Chapter 3 #2
“Wow. I forgot how old this is. ’95 Chevy, right? It’s been a while since I’ve seen a cassette player.” She glances behind us at the bench seat. “Remember when I hid back here when you and Des drove to the movies that one time? Man. I hated it when you two left me behind.”
“That’s right. You nearly sent us careening off the edge of the mountain when you popped up out of nowhere.
Almost as bad as when you and Nova snuck off to that boy band concert, and I had to drag you both home.
” I rub my hand across the dashboard. “This gal has seen a lot in her old age and still has more life left in her.”
“Hold on—her? Are you still calling your truck that weird name?”
“Don’t talk about Agnes like that. She has feelings.”
Reese fights a smile and takes a slow sip of the drink to gain her composure.
“But before we go . . .” I say and lean behind the seat to grab a black t-shirt from the box and toss it onto her lap, startling her.
She picks it up with two fingers. “What’s this for?”
“For you to change into. Take your wet shirt off.”
Her eyes snap to mine, a bright pink splotch spreading across her cheeks and the bridge of her freckled nose. An excruciating wave of heat courses through me when I realize where her thoughts are at . . . which are now where my thoughts are at. Do not think of Des’s little sister like that.
I lurch forward in my seat and hold onto the steering wheel for dear life.
The inside of the cab is now a thousand degrees.
I crank the window furiously and lower it all the way down so a cool breeze caresses my face.
“You know what I mean. Just slip it on over your top and do that weird Houdini thing you do where you can pull the other shirt off from underneath.”
“How do you know I can do that?”
“You did it at the bar once.”
“Lovely. I’m like a—” she yanks the shirt over her head in one quick movement “—drunk circus animal performing tricks.”
Even though I saw it before, I’m still amazed how she removes the old top through the neckline of the black t-shirt. She tosses the wine-soaked shirt in my back seat.
“Happy?” she snaps, sounding anything but.
“Yeah.” And I am. My heart flutters in my chest, a strange feeling I normally don’t get around her.
Is it because she finally listened? Or is it because my big t-shirt engulfs her in an adorable way?
My breath hisses through my clenched teeth as I stomp that thought into oblivion before it can spread in my mind.
Adorable is not a word I should use to describe the viper in the seat next to me.
“Anything else you need me to do, boss?”
I roll my eyes. There she is.
“I saw that,” she grumbles.
“Buckle up, Reese’s Cup.”
“Has anyone ever told you how bossy you are?”
As soon as I hear the click, I rest my arm on the bench behind her and reverse out of the spot. “Nope.”
She barks a laugh, slumping into her seat. “I don’t believe you.”
“It doesn’t matter if you do or not. It’s the truth.”
Merging onto the main road, I navigate through the Saturday traffic and wonder if there’s a preseason Denver Dragons’ hockey game I missed. Everyone and their grandmother is out on the road. This is one of the many reasons why I hate traveling outside of Rocosa.
A blue sedan cuts in front of me, and I slam on the brakes. Instinct has my arm flying out in front of Reese as the tires squeal to a stop one foot from their vehicle.
“Are you crazy? Why didn’t you slow down?” She knocks my arm away.
“Why should I slow down when I have the right of way?”
“I don’t know, maybe to be nice? Or maybe that’s a new word for you.”
“You know, for someone who called me for a favor, you’re being a little unappreciative.”
“Are you kidding me right now? I wasn’t even calling you in the first place.”
“But you got me nonetheless, and what did I do? I turned around and came back for you. You’re welcome.”
I shoot her a side-eye expression, and she tosses her hands up in frustration.
The clock on my dashboard ticks by, and when ten minutes have passed, I chance a peek at her to see if she’s still alive. Because there’s no way she hasn’t gone this long without saying something snarky.
And she is alive . . . but something is off. She sulks against the window like she’s trying to lean as far away from me as possible. Her body trembles ever so slightly, and my stomach drops.
Heaven help me. She’s crying.
I immediately put on the turn signal and veer off down a random side street.
“Wh-what are you doing?” She sits straight up and brushes her wrists over her eyes. “Why are we stopping?”
“You tell me.” I swerve into a McDonald’s parking space and twist in my seat so I can see her fully. “What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why?”
“Because out of everyone, you’re the last person I want to talk to.”
Normally, I would take the hint and walk away.
This one doesn’t want anything to do with me.
But I know her . . . or used to know her.
There has to be a reason for the change.
For the walls she has erected between us.
Des blames it on the alcohol, but why would she still be like this even after being sober for almost two years? The question is killing me.
What have I done to be cut out of her life?
“Why?” I whisper.
Her head jerks toward me. “Besides you yelling at me? Or how I seem to lose control whenever you’re around?”
I hold her stare, watching different emotions cross her face: anger, confusion, disappointment, finally ending with sadness.
“Sometimes it’s like all I do is mess up. Even sober, I ruin everything.”
My chest pinches, knowing that some of that frustration she’s feeling came from me.
“That’s not true,” I whisper.
“Isn’t it? Maya had this wonderful day planned, and we spent most of it focused on me and my drama. It’s like a neon arrow flashing above my head screaming ‘recovering alcoholic’ at all times. Is it too much to ask to be normal again?”
“It isn’t.” I rub the back of my neck. “To be honest, I didn’t know you felt this way.”
“It’s not something I’m broadcasting around town, you know?” Reese sucks in a long breath and releases it slowly. “Can we not tell Des that we talked about it? He tends to be overprotective, and this is the last thing I want him to worry about.”
“If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
“Do you want to talk about it with me?”
“No, I don’t want to argue anymore.”
“I won’t.”
She says nothing, blindly staring out the window.
“How about a truce? No more arguing until after the wedding.”
“What are we? Ten years old?”
“Sounds like you know you won’t make it.”
Her head whips toward me. “Okay, fine. I’ll bite. What happens if one of us breaks it?”
“You have to announce to everyone at the reception how amazing I am.”
“Wait, how is that a win for me?”
“Because I’m not going to lose.”
“Pfft. If you break it—because let’s be honest, you will—you have to tell everyone at the wedding how you’re wrong and I am right.”
“And if we both keep it?” I ask, watching the lingering sadness drain from her eyes, then they fill with determination instead.
“Hmm.” She flops back in her seat, thinking. “I don’t know.”
“We don’t have to decide right now. There are still a few weeks for us to pick something.”
“Deal.”
“Shake on it?” I offer my hand, and she takes it without hesitation.
Her grip isn’t soft and delicate, but a strong clasp of a woman who knows what she wants and fights to get it.
It’s been such a long time since I’ve touched her, and as I rub my thumb over the back of her hand, I realize I’ve missed it.
I miss our friendship and being comfortable in each other’s presence.
I miss her sense of humor and laugh. I miss the fire and determination that her ex-boyfriend extinguished.
She squirms slightly before pulling her hand back to her lap. My hand hovers there midair, empty and cold, before I place it back on the steering wheel with the most absolute shocking clarity I’ve had all week.
I miss Reese.