Chapter Twenty Fitz
Morning found Fitz staring at the ceiling. He was eating into his schedule for these detours with Ren, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember why he’d been in a hurry in the first place. His interview at the law firm wasn’t until the following Thursday. Even a couple days with Mary would be plenty; he just needed to get eyes on her and make sure she was as fine as she sounded on the phone. Fitz knew most of his urgency was a driving need to get as far away from Spokane as possible, but being with Ren and seeing her experience so many things for the first time made him want to be leisurely for once. When had he ever slowed down enough to just…enjoy something?
Never.
Not that he should be enjoying her, he reminded himself as they woke and moved easily around each other in their morning routines. It was a miracle they made it through dinner and bedtime the night before without Fitz crumbling under the weight of his attraction and kissing her. He fell asleep to the sound of her soft, even breaths and the knowledge that she was only a few feet away, curled on her side, warm and soft. And he woke to the awareness that he’d never slept as soundly as he did when she was nearby.
It was a realization that was, frankly, terrifying. It made Fitz feel vulnerable: an animal on its back, belly exposed. He realized as she sat cross-legged on her bed, brushing out her hair and causing longing to spiral through him like a wild vine, that it wasn’t only that he didn’t have time for fondness. He didn’t like the powerlessness of it. Didn’t like the feeling that he was just handing over keys to a castle he had protected for so long. He imagined the pages of a calendar flying away, tried to relish the thought of a time next week when he wouldn’t be so close to her all the time, sent a steel door slamming shut on whatever these feelings were.
But once they were back on the road with the windows down, fresh air flowing inside, all he could smell was the honeyed sweetness of her hair. He lifted his to-go coffee and brought it to his lips, needing distraction. Luckily, the once-scalding drink was finally cool enough to sip.
But the moment his senses cleared, her cheerful voice filled the car: “How many miles are we driving today?”
“About seven hundred.” He set the cup back in the cupholder. “We’re aiming for Kansas City.”
Ren clapped. “Kansas City! That sounds amazing.”
“You’ve really never done anything if Kansas City gets that reaction.” He glanced in amusement over at her excitement as she gazed out the window. “If you could have gone anywhere growing up, where would it be?”
She hummed, thinking. “You know what’s weird? You don’t know what you’re missing until you see it,” she said. “I knew there were things to see out there, but I didn’t think anything could possibly be more beautiful than our land. So, actually…I don’t know where I’d have wanted to go. The idea is almost overwhelming. I have so much to catch up on.” She fidgeted with the rubber seal around her open window. “I wonder if going to school and on this trip with you has ruined me.”
“Ruined you?”
She laughed self-consciously. “I mean whether I’ll ever be happy just living on the homestead again.”
He hated how much hope he felt hearing her say that. For as much as Fitz had avoided thinking about it, he didn’t like the idea of Ren disappearing from the world again at some point. “Don’t you plan to go back eventually?”
She stared out the window, lost in thought, saying only an absent “Yeah.”
Fitz was about to remind her that she was an adult and could make whatever choice felt right for her when she seemed to snap out of it and turned to him with a bright smile. “Let’s play a game.”
“No.”
“This is a fun one,” she insisted. “I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.”
“You’ll answer mine anyway.”
“Come on, Fitz, you want to just sit here in silence?”
“Yes, actually.”
Only…he wasn’t sure that was true anymore. The problem was he knew he couldn’t answer her questions with his usual smooth evasions and cover stories. The backstory he’d painstakingly constructed at school—about his rich parents, his life of luxuriant happiness in Spokane, his easy ambition—wouldn’t work with Ren. He didn’t know how he knew this, but he did: She would see right through him. And the second Fitz let her in even a little, he worried that every secret about his past he’d kept wrapped up from the moment he stepped foot in the marbled atrium of the Fitzsimmons home would come tumbling out.
“How about I teach you how to make some bird calls?” she asked, pulling him out of his spiraling thoughts. “Technically that’s not speaking or singing, so I wouldn’t be breaking any rules.”
