Chapter 22
DOVE
The gentle hum of the tires on the tired New Mexico asphalt lulled beneath me, steady and rhythmic as we drove toward Arizona, leaving the delights of Albuquerque behind in nothing more than gray road and brown desert.
I was comfortably slouched in the passenger seat, arms folded and eyes closed beneath my sunglasses, letting the warmth of the early afternoon sun soak into my skin.
Ellis drove quietly—she’d been quiet since the balloon ride, in that pensive way she usually resided in. Something lo-fi played softly through the Mustang speakers, one of her picks, and it was doing a good job of relaxing me further into the sleep that beckoned.
I knew Liv was draped across the backseat behind us, much like a cat curling up in a patch of sunlight. She hummed along to the song Ellis had put on off-key but committed.
I licked my dry lips and yawned softly. I was definitely slipping into the realm of dozing. Maybe it was the sudden altitude shifts today—the balloon had been so out of pocket, and honestly, one of the best experiences of my life.
I’d have to thank Ellis’s granddad if I ever got to meet him.
As my eyes grew heavier and drool began to collect at the corner of my mouth, I was just about to let sleep take me when…
The car began to slow. A subtle shift in motion tugged me back to consciousness. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as Ellis pulled us off the road. I lifted my head and peered over my sunglasses at her.
“Ellis?” I asked, my voice thick with the promise of sleep. “You okay?”
She was staring down at the steering wheel, her hair shielding her face—and then she turned and grinned. Grinned. Her eyes glinted like glass in the sun pouring through the windshield, and the expression caught me so off guard I sat up straight. Liv’s humming cut off as she, too, sat upright.
Ellis blinked at us—wide-eyed, bright.
“It’s time,” she said suddenly, putting the car fully into park and unbuckling her seatbelt.
“For what?”
Her grin only widened. “To take the roof off.”
Liv let out a loud whoop, smacking the back of Ellis’s seat. “Yes! Finally. I’ve waited for this moment!”
I blinked at Ellis in disbelief. “Really?”
“It’s almost sacrilege to drive across the desert with the roof still on, don’t you think?”
She didn’t wait for my answer—just climbed out and got to work on the latches.
I followed her, amusement bubbling up as I rounded the car to meet her on the other side. We worked in quiet coordination, our fingers brushing. She was so warm. Everything about her exuded warmth.
She worked the latches effortlessly, then darted back to the driver’s side, hitting a button I’d never paid much attention to. With a gentle mechanical hiss, the roof folded backward and disappeared.
It was as if the entire world opened up.
As I climbed back into the car, I noticed the sky was suddenly everywhere—blue and burning and infinitely beautiful. The wind swooped in immediately, as if it had been waiting all this time for permission. My hair spun loose from the space buns, and the sun hit my skin like a golden spotlight.
Ellis slid her sunglasses farther up her nose, gripped the wheel, cranked the volume, and shifted the car into gear.
“Liv,” she called over her shoulder. “Song request?”
Liv screeched with feral excitement, rising to rest on her knees, gripping both our headrests as she looked out toward the horizon.
“‘Dog Days Are Over!’”
Ellis nodded, tapped through her phone, found the song, and hit play.
The first beats filled the space, the sound exactly how I imagined Ellis’s heart would sound as it beat.
Slow, gentle, and building. Florence’s voice joined the music and Ellis hit the gas just as Liv began to sing.
The car surged forward, launching us back onto the desert road like it had been waiting to run free all this time.
The wind was in Ellis’s hair, light copper strands whipping across her shoulders—tangled, wild, and free. Sunlight danced in her eyes. She had one hand on the wheel instead of her usual two-handed death grip, and she looked alive.
None of this was a performance. It wasn’t a play at being alive or a pretend version of joy. This was real. Authentic. A spur-of-the-moment surrender to the now—a moment that mattered to Liv and one Ellis was all in for.
I couldn’t stop staring as she and Liv sang, their voices off-key and pitchy but vibrant—tinged with a tremoring thrill that made me join in without thinking.
The desert blurred around us as Ellis drove faster than she usually dared.
The road was quiet and barren, void of any other life—just us and our chorusing voices tearing through the silence.
Florence wailed through the speakers, and we wailed with her.
Liv drummed on the backs of our seats as she sang, shaking her wild pink hair.
I watched as Liv rose to her feet in the backseat, her hair flaring out behind her, arms flailing in the wind before stretching out—steady—as if she were flying.
