when her father's face looked upon her, it lit up like a Christmas tree. "Lyla!" He softly exclaimed with that infallible Texan accent. "You came!"
It was hard to smile at the man who had disappointed her time after time, but not even she could deny that her father loved her very much. That everlasting unconditional love was one thing Lyla found worth smiling for, and so a little sliver of a grin made its way onto her face. "Of course I came," she replied easily. "Where else would I be?"
It had been five years since he'd seen his eldest daughter and it was like no time had passed. Her face was still beautiful and full of youth and optimism just like the day she left for college. Still, she was his baby girl, yet there was something different about her poise. She was no longer a girl, he realized. Standing before him was a woman. Not even that, but a woman of the working world. Lyla was truly a self-sufficient working woman. With his own eyes he could see that she no longer needed to rely on him but it was now he who needed to rely on her. Truly a chilling realization.
"I'm so glad you're here, Lyla. Honestly. It's been a nightmare being here and seeing your bright face is a dream come true."
"Dad, we need to talk. About a lot of things." Lyla hadn't exactly been anticipating this reunion and the sentimentality was a bit too much. "I'll represent you as your attorney, but you have to be completely honest with me."
"Of course, sweetheart. I would never be anything but honest with you."
It's not that Lyla had heard this line before, but she knew better. Her dad has withheld information from her before. She wanted so bad to bring up the bankruptcy that nearly cost Lyla her college career, but she held her tongue.
"Right. Well I'll return in the morning and you can tell me everything you know."
Lyla turned to walk away as Buddy asked, "Are you staying in the apartment?"
She didn't turn back around, but answered, "Of course."
"Good. That makes me happy," he responded with relief.
"I'll see you in the morning, Dad." And with that, Lyla left, anxious to get out of there. Buddy watched his attorney and his daughter walk away where he couldn't follow and his heart swelled with joy and heartbreak. This is not how he wanted the reunion with his beloved daughter to be. Sitting back down on his cot, he began to think about how he got himself in this mess and how he was going to begin to explain it to his daughter in the morning.
Alternately, Lyla was wondering what exactly she was doing back here in Dillon. Something about being here was different. It was almost like the town abandoned her. She felt the distance between herself and all the old familiar places. Where was the sense of home she was supposed to feel being back here? Suddenly it struck her what was so different. It wasn't that Dillon was so different or that the town had evolved without her. On the contrary, really. It was herself that was so different from Dillon. It was Lyla who had evolved without Dillon. It made her feel so incredibly lonely and homesick, but she didn't know where home was.
Lyla found herself at the bar around four in the afternoon, which is odd because she didn't drink anymore except for the occasional glass of red wine at dinner. What on Earth possessed her to come here, she didn't know, but something was pulling her here and she was curious as to what it was.
It came to Lyla as soon as she entered the building. She was looking for a familiar face. It didn't have to be a friendly face, but just one she could put a name and a memory to. She was mostly out of luck. She was unfamiliar with the bartender, and three of the four patrons. One seemed familiar but she couldn't connect the face with a name.
Sitting down at the bar, she drew the attention of nearly all the scruffy, beer-bellied, dirty, tattooed men in the place. She most certainly stood out with her crisp clean khaki slacks and matching blazer. Also her age. And gender. That definitely caught their attention.
The brusque bartender immediately walked over as soon as she landed on her stool. "What can I getcha, honey?" He asked with that familiar southern twang, wiping down a clean liquor glass.
"Beer." She replied kindly with a convincing yet false smile. "From the tap."
He gave her a nod; the kind that implied you'll come to regret your decision. "As you wish," he stressed for extra effect.
Lyla would be annoyed if she weren't surrounded by four other men who were clearly there to drown their miseries. No happy and content person comes into a bar at happy hour. It made Lyla wonder what exactly that said about her.
