I don’t even want to know.
For a second, I glance over my shoulder at Wilder. Just to make sure he’s still there.
He is.
I’m not even surprised to see him watching me. Like he doesn’t know whether to stand still or run to me.
So, I do what we came here to do. I shake the spray paint can and in bright orange I writeTHE SUMMER OFF GRID.
Cash steps forward as I step back. In green paint, he addsThe Three Amigos – C, W and I.
I guess that’s better than being called a throuple.
Wilder appears beside me, somber but solid.
His fingers graze mine as he takes a spray paint from me.
Then, in blue he writesRIP Margot.
And even though this isn’t the summer we planned, it’s been the one that’s broken and healed all of us.
Cash snaps a photo of our spray-painted words. Then, he turns the camera.
Wilder groans, but I don’t.
We should take pictures and document our lives.
They’re short and fleeting.
We only get so many trips around the sun.
And maybe Wilder gets it, even though he’s pretending a photo is torture. Because he drapes an arm over my shoulders and smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Cash snaps the photo as I gaze up at Wilder.
I can’t lose him.
That’s the only thought that pops into my mind.
It’s not the desperate kind that used to dominate all my thoughts about Cash.
This is entirely different.
I don’t want to miss a moment with Wilder. Especially the hard ones.
“Should we grab a bite to eat, then head out?” Cash proposes.
“We should,” Wilder agrees. “We have at least another twenty hours on the road.”
Slowly, I let out a breath I’ve been holding.
“You’re sure?” I press.
Wilder nods. “Yeah. I mean… we don’t know what shit show is waiting for us when we get home. We should enjoy our last day or two, right?”
Cash looks worried. Maybe I should be, too.
But this is Wilder we’re talking about.
He processes slowly, quietly, and in his own time.
