The Darkest Part(50)

“Agreed,” I say. “I’m not arguing the facts here. Not going to debate right and wrong. I’m just saying, he’s not here to tell you his side of the story.” I cast her a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile. “He’s not really here.”

“Okay,” she says, and I brace myself for an argument, anyway. But she floors me when she says, “You were there, right? You tell it.”

Christ.





Sam

Driving through the city of Memphis feels longer than it actually took to get here. Holden wanted to take the scenic route, but after stopping and going at about ten lights, he cursed and pulled a U-turn, jumping back onto the highway to get to our designated location.

Buildings and concrete and lights, even in the daytime, are everywhere. After riding for so long with nothing around for miles but fields and trees, it’s almost a shock to my system. The park on our left, full of green and people, ends, and the Mississippi River comes into view. Yawning and endless. I can see a bridge stretching over the glassy water top, and I can’t wait to view it at night, lit up and reflecting off the river.

Holden didn’t have much to say on Tyler’s “supposed” betrayal. He told the same story again, like he’s rehashed it a million times. And, I guess he has. I feel awful making him recall the events of that night. I know how painful it is for him. And when he repeated, again, that Tyler went home in a cab (no redhead with him), I let it drop. I loved Shannon like a second mother, and Holden shouldn’t have to relive that night. Not now. Not because of some fight between me and Tyler.

I feel scraped raw, empty, and too tired to think. I don’t want to think.

“This is definitely one of my favorite stops so far,” I say. My voice feels flat as I stretch my neck to see the top of a building.

Holden chuckles. “We’ve only had two.”

I pretend not to hear him. I’m sure he doesn’t count the Oak Picnic as an important stop on our trip, but before my world fell apart, it was for me. I feel ridiculous, like I’m fourteen and making up stuff in my head, running down the path on my way to see him, just to be reminded how very ridiculous I am.

And what’s more? I’m angry. Angry over the dumb flutters in my chest when our hands touch as we’re reaching for the stereo knob at the same time. Angry that my stomach tumbles when his blue eyes seem to see me. Really see me. Like how they did a long time ago.

Angrier, still, that I’m feeling and thinking like this at all. It’s only been five months since I lost Tyler. And, he’s not even gone. Not really. Not yet. Despite the past two hours, and the heartache kicking me in the soul, I still love him. And miss him. I miss what he was before he became this . . . whatever he is now.

He doesn’t tell new jokes, only repeats the same ones from when he was alive. Doesn’t look at me with deep chocolate eyes; they’re now faded and the gleam is too distant. Won’t even fight me with the passion he once used to have. He could win any argument—it always drove me nuts. Now, he only claims to be forgetting, incapable of feeling anger, bitterness, hurt—and unable to do anything to make me not feel those things.

He was always the one who could get me out of whatever funk was bringing me down.

And I hadn’t noticed any of this until Holden’s very here presence made me so painfully aware of it.

Now, this trip is even tainted. When Holden had fallen asleep under the oak, I thought I could skip ahead in the journal, look for something near the end that might give us a clue if Tyler’s hit-and-run wasn’t simply an accident.

Holden’s main purpose, I’m starting to think, is finding out who was driving that car the night Tyler was hit. The only evidence there has ever been is what the few witnesses claimed they saw: a small red car driving away. That’s it. And even when I’d upset Holden, bringing up his past, he put that aside to keep going on this trip. I wanted to find something that could help him on his quest.

When I read that Tyler kissed that girl—everything turned red around the edges. I flung the journal under the seat and shouted until Tyler appeared. I didn’t care if he used up every last bit of his energy to manifest in the daytime. I was confronting him.

In life, Tyler would’ve fought back. Would’ve yelled and screamed and matched me in every verbal blow. But this version? All he can do is claim he can’t remember. He has no memory of the redhead. No memory of that night, other than when he let me hold him after the news of his mother’s death hit.

That’s more frustrating than if he admitted he’d fucked her. I can’t even rail at him, take out my hurt and feel justified because what made Tyler, Tyler . . . is disappearing.