The bartender slid the plastic mug of amber liquid topped with white foam her way. She felt she had something to prove being who she was and sitting in that establishment at that time of day, so she took a gulp of her drink and didn't set the mug back down until it was nearly half empty. The bitter wheat taste coated her mouth and she felt like she was sixteen again at the homecoming bonfire after party with Jason and Tim. Two of the older gentlemen quit paying her any attention. The third, who was not as old but could possibly be her uncle, quit staring at her but she was definitely on his radar. The fourth one, the familiar looking one, paid her little attention anyway and had gone back to emptying glasses of scotch.
She couldn't help wondering about Jason and Tim, even his old girlfriend Tyra. What were they doing with their lives now? Were they happy? It's hard to imagine any of them happy after all they've been through. Jason's paralysis, Tim and Tyra's demanding families dragging them through the gutter. Not a one of them had much to feel happy about in high school and not a one of them was destined for college and a career like Lyla. She hoped dearly she was wrong about every one of them.
Her head was starting to get fuzzy. It was a feeling Lyla never liked much, but sometimes it's good to suppress unwanted memories and pain. She wasn't drunk or anything, but she could start to feel a slight disconnection with her motor skills. The clock only said five o'clock. Where had that hour gone? More guys had come since she last noticed. A pair of bikers had taken a booth over in a dark corner. They paid her no mind. A trashy girl with ripped capri jeans, six-inch-heels, no bra under her white lace-lined cami, and a cigarette hanging out of her mouth was the object of some dirty sleazebag's attention. He stroked her shoulder and messed her already disheveled blonde hair. Lyla even caught his repulsive touch cupping and squeezing her small breasts. Another woman had come in, but she was sad and old and dressed in the blandest of colors. She wished to drink here as invisibly as she could.
And just when Lyla was about to leave the depressing atmosphere, a familiar face walked in and stepped up to the bar.
"Yo, Randy. Gimme a Jack D," said the tall, portly guy with grease stains all over his clothes with several black streaks smudged across his face. He was so much younger than all of the men who loitered here, but looked just as tired. Lyla was overcome with joy seeing him.
The bartender, Randy, slid his glass tumbler full of a dark reddish-brown liquid, which Billy drained clean as Lyla approached him. "Billy Riggins," she said with a hint of playful disapproval, which the broad smile on her wine-painted lips betrayed, "Why I never."
"Jesus Christ!" Billy shrieked on sight. "Randy," he called out to the bartender, who looked up at him from his spot behind the bar, "do you see her? Please tell me you see her because otherwise, I'm seeing a ghost now. Did you give me absinthe instead of Jack?"
Randy stared back blankly and nodded his head toward Lyla. "She's real."
Lyla couldn't hold back the grin that formed on her face.
"Good goddamn. Lyla Garrity!" Billy got up from his stool and swiftly pulled her into a hug. The kind of hug you give to a dear old friend. Non-romantic, but tender. Nostalgic. Lyla would find it peculiar if she weren't so wrapped up in her own feelings of wistful reminiscence. "What in the hell are you doing here?"
"The bar or Dillon?" She asked as they pulled away from each other and sat down on their stools.
"Fuckin' both!" He exclaimed and called out to Randy for another round, adding he'll take care of Lyla's bill.
"Billy, that is not necessary," she pleaded, but he insisted, adding she can order whatever she wants.
Billy had to give her a once over, and Lyla couldn't help but wonder if any grease stains got on her clothes. "For real, Lyla. What in the hell are you doing back here? We all thought you'd long gone and weren't ever turning back."
"Ah, I'm a sucker for nostalgia," she said taking a gulp of her second mug of beer.
"Bullshit," Billy called out playfully. "No'one comes back to Dillon without a reason."
He was right and she knew it. She hasn't even heard from Jason in years. Has anyone heard from him since he left for New York? Perhaps Tim had. They were best friends after all.
It was weird how she knew Tim was still here. She didn't even have to ask Billy. Tim would never leave Texas. Tim would never leave Dillon. Everything he ever had was here. There was nothing the outside world could provide him that Dillon didn't already. It made Lyla sad just thinking about it. She banished Tim from her mind.