“I’m good.” Fitz glanced over his shoulder to change lanes and pass a slow truck.
She ignored this, folding one hand over the other. “So first you want to overlap your hands with your palms facing upward.”
“Ren.”
“Then you cup them, lifting them to your mouth, and—” She blew, letting out a sound like a dying loon.
“Okay,” he cut in, fighting a laugh when he caught a glimpse of her expression and realized she’d done this terrible call on purpose. Holy shit, she looked so proud of herself for making a joke. “God, fine, let’s play your game. But I’m skipping anything I don’t want to answer.”
She turned in her seat, pulling one leg under her to face him. “What are three things you’d take from your house in the zombie apocalypse?”
This pulled the laugh free. “That is not what I expected.”
“Want me to ask about girlfriends instead?”
“Definitely not.” Fitz wiped a hand across his face, feeling his smile crack open like a fault line. “Okay, I need a minute to think. Tell me yours first.”
“Duct tape, a pocketknife, and a cast-iron frying pan.”
“That came out of you so fast, I’m impressed and worried.”
“I’m prepared.”
“But God, Ren, those are boring options. Duct tape? A frying pan?”
“How is duct tape boring? It’s the most useful tool on the planet. It can be used in the place of nails, or for waterproofing. I assume, since this is an imaginary apocalypse where I can only have three things, that this roll of duct tape would be never-ending. And a cast-iron frying pan can be used to boil water, for cooking, as a shovel, or to bash in a zombie’s brain. What about you?”
“I guess I’d take my phone—”
“Are you expecting there to be power in this apocalypse?”
“Don’t you get never-ending duct tape? Why don’t I get power?”
“Okay, sure.”
He thought on the other two. “My pillow and a gun.”
“I hope you’re planning to use that gun to bludgeon people, because if you get power you don’t also get unlimited bullets, and after about a week, with no bullets that’s all a gun will be good for anyway.”
“The rules of this game aren’t very clear.”
She grinned at him. “Should’ve picked a frying pan.”
“I’ll just make sure I still have you with me in any apocalyptic scenario,” he said before the wording had time to bake. Ren went still, and then slowly turned her body, facing forward. “Okay, my turn,” Fitz said, quickly changing the subject. “I want you to answer my question from before. If you could go anywhere right now—except Atlanta, that is—where would you go?”
“I’m still thinking. Where would you go?”
He shook his head. “I asked you.”
She pointed out the window at one of the ubiquitous billboards they’d passed over the last hundred miles. “I want to go there.”
“Wall Drug? Not, like, Paris or Istanbul?”
“I’ve got no idea what could possibly be so exciting it needs this many giant billboards, but I think I need to find out.”
He glanced at the fuel gauge. They’d need to fill up again before Kansas City, but not quite yet. Two days ago, it would have been a quick no—he had a schedule he’d wanted to keep, and besides, this trip hadn’t been for fun. But as he’d already realized this morning, the original plan was crumbling; Fitz hadn’t been able to deny her any adventure, no matter how small.
So right then, he made a deal with himself: He would give Ren her adventures, but that’s it. No more of this unfamiliar, perseverating attraction.
Without overthinking it more, Fitz exited, parking in front of a long metal-sided business with giant signs that informed them Wall Drug had been open since 1931.
Turned out it wasn’t a single building but dozens in a long line, interconnected so that from the inside it felt like one giant store. And it was enormous, absurdly so. Ren went quiet and tense, and Fitz slung an arm around her shoulders, playfully warning her, “Stick with me, Sunshine, this place might be more dangerous than the Screaming Eagle.” But at the feel of her small frame pressed into his side, he no longer cared that he’d left his jacket in the car; warmth spread up his fingertips and down into his chest.
They wandered, browsing the merchandise, pointing to silly hats and T-shirts they joked about getting, and after about five minutes he realized he still had her pinned comfortably to his side.
Pathetic, he chided himself. Your resolve from the parking lot lasted barely two minutes.
