The Darkest Part(81)

“You wanna share your supplies?” I ask her.

She mock sighs. “I’m usually pretty stingy”—she blocks the sun from her face with her hand as she glances at me—“but I’ll make an exception. For you.” She rummages through her pack and pulls out another pad and a container of charcoal, pencils, and paints. “Use whatever.”

“All right.” I choose a pencil, only because I don’t feel like having smudged up fingers. “You know, they make holders.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” she says, looking back at her sketch. “I don’t mind getting a little messy. It’s worth it to capture just what I want.” She looks up and smiles, almost to herself. “I’d always wanted my own studio, and used to picture myself covered in paint from working all day.”

The vigor in her words floods me with so much want for this girl. I suppress my need to touch her, and instead grip my pencil tighter. My thoughts drift back to the old oak, remembering her smudged cheek. Although it was a turbulent moment, I couldn’t help my pulse slamming against my veins as I wiped the mark from her face. Even at her worst, Sam is gorgeous, passionate. And the need to touch her thrums through me. All the time.

Her words suddenly hit me, and I look at her. “Used to? You don’t want your own studio anymore?”

She shrugs, but it’s jittery. “Maybe one day.”

Letting the subject drop, because I don’t want to push her, we fall into companionable silence as we draw. Her with her landscape, me with the new design I’d been working on right before I left Atlanta. And it feels right. Despite the immense fuckupery that is this trip, it’s like when we were kids, and we could draw together without the need to talk. It’s easy and just . . . right.

I flip the page in my pad and start a new drawing.

“Can I ask you a question?” Sam says, and my hand stills. My breath stops in my chest.

“Of course. Though, technically, you just did,” I say, hoping to break some of the tension her words created. But I’m sure she can hear the hesitancy in my voice.

She’s facing me now, her legs crossed, and she sits back on her palms. Completely stoic in spite of my lame attempt. “I don’t want to fight or argue, or anything. But I’ve been thinking.” She pauses, and I force myself to hold her gaze, even as panic grips me. “What’s your reasoning? I mean, why are you completely convinced Tyler isn’t here? You believe it without a doubt.” She tilts her head. “I guess I want to know why you don’t question that it could be possible.”

Mirroring her position, I flip my pad closed and lean back on my hands. It’s a fair question. I asked her to think about the possibility of my brother only being in her mind, and it makes sense for her to turn the tables on me. Before I answer, I think long and hard, instead of just spitting out what I think is obvious. That’s not fair to her.

“I have questioned it.” Her eyes widen, just slightly. “Some of the things you’ve said, things that you couldn’t possibly know . . . I won’t lie. I have moments of doubt.” Her forehead creases, and she glances down, some worry or other emotion crossing her face. When she looks at me again, her mouth parts, and I wait for her to speak. I hold my breath, waiting. And when it becomes clear she won’t, “But, the reason I can push that doubt aside is because I believe Tyler’s in a good place, Sam. I believe it with everything in me.”

Her eyes squint. “Like heaven?”

I shrug one shoulder. “I don’t know if I believe in heaven, but I trust, after everything my brother went through in life, that whoever is in charge up there wouldn’t make him suffer now.” I press my lips together and think how to word my next sentence. “And being trapped here, a wandering soul or whatever, becoming lost in darkness. No. I refuse to accept that. In life, he was lost in that darkness, and I won’t accept he’s not at peace now. I feel it here.” I tap my chest, over my heart. “He’s where he needs to be. It’s all the proof I need.”

Sam’s eyes are unblinking, intent, as she stares at me. “You must think I’m the cruelest person . . . That I’m trying to keep Tyler bound—”

“No.” I sit forward and take her hand. “No. Don’t go there. I know you would never try to keep him here. Look at what you’re doing. You’re traveling across the fucking country, dealing with me”—a smile breaks across her face—“just to help Tyler. If he was here? If I believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was? I’d be happy he chose to stick close to you. You’ve always taken care of him.”