"Ok," she said after a brief spell. "You may be right."
"Spill," Billy demanded.
She sighed into her mug. There was still a good third of her drink left. The amber liquid flowed down her throat and she let the bitterness free her from her anxieties. (Or perhaps that was the alcohol…) After a moment, she said, "My dad's in jail. He needs me to defend him in court."
Billy nearly choked on his third Jack (he didn't even ask for it either as Randy just slid another his way once his second was clean). "No fuckin' way."
"It's the truth."
Riggins was positively slack-jawed. "What'd your pop do now?"
"Ah, you know my dad. He gets these idea and it just backfires, you know?"
"But jail?" Billy emphasized. "That's huge. Even for Buddy."
She remembered seeing him in his cell. It was pretty over-the-top. Even for him. "My father ain't a saint. Anything to make a quick buck."
Billy's eyebrows closed in together as he set down his tumbler. "Nah, Lyla. Buddy hasn't been like that. He's all about his radio show now. He was really doin' well. Even BJ, he was doing better."
Buddy Jr. Lyla hadn't thought about her little brother. She wondered if he was involved in this. She wondered if he wasn't involved in this. Which made her feel better? She couldn't help but blame both her father and her mother for this distance Lyla felt with her siblings. God only knows what has become of her little sister Tabby. Perhaps Lyla should call her. She must be in college now.
"Well somehow my dad is sitting in prison and my brother is M.I.A."
Billy held up his tumbler full of Jack Daniels. "I'll drink to that."
Lyla chuffed. "What, is Tim in jail too? I didn't see him there this morning."
That put a smile on Billy's face. "Nah, I think Tim's past all of that now, now that he's actually legal. He always was older than his age. In high school he had the mental age of a twenty-year-old, now he's in his twenties and he's become a recluse fifty-year-old."
An eyebrow on Lyla's face twitched upward. "Come again?"
"Tim's practically a shut-in these days."
Lyla couldn't even fathom. Well, maybe she could. The Tim she knew was so vibrant and full of life and love, but so tortured. Last she saw of him he was living in a trailer behind someone's house, so I guess it wasn't such a stretch. Still it pained her to hear it. "But he's ok, right?"
Billy shrugged. "I talk to him, sure, but he don't say much."
"Doesn't he work with you at the shop?"
"Ha!" Billy laughed as he took another swig of yet another glass of Jack. But it wasn't really a laugh. It was humorless. "Tim and I keep it strictly familial these days."
Sadness swept across Lyla's face. This was not something she wanted to hear. Everybody knows about the Riggins brothers. They don't have anybody but each other. No mother, and an absentee father. They have no family but each other as tumultuous as it's been. They both desperately need each other. Lyla was scared to think of what could have possibly driven a wrench between the two brothers that hadn't already sent them into a rift before. She didn't want to ask.
Lyla couldn't help but remember the last time she saw Tim. That sordid day when she came back for her friend Matt Saracen's father's funeral. Tim. The trailer. Them. Just them. It was a beautiful affair until it ended. She remembered the bus stop. The way his eyes held on to hers. How soft and sweet and sorrowful they were. The way they lovingly said goodbye. Really said goodbye. The kind you mean when it's for good. It was ages ago and it was hard to think about. She spent so much time since then trying to forget. Banishing him from her mind. Moving on.
"Enough about Tim," she said, slamming her third mug of beer on the counter. She shouldn't be drinking it, she knew. This was uncharacteristic. Kevin would surely disapprove. "How are you? How's the shop?"
Billy downed his fifth tumbler of Jack. Not that Lyla was keeping count. Perhaps, maybe. She'd been around the Riggins enough to know that five can, and usually does, lead to twelve. He looked incredibly somber all of a sudden. Lyla was sure it wasn't the alcohol. Five Jack Daniels wouldn't make either of the Riggins sloppy. Plus, Billy wasn't a somber drunk. He was more of a sloppy, happy drunk. But things can change in five years. Five years could turn anybody into anything. Lyla knew that most of all.
