The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood 1)

He doesn’t respond. Just hands over his credit card to the woman when she tells him she has two available rooms next door to each other.

“Fine. I’ll get it the next time.”

His lips twitch into a slight smile. “Just take your room key.”

As we walk through the hallway toward our rooms, I say, “You didn’t have to do that. This trip was last minute for you, so I don’t mind paying for stuff.”

“I’m not a broke hoodlum, as hard as that is to believe.” He glances at the numbers along the doors and stops when he reaches ours. “I have some money saved. And besides, I cost you your train ticket. I’m sure it wasn’t cheap.”

I tilt my head. “True, but still. It was unexpected. I’m sure you don’t want to spend your savings on me.”

Slipping his key card into the reader, he says, “I’ve got a good job and I’ve never taken any of my vacation time. I’m due for some time off, and I have plenty to blow.” He tosses his bag into the room, then he looks at me and extends his hand. “Let me check out your room first.”

I feel my forehead crease. “For what?”

“Monsters.” He winks.

HOLDEN

The Best Western kicks the shit out of The Island Getaway Inn. I haven’t been in a decent bed, meaning mine, since I left my apartment in Atlanta. Stretching out, I toe off my boots and tuck my hands behind my head.

The gauze bandaging my left hand is loose and annoying. I go ahead and remove it and inspect the cut. It’s red and sore, but healed over. Thinking of Sam’s tee tucked into my bag, still stained with my blood, I feel my brow crease. I don’t know why I kept it. With a heavy exhale, I put my hands back behind my head and close my eyes, hoping to get some rest before Sam and I head out.

Spending four and a half hours with someone isn’t a huge ordeal. Spending four and half hours with someone closed up in the cab of a truck? A whole other story. I have a feeling by the end of this trip, Sam and I are either going to work through our issues or want to kill each other.

Maybe both.

Unable to turn off my brain, I reach for my phone on the nightstand and pull up the browser. I Google the Talladega Superspeedway and click the first link for their website. Scrolling through the site, I find their number and jot it down with the pen and notepad next to me.

Performing these mindless actions keeps me from thinking about what I witnessed after Sam got sick on the side of the highway. She was having a conversation with an invisible person. I stood there, water bottle in hand, battling a mix of confusion and fright. I’ve never dealt with someone who suffers from delusions, or psychosis. I’m not sure I’m capable of handling it right.

So I didn’t handle it. I ignored it. That’s easier than asking questions.

It would only make an already stressed situation that much more strained and complicated. I doubt she wants to divulge the information, anyway.

I didn’t dive into this completely unprepared, though. Before I tracked her down at the train station, I contacted Rachel and asked for all the sordid details of Sam’s condition. What her doctor suggested would be the best way to behave around her, and what to do in case of an emergency. I’m sure Sam would be furious if she knew I’d talked to her mom about it behind her back, but desperate times and such. I don’t want to chance anything with Sam.

Glancing at my bag, I remind myself that I have a backup plan if things get bad. I just hope I don’t have to resort to it—that this trip will help her overcome her grief, and her mind can heal. Maybe she needs to be able to say goodbye to Tyler on her own terms. Or maybe she just needs to release whatever guilt she’s harboring over his death.

As much as I miss my brother, I’ve let him go. That’s not to say I’m not battling my own demons. I’ve dealt with all the regret and anger and frustration . . . but not always in a healthy way. The first two months after his death were the hardest. Harder even than dealing with my mother’s. But now, right this minute, I’m burying my guilt. As long as the world accepts that Tyler was killed by a hit-and-run, I can move on.

I have to.

I should’ve tried harder to be there for Sam, though. I knew she was struggling, but I let her push me away. I let her, because it was easier to avoid. But I’m here now. And as difficult and painful as it is to be around her, I’ll deal. If she needs me to take the guilt so she can free her mind of her demons, I can do that.

I’ve locked mine up in my nightmares where they can torment me, but I’m not haunted. Not afraid my brother will appear.

Maybe I should be.

I blow out a heavy breath and dial the number to the speedway. We need to have some fun. Stat.

I haven’t stopped since I hung up with the guy from the speedway. Screw rest. I don’t want to see the disappointment in Sam’s eyes.

Working up my courage, I knock on her room door.

After a few seconds, “Who is it?”

I told her to keep the door bolted after I checked that there were no creepers hanging out in her room. I’ve watched those shows; I know the deal. Of course she just rolled her eyes. Obviously, she’s watched them, too.