The Darkest Part(62)

“I think here’s good,” Holden calls out. He stops ahead of me at the edge and braces a hand against one of the metal cables. His truck is parked a little ways back, the hazards flashing. Cars honk as they speed by, drivers pissed at the two idiots parked on the bridge.

The wind whips my hair around my face as I stand next to him, the satin box getting heavier in my hands. “We need to block the wind,” I say. “And hurry. Someone might smack right into the back of your truck.” I toss my head, clearing the strands of hair from my eyes.

“They’ve got time to move out of the way. People break down on bridges, right?” He smiles, but I can see a bit of worry lacing his blue irises. He loves his truck.

He positions his back to the Mississippi and faces me. As he grasps the bottom of the box, he holds my gaze. I can feel his eyes studying me, analyzing every facial tick.

I take another deep breath and focus on Tyler.

I hope you like it here. I miss you.

As I lift the lid, we turn together, letting the wind catch the ashes. Holden holds the box out for a few seconds as the breeze carries some of Tyler’s remains over the river. I quickly fasten the lid back over the box, cutting out the wind.

Then we stare at the blue sky for a while. Just the whoosh of cars rushing by, the wind in our ears, the distant lapping of the river below.

“I miss him,” Holden says, and a hard lump forms in my throat. It’s as if I somehow said my thoughts aloud, and he’s agreeing with me.

On our way back to his truck, Holden walks beside me on the outside stretch. His hand brushes against mine. I glance down as he flexes his fingers and curls them into a fist. After last night, he promised to never touch me again.

And I let him promise it. Even if somewhere, with everything inside me fighting my feelings for him, and everything telling me that anything I could have with him is wrong . . . I don’t want him to keep that promise.



“Springfield.” I’m looking at our next destination on the map. I’ve been staring at it for the past ten minutes, dodging any kind of engaging conversation with Holden. “Almost five hours, but with the way you drive, I guess we’ll be there in three.”

He chuckles. “Not quite.” He glances over, and his lips tug into a sexy smirk. “But close.”

My stomach tumbles, and I berate myself (for the fiftieth time this morning) for nearly losing control last night.

And Tyler.

Something reaches inside and squeezes my heart. I wish he’d at least let me know he’s here, lingering in the background. I feel like at any moment, he’ll come back. But he hasn’t. Not yet. I’m so scared that he knows what happened between me and his brother and he’s left me for good. His last words confuse the hell out of me. Even if he knew I had feelings for Holden back then, that doesn’t warrant him claiming I’m still in love with him.

Where did that come from?

It hits me suddenly, and I feel like a moron. I can’t talk to Tyler, not right now. But I do have his thoughts. I pull out my paperback from underneath the seat and angle myself away from Holden.

“Must be a damn good book,” he says, peeking over at me.

A mix of shame and panic swirls within me. Shame that I can’t offer to drive some of this trip (him driving the whole way has to be getting old), and panic at what he’d say or do if he discovered the story I was actually losing myself in.

I shrug. “It’s a romance. One of my mom’s books.” Hoping that dampens his curiosity (what guy actually reads romance novels?), I hunker down in the seat. It works, and Holden shakes his head before reaching to turn the volume up on the stereo.

Pink’s Just Give Me a Reason blares out of the speakers. And I can’t help mentally singing along with the lyrics, my chest growing heavier with each word. They fit so perfectly for my and Holden’s . . . whatever it is that’s happening between us.

Shaking the chills away, I bury myself in Tyler’s journal.

Starting from the point where I left off, before I so brilliantly skipped ahead, I skim Tyler’s memories of middle school, a smile forming on my lips when I read about the time he took me to see Pirates of the Caribbean. According to his journal, he considered it a date. His first one. A tiny pebble of guilt forms in my stomach.

I’d thought we were only friends. Best friends, but just friends. After we became more, Tyler told me that he’d always harbored a secret crust on me when we were kids, but I never believed him. Not really. He’d always been a romantic, and I thought he just wanted our relationship to be even more special than it already was. He wasn’t falsifying, though. According to his written thoughts, he loved me. Even back then.