"You've been away for so long, Lyla. I don't even know where to begin."
Lyla's heart went out to him. She rested a friendly, compassionate, hand on his shoulder. "The beginning, perhaps?"
Billy gave a dry chuckle. "Yeah, I guess."
So he recounted everything from the past five years. He told her about the shop and Mindy and the kids. "You married Mindy Collette?" Lyla gasped. "You were at the wedding!" Billy replied. She felt terrible for forgetting. She didn't have a lot of contact with anyone from Dillon anymore. It was hard to keep track. Nonetheless, he told her about the wedding, little Steven, and even littler Kendra and Kaitlyn. He told her about the chop shop and the toll his grave mistake took on Tim. Billy spared no detail. He did have six glasses of Jack in him and it was compromising his emotions – not that he couldn't handle six Jack Daniels – but combined with all of the current stress, it was getting to him.
Billy rubbed his eyes before downing a seventh shot. "Mindy's fuckin' pregnant again. My shop isn't makin' enough money. Tim's practically a shut-in. Everything's falling apart," he admitted freely however much it pained him.
Lyla was now rubbing his back for comfort. "Goodness, Billy. I'm so sorry! Is there something I can do? I'll pay the tab today, you don't have to."
"I don't want your charity, Garrity," a drunken Billy barked. "Your money isn't good here. I got the tab."
"But Billy…"
"You're an old friend, Lyla. I got this one. I can still pay for my liquor."
Lyla frowned. Kevin says that when she frowns the sun retreats and stormy clouds fill the sky. She hated to frown, but this town seems to bring it out of her.
"What've you been up to Lyla? You've been grillin' me since I came through the door. Tell me where you've been, Garrity."
Lyla looked deep and hard into Billy's tortured eyes and couldn't stomach telling him about her life. It would be like rubbing salt in a festering wound. Billy was struggling, really truly struggling, and Lyla was prospering. She couldn't – she wouldn't rub that in his face.
"I've got a better idea, why don't we get you back home. Where does Mindy think you are right now?"
"The – The shop. I think." Billy sputtered, spittle flying out of his mouth.
"Billy Riggins, I do believe you are drunk."
He waved a drunken hand in disregard. "I haven't had hardly anythin'. Hell, I'm practically…" he hiccupped, "…parched."
"That's it," Lyla said. "I'm taking you home. It's only six o'clock and you're sloshed."
Billy drunkenly slapped his card on the table, clearly not in any condition or mood to fight her, thankfully. "Stop tryina impress me with yer fancy words, Garrity."
Lyla smiled brightly at the tease. She was counting her lucky stars she wasn't as drunk as she probably should have been. She'll be completely sober in an hour, give or take. Billy wasn't going to be so lucky. With any luck, Mindy won't be completely manic.
Once the bill had been paid, Lyla managed to somehow get Billy to her car and into the back seat. "Please don't puke in here if you can help it," Lyla teased, but it flew right over Billy's nearly-unconscious head. I have to get him home, and soon, she thought to herself. She braced herself for the confrontation with Mindy Collette – Mindy Riggins – as the Collette sisters were not always very rational when Lyla was involved, or ever really.
They still lived in the old Riggins' house. Billy, passed out completely in Lyla's backseat, didn't even need to tell her so much, as she figured it out when she rolled passed and saw all of the kids' toy's littering the lawn. Lyla chuckled to herself. Such typical Riggins behavior.
She couldn't help but think of Kevin back in Austin. He would have a cow if he could see this neighborhood and Billy's house and his lawn. This was the very opposite of Kevin's life. He'd be positively horrified to see Lyla here, to know this is where she came from.
Lyla heard a noise from inside. Female. Screaming. Mindy.
"Hear that, Riggins? That's your wife wondering where you are, mister."