Ellis was laughing now, mid-song, and the sound was real and loud and brilliant. She glanced over at me, and our eyes met.
I felt it so deep within me that my hands shook—that gentle, devastating pull toward her.
As if she was my gravity now. And as the wind roared around us, my heart ached and soared all at once.
She gripped my free hand and squeezed, then tore her attention back to the road, belting out the song with Liv like it was the only thing that mattered.
The dog days did feel like they were over, I realized. As I sang along with the two girls while we headed toward Arizona, Ellis drove with a confidence that told me she was ready for whatever came next.
And I would follow her anywhere she wanted to take us.
When I looked up from my iPad as Ellis pulled the car over, my eyes landed on several white-looking teepee things—except they looked like they were made of concrete. And there were loads of them. I glanced at the motel sign, then at Ellis, and raised a brow.
“We’re staying here?” I asked, blinking at the row of cone-shaped structures.
Ellis grinned, and Liv clapped her hands from the backseat.
“Oh my god,” Liv gushed. “Teepee’s! I am so deceased right now.”
I shared a look with Ellis.
“There were a few left when I booked us yesterday,” she said, getting out of the car and heading to the trunk. We both grabbed our bags and set them on the ground before tackling the soft top, securing it back into place.
Ellis’s hair was wildly windblown, her cheeks flushed. I wondered if it was sunburn or windburn.
I followed her to the tiny reception shack. The woman behind the desk looked old and weathered, and she handed Ellis a key to number 5, attached to a giant plastic tag.
“Um, so, just so you know,” Ellis began as we walked toward our teepee, “it was cheaper to book a queen than a double. So… we only have one bed.”
I arched a brow, letting a smirk slide onto my face. “Well, well. How convenient.”
Her ears went red, but she kept her eyes fixed ahead.
Liv was already darting around the teepees, circling them with an excitement I wasn’t quite ready for.
Ellis stopped in front of ours, slipped in the key, and the door clicked and swung open.
The walls were all white, with a small round window tucked near the top.
It was cooler inside than I’d expected. A single queen bed sat beneath the gently sloped ceiling on one side.
A lamp—clearly repurposed from an old gas pump—stood beside it, and mismatched vintage décor filled the rest of the space.
Ellis walked in and dropped her bag on the bed, fiddling with the zipper. Her focus was intense as she rifled through her clothes, refusing to make eye contact.
“You know, Ellis,” I said as I stepped inside, “if you wanted to share a bed with me, all you had to do was ask.”
She turned, clutching a sweater, her mouth gaping. “I didn’t—that’s not—I just—”
“I’m teasing,” I said with a grin, setting my own bag beside hers and flicking her gently on the nose. “Relax.”
She let out a small huff and went back to her bag, but a smile tugged at those perfect lips.
“I think I have enough clothes to get me to Santa Monica,” she said, eyeing what she had left in her bag—then what was inside her wash bag. “How about you?”
I nodded once and glanced at mine. “I’m good too,” I murmured. “My main concern is always fresh underwear. The rest is whatever.”
I looked down at Ellis’s still-white shoes, still confused by how she managed it. We had literally spent part of the afternoon walking the edges of the Petrified Forest, and her shoes were still clean. It had been dusty out there.
The forest had been incredible—trees turned to stone, their rings frozen in time, colors glinting like gemstones in the sun.
It had been the perfect spot in Arizona to leave a piece of Margaret.
“What should we eat for dinner?” I asked, turning to sit on the edge of the bed. I reached for Ellis’s arm and gently tugged her to stand between my legs.
Her cheeks flushed immediately, and her hands found my shoulders to steady herself.
“I’m not sure,” she murmured, looking shy. I bit back the grin threatening to break as my hands came to rest at the curve of her waist, brushing bare skin where her not-a-crop-top had ridden up.
Goosebumps scattered across her skin.
“We could order in,” I said, watching her lips part slightly. “I’m thinking pizza, to be honest.”
“That could be good,” she murmured, eyes focused intently on her hand, where her fingers were toying with the material of my shirt. “I’m okay with pizza. I don’t think I could handle going out again, if I’m honest. I’m so tired.”
I nodded once and stood, surprising her, judging by the little sound she made.
Our bodies pressed together, close enough that I could almost feel her heartbeat.
But she wasn’t tense. Her body was soft, relaxed, and her hands now rested on my upper arms. Her eyes met mine, and behind the nerves and shyness, there was something intense.