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He doesn’t tell new jokes, only repeats the same ones from when he was alive. Doesn’t look at me with deep chocolate eyes; they’re now faded and the gleam is too distant. Won’t even fight me with the passion he once used to have. He could win any argument—it always drove me nuts. Now, he only claims to be forgetting, incapable of feeling anger, bitterness, hurt—and unable to do anything to make me not feel those things.
He was always the one who could get me out of whatever funk was bringing me down.
And I hadn’t noticed any of this until Holden’s very here presence made me so painfully aware of it.
Now, this trip is even tainted. When Holden had fallen asleep under the oak, I thought I could skip ahead in the journal, look for something near the end that might give us a clue if Tyler’s hit-and-run wasn’t simply an accident.
Holden’s main purpose, I’m starting to think, is finding out who was driving that car the night Tyler was hit. The only evidence there has ever been is what the few witnesses claimed they saw: a small red car driving away. That’s it. And even when I’d upset Holden, bringing up his past, he put that aside to keep going on this trip. I wanted to find something that could help him on his quest.
When I read that Tyler kissed that girl—everything turned red around the edges. I flung the journal under the seat and shouted until Tyler appeared. I didn’t care if he used up every last bit of his energy to manifest in the daytime. I was confronting him.
In life, Tyler would’ve fought back. Would’ve yelled and screamed and matched me in every verbal blow. But this version? All he can do is claim he can’t remember. He has no memory of the redhead. No memory of that night, other than when he let me hold him after the news of his mother’s death hit.
That’s more frustrating than if he admitted he’d fucked her. I can’t even rail at him, take out my hurt and feel justified because what made Tyler, Tyler . . . is disappearing.
How the hell am I going to keep this up?
Fine. He didn’t sleep with that girl. That woman. Whoever. (I want to pull my hair out!) And I knew going in that I’d discover things that would test me. All I can do is keep going. I shouldn’t have skipped ahead in the journal. I need to read everything. Everything that lead up to how Tyler got to that place. I have to understand, at least, how and why. How we got there. And it will probably kill me, but there’s no turning back now.
Forward or nothing at all.
“We’re here,” Holden says as he pulls into a parking spot and puts the truck in gear, popping the e-brake. “Just off the corner of Beale Street.”
We’re parked in a garage under a Hampton Inn. A hard lump forms in my throat as I reach for Tyler’s map. But I made a promise, and no matter what happens on this trip, I owe it to Tyler to keep it. If Holden can push his hurt and despair and emotions aside for this, so can I.
I locate Beale Street on the map. “Because partying like a rock star is a must.” Despite myself, I laugh. “He wanted to hit every bar on the strip, but mainly BB Kings. And learn how to . . . juke?” I laugh again. “Something about juking.”
Pushing a fist into the palm of his other hand, Holden pops his knuckles. “BB Kings is blues. Tyler didn’t listen to blues music. And what the hell is juking?”
I shrug. “He also didn’t party like a rock star. But I guess we’ll find out.”
He cracks a smile. “I think I get it.”
I raise an eyebrow, hoping he’ll let me in on the know, but he just smiles wanly and jerks his head. “Come on. Let’s check in. I need to rest for sure before this.”
As we step out, the warm air, city noises, and chaos of Beale Street engulf me. A thrill hits my blood, and I feel alive. Free. And remembering Tyler’s past, his abusive father, the expectations for him to become a lawyer—always doing what was expected of him—I think I get it, too.
This trip, one that Tyler had been planning since middle school, was a form of escapism the average person takes for granted. With a pang, my chest aches deeply. Was the redhead an escape, too? Did I put unreasonable demands on him that he had to run into her arms? I don’t want to blame myself. And I know I’m just feeling self-pity. But there was so much festering beneath the Tyler I thought I knew. I can’t help but blame myself for not seeing it.
And a horrible, painful thought hits me. We hadn’t slept together since before that night. Was it because he felt too guilty? Maybe he was working up the courage to tell me before he could be with me again. Or maybe he was trying to end things.
I was so oblivious to everything else, maybe I just couldn’t see what was really happening. I can’t think about it anymore. I just can’t.
With a heavy sigh, I decide (for now) to put my hurt pride and feelings aside. With forward momentum, I walk ahead, toward the hotel, and plan to party like a rock star.
For Tyler.
At the check-in counter, I don’t even try to pay. Holden already has his wallet out and is requesting rooms.
“I’m sorry,” the guy behind the counter says, tapping away at his keyboard. “There aren’t any available rooms next to each other.” He looks us over, waiting.
Holden’s expression darkens. He said at the last hotel he didn’t want us far apart. Some manly thing he has going on where he feels more in control, able to sense danger, and can get to me quickly (again, Douchebag Superman). Because I need rescuing, apparently.
I turn toward Holden and shrug. “I’m a grownup if you are.”
This gets a clipped laugh from him. “All right.” He nods at the guy. “One room, two beds.”
A tingling sensation travels through my body, and I immediately tamp it down. Once I got over Holden in high school, and knew that I could love Tyler fully—for him and not a rebound—I never had any residual feelings about Holden.
