The Darkest Part (24 page)

I force my eyes away from the page. Try to tell myself that it’s just thoughts. Everyone has to have an outlet, and Tyler’s home life was more strained than I ever knew. Of course he’d write things like this as a way to express his feelings. I mean, I paint some pretty dark and disturbing scenes when I get into a funk.

But I can’t help the unease that settles over me. Suddenly, the very romantic past that was our history—mine and Tyler’s—takes on a dark edge.

“Sam?” Holden’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and I blink.

“Yeah?”

“Something bad happen in your book? You look ill.” He worries his lip ring between his teeth. “Are you getting sick again?”

I shake my head. “What? Oh, no.” I sit up and close the paperback. “Just zoning out. Not really even reading.” I can hear the discomfort in my voice. I don’t want him to be concerned about me, so I change the subject. “How long have we been driving?”

“Three hours. We’re in Missouri.”

“Holy shit. Really?” I look out the window at the green scenery. Flat land and lots of high yellow grass. Scattered trees and power lines. We pass an old-looking tire store, but otherwise, there’s not a lot out here. “You’re hauling ass.”

He laughs. “I think I’m getting impatient to get where we’re going.” His voice drops off at the end, like he didn’t realize what he was saying until it was out there.

No taking it back.

“Are you hungry or anything?” he asks, keeping his gaze on the highway. “We can stop for a while.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine, but if you need a break—”

“I’d rather drive straight through,” he says. “Long as you’re fine, I’m good to go.”

I nod and then look down at the book in my hands. I’m not ready to dive back into Tyler’s past. His feelings. They’re all-consuming and painful, and I’ve been on a constant emotional roller-coaster since this trip started.

“All right,” I say, digging out the leather CD case from under the seat. “Let’s unwind.”

Holden

Sam’s idea of unwinding and
my
idea of unwinding are very different. I bite down on my lip ring, preventing myself from saying something asinine. I’d have made a joke yesterday. But not today. Not after last night. There’s nothing funny about last night. Just the images in my head that remind me of the small taste I’d gotten, and lost.

My fault, though. I’m the one who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. Well, technically, I did. I would’ve stopped after she came. It would’ve been the most painful experience ever, and I’d still be carrying the blue balls to show for it—probably sitting on an icepack right now—but I would have stopped for her.

I know she’s not ready to take things that far. I wouldn’t have pressed her for anything more. But hell, if she’d have asked me to take her in the throes of passion, I’d have ripped off my pants and there’d been no stopping me then.

Best it ended when it did.

Fuck. I lower my lashes and glimpse the hard-on tenting my jeans. And then I peek at her. She’s invested in finding something to listen to, so I shift my weight and tug my waistband, alleviating the pressure in my pants.

I really need to stop thinking about her. In any way.

One thought sobers me and wilts me faster than a cold shower ever could. And I know I’m going to regret asking her, but I need to know. To be able to bury what happened between us for good. “Sam?”

“Huh?” She doesn’t look up from her music search.

“I know this subject has been closed. And I promise, after you answer me one thing, I won’t ever bring it up again.” I glance over. She’s still, a curtain of her hair blocking my view of her face. “But I need to know what exactly . . .” I trail off, trying to find the right words. There are none. I blurt it out. “What made you stop?”

She flips the sleeve and continues to look over the CDs. I think she’s not going to answer or even acknowledge my question, then, “I didn’t see him. If that’s what you’re asking.”

A rush of air leaves my mouth in a relieved exhale. It’s what I’ve been wondering ever since she said my brother’s name. Even though his ghost is all in her mind, the thought that she saw him watching us—while we were at it—turns my stomach.

But now that she’s admitted that’s
not
what happened, I’m wondering more shit. I’m probably reading too much into it. She loves my brother. He died. She’s suffering some form of psychosis from guilt or an inability to deal, and I’m her ghost boyfriend’s brother. Not just his brother, but the guy who treated her like dirt. So yeah. All those things combined, she’s justified for having a moment of guilt and stopping it.

“All right,” I say. “That is what I wanted to know. And I’m glad that—”

“That what, Holden?” Her head whips up and she looks at me. I quickly check out her tense frame, her eyes narrowed and hurt. “Glad that he didn’t see? Or that you got as far as you did with me? You know what? Let’s just not. If you really want to know, I haven’t seen Tyler since we first walked into that hotel room back in Memphis.”

“As far as I got with you? You think that’s all I’m out for?”

“Drop it. We’re not going there.” She crosses her arms over her chest, shutting down the conversation.

Where the hell did that come from? I’m glad we’re able to talk about it, which sounds stupid now. Real stupid.

“Fine.” I feel my eyebrows draw together. “But look, I know I said I wouldn’t talk about this either”—I angle my body so I can see her better from my peripheral—“but don’t you . . . I mean. Somewhere inside your mind, you have to be wondering if it’s really happening. If it’s not just in your head.” I blow out a heavy breath. “Shit, Sam. If it were me? I’d have asked myself that. I think any sane person would ask themself that at least once.”

And, oh, my shit. Her face blazes redder with every dumb word I say. When I finally shut up, I brace myself against the clutch, ready to drop the truck into neutral if she launches herself at me. I wouldn’t blame her if she did.

“You think I haven’t asked myself that?” Her chest heaves, and she’s clutching the CD case like she
is
about to launch
that
at my head.

I shrug. “Okay. But have you asked yourself that lately?”

“You asshole.”

“What? Don’t you think that since you’ve left home and gone on this trip, it’s strange how you’re seeing my brother less and less?” I should stop. But hell, there’s no holding back now. “Think about it, Sam.”