Unease spread in his chest at how easy and comfortable this was all starting to feel. Instinct was a kick to his gut: Don’t get too comfortable. That’s when things fall apart.
When she reached up to touch his hand on her shoulder, drawing his attention to a T-shirt that read FARM GIRLS HAVE GREAT CALVES, and her hand lingered on his, Fitz abruptly dropped his arm. Ren startled, taking a step away from him. “Sorry, I didn’t realize—”
“Meet me in the café,” he said, rolling past this before realizing how harsh it had sounded. With a weak smile, he pointed to the café sign. “I’m going to use the restroom.”
At the sink, Fitz stared at his reflection. A tremble began in his chest and worked its way up his throat until he jabbed a finger under the collar of his shirt, pulling it away as if it was keeping him from drawing in enough air. When was the last time he’d looked at himself in the mirror? The last two or three days he’d been standing beside Ren at the bathroom sink, looking only at her.
He liked her. Too much, in fact. And she liked him, too. He knew she did. But God, this would be so much easier if she didn’t.
He had an interview for an internship in a matter of days and, beyond that, a clear sight to his endgame. Internship near Mary, law school, takedown of Fitzsimmons Development. Revenge wasn’t imminent, but it was out there, hovering patiently in the future. Truly the last thing he should be doing was flirting with a woman who was so naive and only knew how to take things sincerely, talking with a woman who could get all his secrets to pour out of him like water from a pitcher, falling for a woman who would put her unscarred heart in his broken hands.
“You’re not her boyfriend,” he said to the man in the mirror. His jaw tensed, and the worst truths slipped out unimpeded. “She’s too naive to know how to handle herself. She’s work you don’t have time for.” Fitz stared at his own reflection, expression hardening. “And more importantly, she’s way too good for you, so don’t even bother.”
When he found Ren a few minutes later, she’d already ordered food for them both and glanced up as he approached, smiling. “I hope you like sandwiches.”
“Who the hell doesn’t like sandwiches?” He sat across from her and, as casually as possible, tried to slide the bag across the table.
Ren stared at it and then up at him. “What’s this?”
“Just something I got you.” A preemptive apology, he thought.
“A gift from the men’s room?” she asked, grinning. “Is it a photo from the wall?”
“And she acts surprised when I make a dirty joke.”
She giggled, reaching for the bag. “You didn’t have to get me something. You’ve already done so much.”
“It’s not that big a deal.” Fitz reached up, rubbing his neck, hating the way his ears grew hot. When Ren pulled out the book, she let out a tiny, delighted squeak.
“My Adventure Journal?” she read.
He focused on unwrapping his sandwich. “There are maps and stuff inside,” he said, waving it off. “I figured you could mark off all the places you’ve been to on the trip…and in the future.”
She opened to the first page, where there was a map of the United States, and flipped through to see individual states with monuments, parks, and various famous roads. Fitz watched her flip to the back, to South Dakota, where she drew a finger around Mount Rushmore and the little checkbox next to it.
Emotion pooled inexplicably in his chest. “There’s a pen in the bag, too. So you can…” He gestured awkwardly. “For checking things off.”
Ren dug back into the bag and pulled out the green-and-yellow Wall Drug souvenir pen, placing a careful check mark next to the monument. “This is so sweet of you.”
“It’s not sweet,” he was quick to clarify. “It’s just something to keep you busy so you’ll stop with the dying bird calls.”
She laughed. “Okay, fine.” She flipped another page. “I haven’t been to the Badlands, but we passed it. Does that count?”
“No, but is the Screaming Eagle in there?” He pretended to stretch and look. “Because you definitely earned that check mark.”
Ren grinned proudly, quickly flipping through the pages.
“Come on, let’s eat so we can get back on the road,” he said, pulling his eyes away from the full, smiling curve of her lower lip and slamming the emotional steel door shut for good this time. “You can go through it in the car and see if there’s anything close enough to visit.”
He didn’t look up but felt her watching him for a beat before turning down to her own sandwich. “Thanks, Fitz.”