The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood 1)

Finally, his eyes meet mine, and the brown of his irises is so clear. I can see the woods through them, and I just miss the deepness of what I used to look into. “It’s right that you know. I should’ve told you before.”

“I wish you had,” I whisper.

A sad smile mars his face. “Just know . . . I love you.” He looks down at the ground. “I’m tired, Sam.”

Footsteps sound from behind me, Holden’s boots crunching the gravel. Tyler begins to fade, and it’s like a knife to my heart.

“Sam?” Holden hands me the water bottle from over my shoulder.

“Thank you.” With a steadying breath, I push to my feet, my gaze still cast on the emptiness Tyler’s presence left behind.

Once we’re back on the road, I can’t stomach the thought of reading anymore of Tyler’s memories. I know there’s something in there that’s going to test me, and I’m scared to find out what.

Pulling both feet onto the seat, I hug my legs to my rocky stomach. “How far away are we?”

Holden glances at the time. “About an hour.”

“Really?”

He chuckles. “I drive fast.”

It’s only been three and a half hours. “No shit.”

“You feeling better?”

I nod. “I think it’s just been a while since I’ve been in a car, for like, more than ten minutes. I can’t remember the last time I was on a road trip. Probably carsick.”

He turns down the volume on the stereo even further. “Rachel mentioned that you don’t drive anymore.”

Of course she did. Along with telling Mr. Marks (who I don’t think I can ever be around again—not without taking a bat to his head) every detail of my medical history, my mother’s also been talking to Holden. She doesn’t know what happened between us. Just thinks he’s a friend, my boyfriend’s brother, and our neighbor. I wish she didn’t gossip so much. But I guess it’s just part of living on the island. People can’t help themselves.

And that’s why Tyler had to be so secretive. I can’t imagine how scared he was as a boy. Terrified of what his father would do to him if anyone ever found out.

I run my palms over my thighs, my hands shaky. “I’ve been having panic attacks.”

He nods like he gets it, and I wonder if he does. After all what his father did to him and put him through, I can’t imagine what he’s suffered. What he still must be suffering. The long-term effects of abuse.

Tyler wrote that Holden, being the older sibling, always tried to divert their father’s attention, always tried to take the blows for his brother. So he got the worst of it for a long time. Now all of Holden’s issues in school—the fighting, failing a grade, the vandalism, the drugs—make sense. He needed an outlet for his rage.

And their mother? How did Shannon cope? The journal says she was beaten, too. Not to the degree the boys were, but enough for Tyler to write about her getting hit. I can’t help wondering if any of Holden’s rage was directed toward her—the woman who was supposed to love her kids more than anything, but who didn’t protect them. Or if he just felt helpless against it all.

I look over at Holden. Study the strong profile of his face. His tight grip on the steering wheel. The furrow between his eyebrows. Fighting the urge to ask him questions I know he’ll refuse to answer, I force my gaze away. Regardless, I’ve opened Pandora’s Box, and there’s no closing it.

In just under an hour, we’re pulling into a Best Western near the Talladega Superspeedway.

“We’ll check in first, then if you want, watch a race. Or we can do that tomorrow if you’re not feeling it.”

“I’m up for it,” I say. “I think getting out in the fresh air will be better than sitting in a hotel room.” My mouth pulls into a tight-lipped smile. It feels off, like I’m trying to force myself to be polite because of what I now know. This complicates so much. I need to get my mind off of his past, our past, their father. Everything.

After he parks and we grab our bags, we head toward the entrance. There’s nothing special about the hotel; it’s like every roadside hotel I’ve ever seen. But just the fact that I’m so far away from home makes it seem more exciting.

Once we’re at the check-in counter, Holden looks at me and raises his eyebrows. “Two rooms?”

My mouth pops open. “I, uh. Yeah. I’ll get mine. You can get yours.” I pull out my small cross-body bag from my pack, but he waves his hand.

“I got you.” He turns his attention to the portly blond woman behind the counter. “Two rooms, single beds. Next door to each other, if you have them.”

“Holden,” I say. “I can pay for my own.”