Once we’re checked out and walking toward my truck, a wave of sickness crashes over me. Oh, baby. Here we go.
Sam peeks at me and laughs. “Relax. I won’t grind the gears.”
My stomach clenches just hearing her say grind and gears in the same sentence. “I’m not worried. I trust you.” I look at her and let the full meaning of my words sink in.
She doesn’t look away. My heart tightens as she holds my gaze a moment longer before she’s forced to look where she’s walking. Again, I have no idea what Biker Chick said to her, but when I see her, I’m going to hug the crap out of her.
With an internal groan, I hand Sam my keys. “Please, please, be gentle.”
She rolls her eyes and unlocks the door. Sliding behind the wheel, she smiles. It floods me with warmth. My truck is pretty badass. She reaches over and unlocks my door, then as I climb in, she pushes in the clutch and turns the ignition.
My truck rumbles to life. And to my utter relief, it doesn’t sputter or choke out. I glance at Sam. Her hands are gripped tightly to the steering wheel, her gaze staring ahead. As if talking herself into it, she nods and places a shaky hand on the skull shifter knob.
Against my inner voice screaming that I shouldn’t touch her, I extend my hand and lay it over hers. “You can do this.”
Her eyes meet mine before I feel her shift into first. Giving her a lopsided smile, I say, “It’s all yours.”
She pulls out of the parking space, perfectly if not a bit hesitantly, then smiles, her dimple making an appearance. Without a doubt, I wasn’t talking about the truck. This girl owns my heart.
And it scares me shitless.
Sam
Holden is really trying to be cool. Like me driving his truck isn’t about to make him rip his hair out. He’s run his hand through his dark layers about fifty times since I got on the highway. And he’s never worked that lip ring so hard.
A triumphant smile spreads across my face as I press back into the seat. I’m still a bit nervous, but after the first ten minutes of minor panic attacks (it felt like more than one), the fight or flight adrenaline coursing through my veins finally stopped pumping. Now I’m on a high.
I used to love driving. Whenever I’d have a bad day—after I botched a test or had a fight with Tyler, or just needed to think—I’d hop into my car and just drive. Blast the stereo and get lost.
Sure, there weren’t a lot of places to drive around the island, but it was the action. The going. Being away from the world in my own place where no one could bother me.
That is, until Tyler’s hit-and-run. Dr. Hartman tried to analyze it, saying my fear was normal. A car had taken Tyler away from me, and of course I’d be fearful of cars now. It was logical and rational, and what’s more, expected.
Earlier, the idea had just hit me.
As much as I’m doing this trip for Tyler, truth is, I’m doing it for me, too. I’m tired of being scared. Sick of living in fear. I’m doing this to set Tyler free, yes, to help him to cross over—but deep down, I know it’s about more.
I need to cross over, too.
Into the living.
I hate thinking that Dr. Hartman might have had a tiny point during our last session. When she said I needed to learn to live my own life away from Tyler. In a way, I get what she was saying. I’ve always thought of Tyler and me as one. He was always by my side. We did everything together.
Except for the time when I was with Holden. That was the only moment I thought of myself. Wanted something all for myself, despite Tyler.
The irony that I’m again with Holden isn’t lost on me. And I could spend thousands of dollars in Dr. Hartman’s office, sitting in her little blue chair, trying to figure out what it all means.
Or, I could go with it.
Melody’s advice swirls in my head, making me brave. Hold on to me and Tyler, or let things work themselves out. What does my heart want? Glancing over at Holden as he tries hard to look like he’s searching for music instead of dreading my driving, I decide . . . not to worry about it. To enjoy the trip.
One thing my heart wants: carefree.
And then a terrifying thought attacks my brain. “Oh, my God.”
“What?” Holden looks up, searching the highway and then me. “What’s wrong?”
“We forgot to spread Tyler’s ashes.”
He releases an audible breath. “Shit, Sam. I thought you were about to plow into something.” He runs his hand through his hair again. “It’s all right. We’ll just veer off course on our way back and hit Springfield again.” He smiles, and my heart slows to a less erratic beat.
I breathe in, breathe out. “Wait,” I say, glancing at the sign as we pass. “What route would we have taken to go to Outdoor World?”