Chapter 15 #2
“I don’t know,” I say. “Figure out how to break them up, I guess. Which I would feel bad about if it were anyone else, but…”
“It’s your parents,” Liv says with a tired nod. “Yeah.” She exchanges a glance with Ari and then goes on, more tentatively. “How is it, talking to him and everything?”
“Great question,” I say, my voice flat. “I don’t even know.”
Liv raises her eyebrows, and Ari’s gaze softens with sympathy.
“Do you think you still have feelings for him?” Ari says.
And that’s the question, isn’t it? The question I don’t want to ask, because I don’t want the answer.
“I don’t know,” I say again, but the words are tired now. “I truly don’t know. It’s hard to tell what’s residual and what’s not. Sometimes I think—” But I break off, because I can’t even put words to all the things in my heart and mind.
Silence falls between us for a second, and then Liv speaks again.
“Is there any reason…” She bites her lip and then goes on. “I mean, if you did like him. Just—if you did. Is there any reason you guys couldn’t try things out again?”
Maybe not, my traitorous brain says.
“Yes,” my mouth says, blunt and flat. “Our parents are dating.”
“You’re working on that part, though,” Ari says, her voice far too reasonable.
“We are. They’re going up to Make-Out Ridge tonight. Dom says he has an idea about how to ruin their evening. I don’t know how we’re doing that, because he asked if I was up for a drive, so I assume we’re following them—but they’ll see us, won’t they?”
“Oh,” Liv says, straightening up. Then she looks over at Tate, whose expression becomes suspicious when we all look at him too. “Would tinted windows help?” She turns back to me, and although I can tell she’s having a hard day, the smile she offers is genuine. “I know a guy with a truck.”
Tate Walker probably wouldn’t lend his truck to just anyone, but because Dom is best friends with his brother, he passes over the keys for the evening.
The massive dark truck rolls up in front of Nathan’s house to pick me up about fifteen minutes after Alvina and Daryl have gone. Dominic texts me to tell me he’s outside, because we are not dating, and therefore he is not obligated to knock on the door like an adult instead of a teenager.
Which is fine.
I’m more prepared this time around; instead of satin pajamas and fuzzy boots, I’ve pulled on sensible black leggings and one of several black shirts I own. Dominic does give me raised eyebrows when I reach the truck and pull the door open with a lurch.
“These are my sneaking-around clothes,” I say, a little defensively.
A skeptical hum is the only answer I receive.
I have to move a folded flannel blanket aside to settle properly in my seat, and after I’ve tossed it into the back row, I look at Dom. “Did you bring that?”
To my surprise, his blithe “no” sounds more like a yes, especially given the way his eyes flick away from mine as I ask.
He used to bring blankets along when we would go look at the stars or go for long drives.
We’re silent as we make our way to the overlook for which our small town was named. The two of us have only been here once together, but once is enough to make memories, and I try not to let them rise or linger. I stare out the window instead, watching the blurred colors as we drive past.
When we pull into the Ridge’s parking lot, I’m surprised to see it completely empty, save for one car—Alvina and Daryl’s. Dom cruises slowly down their row, but I speak up when he shows signs of stopping.
“No, no—there,” I say, pointing at a spot on the row opposite. “So if they turn and look they’ll only see the back of the truck.”
Dominic parks where I’ve indicated and then kills the engine of the truck.
“Okay,” I say, swiveling in my seat and looking at Daryl’s car. Dom turns too, and his nose wrinkles. “What’s the plan?”
But he doesn’t seem to hear. “Oh, come on,” he mutters. “They’re desecrating sacred ground.” Then he turns to me. “Do you realize that’s the exact same spot where we once parked?”
My brows jump. “Is it?” I crane my neck to check further down the row and realize he might be right. Then the rest of his words register, and my brows jump even further.
Did he just call that parking spot…
“Sacred ground?” I say, my eyes widening, my head whipping toward him.
His cheeks turn a ruddy color, the tips of his ears reddening as his gaze leaves mine. “What? I’m not—it’s just weird that they’re parked in the exact same place.”
I nod slowly, and he clears his throat.
“Come on,” he says firmly. He grabs his phone from the median and waves it at me. “We’re here to ruin the mood.”
I grimace at this reminder. “I hate to admit it,” I say, turning to face Daryl’s car once more and forcing my face to stop burning, “but your dad has game. This place is totally romantic. Look at the sky—look at the trees!”
“Never say anything like that about my dad again, please,” Dom says, pulling his legs up and sitting on his knees. “Ever.”
I shrug and do the same, rising to my knees and facing my whole body toward the back of the truck. “I’m just saying—”
“Well, don’t.”
I grumble under my breath but don’t push it. I nod to Dom’s phone instead. “What are we doing?”
“We’re playing very loud, very obnoxious music,” he says. He nods when I wince. “Yeah,” he goes on. “It will be bad. I brought ear plugs.”
“Two pairs?” I say, watching as he pulls two neon-orange ear plugs from his pocket.
“Nope.”
I gape at him.
“Fine,” he says with a long-suffering sigh. And although his voice doesn’t reveal a hint of humor, I could swear I see the tiniest smirk on his lips as he pulls a second pair of plugs from his pocket. He passes them to me, and I take them gratefully.
“What kind of music?”
“Well, I did some googling and found some very obnoxious metal.” He taps around on his phone for a second, and then the light strains of something chaotic, guitar-heavy, and scream-heavy fill the car. He turns the sound up until I jam my ear plugs in.
My eyes widen, listening to the song as Dom puts his ear plugs in too. “That’s terrible,” I half-shout, both horrified and intrigued. “It’s perfect!”
He nods and then points to the dashboard. “Roll down your window,” he mouths.