Page 107 of Final Drive

Maybe she’s got a point.

I turn my hand over. She puts hers in it, and neither of us says anything for the length of a whole piece. It’s the first silence I’ve had with anybody in years that I don’t feel responsible for fixing.

“They’ll want dinner,” she says eventually.

“They always do.”

“Then we should go.”

“In a minute.” I stand and pull her up with me. I don’t let go once she’s on her feet, and she doesn’t take her hand back. “I’m not making a single joke in that truck.”

“Good.”

“I might make one small one.”

“Beckett.”

“Extremely small. Barely a joke at all.”

She gets a fistful of my shirt, pulls me down, and kisses me.

That works too. Nobody’s ever tried it before.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Cameron

I’ve had the bike out front since six.

Nobody asks why. Bo looks at it through the kitchen window once, catches me looking back, and goes back to loading the van. Tyler’s been at the dining room table with the travel roster since before I came outside. He’s printed it twice that I know of. Beckett walks past me on the porch with a duffel over one shoulder, glances at the spare helmet sitting beside me, and keeps going.

He doesn’t say a word, which from Beckett is basically a blessing.

They know. They’ve known since the story ran, when I spent that whole morning parked at the end of the driveway so nobody could turn in without looking at me first.

At seven-thirty, the screen door opens behind me. Reese comes out with her hair up and her jacket already on, ready to go even though I haven’t actually told her we’re going anywhere.

“How long have you been sitting out here?”

“A while.”

“Cameron.”

“Since six.”

Her eyes narrow. “That’s creepy.”

“It’s patient.”

“It’s creepy when you do it.”

I pick up the spare helmet and hold it out to her. “You’ve got a five o’clock bus call tomorrow. Until then, nobody needs anything from you for about nine hours.”

She takes the helmet but doesn’t put it on.

“And?”

“And I’d like some of them.”