“Mind giving me one of those?”
I can feel his stare burning into my cheek.
“Who the fuck are you and what did you do with Saint Seba?”
I snort. “Haven’t been called that in a minute.”
“Four years, actually.”
My fingers tighten on the wheel as memories fight to suck me under. I’m losing the battle, buckling under the suffocating boulder of guilt and longing that's been slowly crushing me to death ever since that night.
“One thousand, six hundred and thirty-two days,” I murmur.
“What?”
“That’s how long it’s been.”
His silence is a noose.
Rustling. A moment later, a cigarette lands in my open palm.I wedge it in the corner of my mouth. He flicks the zippo, the flame dancing dangerously close to my face. But all I can focus on is how close his fingers are to my lips.
I catch his eye and lean in to light up.
His gaze dips to my mouth.
I exhale a stream of smoke.
He licks his lips.
The car swerves.Probably should keep an eye on the road, dumbass.I quickly correct and clear my throat. “Which coffee shop you wanna hit?”
Forty-Nine
CADE
When people think of Florida,they immediately think: palm trees. And yeah, there are plenty of those, but in the older areas, like Fort Manor, it’s the oaks that reign supreme. They’re stoic and massive, dripping Spanish moss and arching over sunlight-dappled roads like an overgrown garden, left to its own devices. It’s seen some shit, weathered some storms and wars, but still standing.
It’s strangely… comforting.
Which is cool, considering coming back here is fuckingterrifying.
Even though Mom is tucked away in her box, I’m not stupid enough to think she’s gone for good. For all I know, she could start her bullshit as soon as we park in the driveway. (The house is pretty triggering, not gonna lie, especially upstairs.) But at least now, I have a few tools that neutralize her until I can get to Dr. Bedi and Dr. Kat to work through it. So, while I’m still under a pretty strict treatment plan, I’m more or less off-leash.
It’s been so long that freedom almost feels like breaking the law. I kinda like it. That little kick of adrenaline. Makes me wanna do something reckless…
Country music drifts from the speakers— some guysinging about how he’s gonna make someone miss him. I’m tempted to read into it. Every song Sebastian has played on the drive back from the airport has been a love song. Then again, most country songsarelove songs and he only listens to country.
I glance at him through my sunglasses.
Humming along to the song, Sebastian rests his wrist on top of the steering wheel, occasionally puffing from the cigarette dangling from his lips. The bridge of his nose and the tops of his cheeks are sun-kissed like he’s been outside all morning and his stubble has grown into a short, rugged beard. A tuft of chestnut hair pokes out of his faded backwards hat, curling away from his forehead— one rogue piece fluttering like mad in the wind blowing through the open windows.
He looks like a blue-collar wet dream.
Fucking punch me.
As if sensing my wandering eyes, he flashes me a small smile. I immediately turn away.
I can’t figure him out. And I can usually figureeveryoneout. It’s throwing me off. Big time. Because he’s acting like… he wants me still. And if he does, why didn’t he reach out? He could have asked Dad to come visit me… Unless Dad didn’t tell him where I was. But he picked me up at the airport, so Dad had to give him the rundown… right?