“Fuck you.” She tosses the case on the floorboard and unbuckles her seatbelt.

“What the hell are you—?” I cut short as she grips the door handle. “Sam—”

The door cracks open. “I have to get away from you!”

“Shit!” I glance in my rearview, then slam down on the brake and clutch at the same time that I reach out and grab her arm.

The tires squeal and the backend fishtails before we come to a stop. Releasing her arm as she yanks out of my hold, I move to grip the gearshift. “Fuck.” I shift into neutral and pull the e-brake. “Are you—?”

“Crazy?” Her eyes widen and she laughs. “I guess so. At least I’m accepting it. Isn’t that what you want? You want me to admit that I’m nuts so you can have a clear conscience to fuck me?”

I’m breathing hard, my hand gripping the shifter knob so tightly my arm shakes and my knuckles turn white. My gaze drifts over her and lands on the tree tat on her wrist as the echo of her words punch me in the gut. I open my mouth to say something, but she laughs and shakes her head.

“Fuck this,” she bites out under her breath and throws the door open.

“Where the hell are you going?”

She doesn’t bother to respond. Just reaches behind the seat and grabs her pack, then slams the door.

Fuck!
I bang my head against the back windshield and release a deep growl through clenched teeth.
How did this happen?
I run through the conversation again, trying to figure out where it went wrong. It’s like she plucked her last statement out of the thin fucking air and threw it in my face.

But even as I’m thinking that, I realize the truth. She’s been holding on to it for a long time. I lead her to believe I only wanted to screw her back in the day. And even though we’ve been cordial on this trip, and we’ve tried to bury that shit like we were just kids and it doesn’t affect us now . . . it does. And I just gave her the opportunity to unleash her pent up frustration. I pressed her while she’s wound tight over last night, and she fired off her reserve ammunition. It completely blindsided me.

Through the windshield, I watch as Sam walks backward, her arm outstretched, thumb up. My anger skyrockets. I can feel my blood pressure rising, building behind my eyes. I scrub my hands down my face and unleash a harsh curse into my palms.

With a deep breath, I suck up my pride and open the truck door. She can rail at me as much as she wants—as much as she needs. Just as long as she does it from inside the truck.

I sink my hands into my pockets and swallow the distance between us in long strides. A few feet from her, I say, “Will you please get back in the truck?”

Her gaze is fixed on the highway, her feet moving backward, carrying her away from me. “I was trying to let last night go. Just pretend it didn’t happen, Holden.”

I nod. “I know.”

“But
you
won’t let it go.” Her eyes cut to me before she returns to watching the road. There aren’t many cars on this highway, and the ones that do pass—all two of them—pass without a thought of stopping. “I can’t continue on like this. It’s just too much. I messed up, and I don’t want Tyler disappearing into that dark limbo because of me. I owe him more than that . . . than this.” She waves her hands around.

Before I open my mouth, I go over my words in my head. Make sure they don’t sound stupid before I spit them out. “Would it help if I told you something? Something that might help your conscience?”

And with that, she stops walking. Her arm lowers and she looks at me. We stand staring at each other, a mere foot between us, before she answers. “To be honest, I’m kind of terrified to learn any more secrets.”

I nod once, hard. Understandable. I wish I could wipe my mind clean with a giant can of white paint. Just start over. “All right. Then how about this? I don’t want to fuck you.”

She flinches at my words and harsh tone.

I take in a breath, building my courage. “Last night? That was all me, okay? I take full responsibly, and none of it is your fault.” I hold her gaze, making sure she sees the truth in my eyes. “You did nothing wrong, and because Tyler knew about us before”—I motion between us—“and blamed me the first time, rest assured, he’ll do so again.” I can’t believe I’m giving into her crazy, but I need her to get past this. “He knew about our kiss, and he never blamed you. Now,” I say, my feet eating the last bit of distance between us. “I’m the bad guy. You can get your sweet little ass back in the truck.”

I look down at her, and she swallows. “I just want him back.” Her lips tremble, and my heart constricts.

“I know,” I say. “I know. I do, too.” I release a heavy breath. “And I
never
wanted to do anything to hurt him or you. Not then, and not now. But I’m a selfish bastard. I would’ve fucked you six ways from Sunday, and I would’ve loved every second of it.”

Her body tenses, and a flash of something covers her eyes before a fleeting smile tugs at her lips. But she schools her face quickly.

“I’m a guy.” I shrug. “I come with the equipment, ready and willing, to fuck at the ready. Don’t put too much thought into it.”

This gets a full smile. My heart lightens. “I’m pretty selfish, too,” she says. “I wanted . . .” She shakes her head. “I don’t know. Maybe a moment of not knowing. Not feeling. If that makes sense.”

A pang hits my chest. Being with me, for her, is only a way to forget all her pain. Last night wouldn’t have been a step for us, it would’ve been a time out for her. I press my lips together and nod. “I get that.”

A tear slips down her face, and it’s my undoing. I promised her I’d never touch her, but dammit. I can’t stop my hand from reaching out and cupping her cheek, running my thumb over the clear trail it leaves behind.

She sucks in a sniff and nods against my hand. “Let’s go.”

Walking back, I know that only half of what I told her was the truth. I don’t want to fuck her. I want to own her. Every last bit of her, I want to make mine. I want to do so much more than just be with her.

After we’re buckled in and heading down the highway, leaving our wreckage behind us, I hear Sam whisper, “You’re not the bad guy.”

I want to believe her.