Day 120
Eve
“Ifeel like maybe we should stick a flag in here or something,” I muse as we enter Colorado. “You know, since this is the place we first met and all.”
Adam looks over at me from behind the wheel. “No, it’s not.” He tilts his head. “We met in Kansas.”
“No, we didn’t.” I lift a brow. “I can check my journal later, but I’m pretty sure it was Colorado. Nowhere close to the state line, either.”
“You’re the brains here,” he prefaces, seemingly amused. “But I’m about ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure it was Kansas.”
I suppress my natural reaction, which is to tease him about being the pretty face.
I have a feeling he might deflect it, and I don’t want to hear it.
Not with the sunlight that’s pouring over us from above, making him seem so bright and…
beautiful. Despite the rough edges and the cold shoulder he used to give me, recently, he’s starting to seem more like my personal sunshine.
I let myself get lost in the memories for a bit. Of how different he was—we were, back then.
“Did you hate me?” I ask after I can no longer bear the weight of not knowing. “At the beginning?”
He takes a moment to answer, and I like that he’s genuinely considering it rather than writing me off.
“Hate is a strong word,” he muses. “I just didn’t trust you.
But I didn’t even know you enough to form a like or a dislike.
” He throws me a crooked smile—the one where only one corner of his lip twists up, with no teeth showing—but there’s enough affection in that curve of his lips that I feel my heart melting.
“I meant what I told you, back then. It wasn’t personal. ”
“Because you didn’t know me enough to even get personal.” I complete the thought for him. “Another choice I didn’t understand.”
“But you do now?”
I take my time replying, too. “I guess I always knew that the distance was an attempt to stay safe, but I never knew why.” I try to phrase it in a way that makes sense, but I think he might know what I mean, anyway, like he always does. He feels what I’m feeling.
“Attachment is not something I ever allowed myself.” He proves me right with his reply, the words coming out slow and measured. “Growing up the way I did… it taught me that everything is temporary. No point in making connections that won’t last.”
I don’t press further. I know he’ll tell me, with time.
And time is one of the few things we have no shortage of.
“Even after you enlisted?” I pull the conversation away from the childhood he doesn’t seem to want to remember.
“Did you not make friends with your comrades? You lived together, right?” I always thought there was a sense of brotherhood in the army, but maybe I’ve just watched too many movies.
“We were friends, but it was surface level. People move around a lot,” he reminds me. “We knew that anyone could be assigned to a different base at any given moment. Even overseas.”
“So no friends, but you did find people to hook up with,” I recall playfully.
“Well, yeah. All the testosterone we were surrounded with had to find some kind of outlet.” He’s sporting a smirk.
A moment later, it dawns.
“The shooting range stories were with men,” I huff out, my grin matching his. “Oh my god.”
“Well, yeah. After I came out to you, I thought that was obvious.” I like how casual he sounds now, as if I’ve given him confidence about it. “You sound so surprised.”
“When I met you, you were acting all General Asshole, kill-or-be-killed, what do you bring to the table,” I imitate a low, tense masculine voice. “Survival skills, men don’t cry. Blah blah blah. Excuse me if this side of you is a little surprising.”
“Who I was when you met me isn’t who I am.
” His eyes are on the road, and I take a moment to let my own wander over him.
How his wide shoulders lean tall against his seat.
His arms, not too bulky but sporting more than enough muscle to effortlessly lift me.
His straight, narrow nose and the shape of his jaw.
“Who are you, then?” I ask softly. “Who are you now?”
“I’ve been fully myself for a while now.” He throws me a glance. “I don’t feel the need to hide anymore.”
When I think back on the last few weeks—months, I realize, it’s been months now—I know he’s telling the truth. All I’ve been getting from him since the snake bite has been that; truth. Openness. Trust.
“I was fully myself when you met me,” I hear myself saying without actively deciding to do so.
“Oh, I know.” His lip does that maddening tug-up again. “You’ve never been good at hiding. That’s why I had to push you away for the both of us.”