The Darkest Part(63)

When I get to our freshman year, I stop skimming. I want to know when he suspected me of having feelings for his brother, and even if it’s painful, I want to understand how that affected him. How it affected us.

At some point back in middle school, he must have had suspicions, because by the time we entered ninth grade, he already knew. I feel my brow crease as I read over his bitter words.

“I could say something about Sam being into my brother, but honestly, I don’t want Holden to find out. Right now, she’s too shy to tell him. If I bring it up, what good would that shit do? Just make things uncomfortable between us.

Holden’s never looked at her once that way. But he’s starting to. And I’m starting to freak out. Sam’s not a little girl anymore. Every day I see how much she’s changing. Over the summer, her tits filled out, her ass looks amazing in a pair of jeans, and her hair’s longer. She’s sexy. And what’s worse, she’s Holden’s type. Fuck.

Maybe I should forge a permission slip to get a tattoo, or have Bobby give me a home one. Something to show her that I’m not just some lame ass jock. I know she cares about me. But as a friend. Holden has never showed her any interest until now, always caught up in his art.

Oh, and that’s another thing. Of course they’re both into art. The only time he ever talks to her it’s about their art projects at school. Or this or that about color palettes. Stuff I don’t get. I hate when he’s home and they get to talking about that shit.

He’s all punk rock and bad boy. That shit girls love, even Sam. She tries to play it off like she’s not into that type of guy, but I see the way she looks at him. It pisses me off, but what can I do? Just wait for her to notice how I feel, I guess.

But I swear, if Holden does find out, and he does anything . . . I’ll kick his ass. Sam’s always been mine. He can have any girl he wants. Why he doesn’t, I don’t know that, either. But he can’t have Sam. She’s the one thing that I’d fight my brother for. Even kill for.”



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.