The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood 1)

“All right,” I say. “That is what I wanted to know. And I’m glad that—”

“That what, Holden?” Her head whips up and she looks at me. I quickly check out her tense frame, her eyes narrowed and hurt. “Glad that he didn’t see? Or that you got as far as you did with me? You know what? Let’s just not. If you really want to know, I haven’t seen Tyler since we first walked into that hotel room back in Memphis.”

“As far as I got with you? You think that’s all I’m out for?”

“Drop it. We’re not going there.” She crosses her arms over her chest, shutting down the conversation.

Where the hell did that come from? I’m glad we’re able to talk about it, which sounds stupid now. Real stupid.

“Fine.” I feel my eyebrows draw together. “But look, I know I said I wouldn’t talk about this either”—I angle my body so I can see her better from my peripheral—“but don’t you . . . I mean. Somewhere inside your mind, you have to be wondering if it’s really happening. If it’s not just in your head.” I blow out a heavy breath. “Shit, Sam. If it were me? I’d have asked myself that. I think any sane person would ask themself that at least once.”

And, oh, my shit. Her face blazes redder with every dumb word I say. When I finally shut up, I brace myself against the clutch, ready to drop the truck into neutral if she launches herself at me. I wouldn’t blame her if she did.

“You think I haven’t asked myself that?” Her chest heaves, and she’s clutching the CD case like she is about to launch that at my head.

I shrug. “Okay. But have you asked yourself that lately?”

“You asshole.”

“What? Don’t you think that since you’ve left home and gone on this trip, it’s strange how you’re seeing my brother less and less?” I should stop. But hell, there’s no holding back now. “Think about it, Sam.”

“Fuck you.” She tosses the case on the floorboard and unbuckles her seatbelt.

“What the hell are you—?” I cut short as she grips the door handle. “Sam—”

The door cracks open. “I have to get away from you!”

“Shit!” I glance in my rearview, then slam down on the brake and clutch at the same time that I reach out and grab her arm.

The tires squeal and the backend fishtails before we come to a stop. Releasing her arm as she yanks out of my hold, I move to grip the gearshift. “Fuck.” I shift into neutral and pull the e-brake. “Are you—?”

“Crazy?” Her eyes widen and she laughs. “I guess so. At least I’m accepting it. Isn’t that what you want? You want me to admit that I’m nuts so you can have a clear conscience to fuck me?”

I’m breathing hard, my hand gripping the shifter knob so tightly my arm shakes and my knuckles turn white. My gaze drifts over her and lands on the tree tat on her wrist as the echo of her words punch me in the gut. I open my mouth to say something, but she laughs and shakes her head.

“Fuck this,” she bites out under her breath and throws the door open.

“Where the hell are you going?”

She doesn’t bother to respond. Just reaches behind the seat and grabs her pack, then slams the door.

Fuck! I bang my head against the back windshield and release a deep growl through clenched teeth. How did this happen? I run through the conversation again, trying to figure out where it went wrong. It’s like she plucked her last statement out of the thin fucking air and threw it in my face.

But even as I’m thinking that, I realize the truth. She’s been holding on to it for a long time. I lead her to believe I only wanted to screw her back in the day. And even though we’ve been cordial on this trip, and we’ve tried to bury that shit like we were just kids and it doesn’t affect us now . . . it does. And I just gave her the opportunity to unleash her pent up frustration. I pressed her while she’s wound tight over last night, and she fired off her reserve ammunition. It completely blindsided me.

Through the windshield, I watch as Sam walks backward, her arm outstretched, thumb up. My anger skyrockets. I can feel my blood pressure rising, building behind my eyes. I scrub my hands down my face and unleash a harsh curse into my palms.

With a deep breath, I suck up my pride and open the truck door. She can rail at me as much as she wants—as much as she needs. Just as long as she does it from inside the truck.

I sink my hands into my pockets and swallow the distance between us in long strides. A few feet from her, I say, “Will you please get back in the truck?”

Her gaze is fixed on the highway, her feet moving backward, carrying her away from me. “I was trying to let last night go. Just pretend it didn’t happen, Holden.”

I nod. “I know.”

“But you won’t let it go.” Her eyes cut to me before she returns to watching the road. There aren’t many cars on this highway, and the ones that do pass—all two of them—pass without a thought of stopping. “I can’t continue on like this. It’s just too much. I messed up, and I don’t want Tyler disappearing into that dark limbo because of me. I owe him more than that . . . than this.” She waves her hands around.

Before I open my mouth, I go over my words in my head. Make sure they don’t sound stupid before I spit them out. “Would it help if I told you something? Something that might help your conscience?”