Billy was fast asleep with no chance of arousal. Lyla frowned. How was she going to get him out of the car? There was absolutely no chance Lyla could haul that much dead weight of a man Billy's stature. She looked back to the house. Two little blonde girls flew out the front door and started giggling about in the front yard. They must have been at least four or five years old. Kendra and Kaitlyn. A young brown-haired boy came out shortly after to chase them. Steven. Mindy followed shortly there after, her voice preceding her entrance. "You kids better play nice, or so help me!" She was in a fluffy pink robe that ended just below her knees, and her hair was up in a messy high ponytail, but it was crooked and looked as if it'd been slept on. Lyla remembered she was pregnant. Mindy would be of no use to her cause either. Damn.
Mindy spotted the car and held her hand to her eyes, blocking out the sun's glare. "I'll be damned," she muttered. "Garrity?"
Lyla had gotten out of her car and made her way out to greet her acquaintance. She gave her a small wave. "Hey Mindy."
"Wow. I did not expect to see you ever again. Nobody in town thought we'd see such a hotshot back here."
Smalltalk, Lyla noted. She wasn't expecting a hug or a welcome cheer, or words for that matter.
"Yeah. Work'll do that to you," she replied.
"What brings you 'round here, cheerleader?"
Lyla couldn't help but resent the nickname. Her cheerleader days were long gone, yet still it still followed her around like a dark cloud. And at any rate, Mindy didn't say it to be nice. She held her tongue. No use picking fights with a Collette. She wasn't here to reconnect with old enemies.
"Well for starters, my dad is in jail."
Mindy wasn't even remotely phased. In fact, she barely even heard her. Steven had tripped one of the twins. "Steve Riggins! If you do that one more time!" She screamed in her shrill voice that made her sound akin to the cawing of a hawk.
"So your asshole father got thrown in jail finally," she said once she re-entered the conversation.
She couldn't blame Mindy for that attitude. Lyla certainly had her fair share of animosity towards her father. Mindy and Tyra's mother had an affair with Buddy and it built an even larger rift between Lyla and Tyra, Mindy included, and it lead Lyla's parents to divorce, splitting up the children amongst them.
"You know my father," was all she could say. It was opening a door better left closed, but still.
"You're damn right I do." Mindy stated surely. Lyla was sure she was desperate to see her off, wondering what the hell she was doing on her lawn.
"Secondly, I ran into Billy at the bar," Lyla said and it perked Mindy right up. "And now I can't get him out of my backseat."
"Jesus Christ," Mindy huffed, and Lyla wasn't sure if it was towards her or towards Billy. Mindy swung the back car door open, revealing Billy in a drunken stupor. (Lyla was secretly relieved to see he hadn't puked.) "God dammit Billy! Get your fat ass out of the car and back into the house, you drunken bastard! Nobody has time for your shit!"
Lyla couldn't help but grin, watching the Riggins. This was just so… so… them. It was just so Dillon. It made Lyla almost miss being here.
There was no immediate response from Billy. "God. Hold on, Lyla. I'll get him out of your car."
Mindy walked towards the house, chasing the kids back inside while she was at it. Lyla was left to survey the neighborhood. It simultaneously felt like everything has changed and yet not one thing had. Was this another case of Lyla changing while Dillon remained the same? Would she ever get used to this feeling?
Her voice, yet again, preceded Mindy out of the house. She was screaming bloody murder at her husband, and holding a squirt bottle. Lyla could sense this was not going to be pleasant for anybody.
"Get your ass up, you drunken idiot!" Mindy shrilled as she quickly squirt some clear liquid onto Billy's face. It smelled like vinegar and it revived him within seconds. He was still drunk and groggy, but he was conscious and mobile. "What kind of idiot gets drunk on a weekday in the afternoon!?"
Billy wasn't quite coherent but tried talking anyway. Mindy managed to get him up and supported him by draping one of his limp arms around her shoulders and holding onto his body as she lead him inside. "Thanks for bringing him home, Garrity." Mindy wailed as she sent them both inside and shut the door.
With nothing better to do, Lyla had decided to go back to the apartment and delve into some work. She told her dad she'd see him in the morning to go over the case details, so she may as well be prepared. The taste of beer was still on her tongue, so she impulsively bought a bottle of red wine at a nearby grocery store to accompany her this evening. Lord knows she was going to need a glass or two to get through today and several bottles to get through this case.
She settled down with her glass of Shiraz in the living room and spread out the case papers. For hours, she poured over the messy details. It was late before she realized she hadn't called anyone in Austin. Kevin wouldn't mind the late call, she insisted.
She couldn't help but notice how silent her phone had been all day. Not a single missed call, which was completely unusual. Surely her Austin friends would have at least sent a text. Surely Kevin would have sent her several concerned texts.
Still, she dialed his number. And it rang for a while. He was probably just getting home from work, she reasoned, or in bed.
"Hello?" A voice from the other end said groggily.
Lyla smiled to herself. Kevin's voice was like a warm ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. "Kevin," she cooed into the phone. "It's me. I thought I'd let you know I made it to Dillon in one piece."
"Lyla," he purred into the phone. "I was wondering when you were going to call."
"You could have called me, silly."
"I could have," His voice sounded breathy, like he usually does after he's been woken up, "but I didn't want to disturb you."
Lyla smiled. Kevin has this way of relaxing her that nobody else could. "I miss you."
"Of course you do," he teased, making her giggle, "because I miss you too."
"As you should," she teased back. "I'm sitting in my dad's apartment and it doesn't feel like home. I mean, all of the old stuff is here, but it's just not home. I feel like I don't really have a home anymore. It should be Dillon, but nothing here is quite like it used to be. It was Nashville for a while when I was at Vanderbilt. Now I'm in Austin, but I don't really feel like I fit in there either."
"Of course you fit in. You fit like a glove. Austin is perfect for you."
Another easy smile. "You're just saying that because you're in Austin."
"Of course."
She giggled.
"I miss you," she repeats.
"I'm so sorry I couldn't come down with you. You know how it is being a lawyer. So many cases, so little time." She knew. He was really tied up in a huge case that could significantly increase his reputation with the bar if he won. He would be the fastest rising associate the company has ever seen. Their good luck charm, as Kevin has yet to lose a single case. It's incredible really. They call him 'The Shark.' Lyla was really lucky to have him, because he could have anybody he wanted.
"I do. Break a leg, ok?"
"If I actually do break a leg, I'm suing you, ok?"
She laughed loudly into the phone, and she could hear Kevin's smile through the phone. This was their inside joke. One they'd say to bring some humor to their usual humorless lifestyle. "Call me sometime tomorrow, ok?"
"Anything for you, doll."
A brief pause as neither of them wished to get off the phone with the other. The physical distance was new for them both. They'd been together for a year now, but still it felt like it had passed too quickly. Perhaps it was due to their workload. Being a lawyer was a job that took precedence over every other aspect of your life, and the little time you can spare to anything else was cherished. That meant each other. Quick kisses during lunch hours, too-brief phone calls during the day, and even more brief text messages. Always on the go. The night was all theirs though and they made the most of it. So while distance during the day was nothing new, this physical distance, being this far apart was a brand new challenge to them both.
"Lyla," he whispered into the phone, and it made her ache for his arms. "get your father out of jail, ok? You can do this. I have faith in you."
There was no denying this was big for Lyla's career. She was still so brand new, and so young. 'The youngest member of Schulman & White for sure,' Kevin had said. She had yet to make a significant impression, and this was her chance. But it wouldn't be easy. Lyla knew her father. Some part of him was guilty; perhaps he was totally guilty. This was an uphill battle, and Lyla was not sure she wanted to fight it. Maybe her dad should be in jail.
"Thanks baby. I desperately needed that," she said. "I'll let you get some sleep. Lord knows the both of us could use it."
"Lyla, have a good night. I miss you terribly."
And with that, they both hung up. Lyla did not go to bed, though. She poured another glass of wine and studied the papers a bit longer before going to bed at midnight.