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But I swear, if Holden does find out, and he does anything . . . I’ll kick his ass. Sam’s always been mine. He can have any girl he wants. Why he doesn’t, I don’t know that, either. But he can’t have Sam. She’s the one thing that I’d fight my brother for. Even kill for.”
I force my eyes away from the page. Try to tell myself that it’s just thoughts. Everyone has to have an outlet, and Tyler’s home life was more strained than I ever knew. Of course he’d write things like this as a way to express his feelings. I mean, I paint some pretty dark and disturbing scenes when I get into a funk.
But I can’t help the unease that settles over me. Suddenly, the very romantic past that was our history—mine and Tyler’s—takes on a dark edge.
“Sam?” Holden’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and I blink.
“Yeah?”
“Something bad happen in your book? You look ill.” He worries his lip ring between his teeth. “Are you getting sick again?”
I shake my head. “What? Oh, no.” I sit up and close the paperback. “Just zoning out. Not really even reading.” I can hear the discomfort in my voice. I don’t want him to be concerned about me, so I change the subject. “How long have we been driving?”
“Three hours. We’re in Missouri.”
“Holy shit. Really?” I look out the window at the green scenery. Flat land and lots of high yellow grass. Scattered trees and power lines. We pass an old-looking tire store, but otherwise, there’s not a lot out here. “You’re hauling ass.”
He laughs. “I think I’m getting impatient to get where we’re going.” His voice drops off at the end, like he didn’t realize what he was saying until it was out there.
No taking it back.
“Are you hungry or anything?” he asks, keeping his gaze on the highway. “We can stop for a while.”
I shake my head. “I’m fine, but if you need a break—”
“I’d rather drive straight through,” he says. “Long as you’re fine, I’m good to go.”
I nod and then look down at the book in my hands. I’m not ready to dive back into Tyler’s past. His feelings. They’re all-consuming and painful, and I’ve been on a constant emotional roller-coaster since this trip started.
“All right,” I say, digging out the leather CD case from under the seat. “Let’s unwind.”
HOLDEN
Sam’s idea of unwinding and my idea of unwinding are very different. I bite down on my lip ring, preventing myself from saying something asinine. I’d have made a joke yesterday. But not today. Not after last night. There’s nothing funny about last night. Just the images in my head that remind me of the small taste I’d gotten, and lost.
My fault, though. I’m the one who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. Well, technically, I did. I would’ve stopped after she came. It would’ve been the most painful experience ever, and I’d still be carrying the blue balls to show for it—probably sitting on an icepack right now—but I would have stopped for her.
I know she’s not ready to take things that far. I wouldn’t have pressed her for anything more. But hell, if she’d have asked m
e to take her in the throes of passion, I’d have ripped off my pants and there’d been no stopping me then.
Best it ended when it did.
Fuck. I lower my lashes and glimpse the hard-on tenting my jeans. And then I peek at her. She’s invested in finding something to listen to, so I shift my weight and tug my waistband, alleviating the pressure in my pants.
I really need to stop thinking about her. In any way.
One thought sobers me and wilts me faster than a cold shower ever could. And I know I’m going to regret asking her, but I need to know. To be able to bury what happened between us for good. “Sam?”
“Huh?” She doesn’t look up from her music search.
“I know this subject has been closed. And I promise, after you answer me one thing, I won’t ever bring it up again.” I glance over. She’s still, a curtain of her hair blocking my view of her face. “But I need to know what exactly . . .” I trail off, trying to find the right words. There are none. I blurt it out. “What made you stop?”
She flips the sleeve and continues to look over the CDs. I think she’s not going to answer or even acknowledge my question, then, “I didn’t see him. If that’s what you’re asking.”
A rush of air leaves my mouth in a relieved exhale. It’s what I’ve been wondering ever since she said my brother’s name. Even though his ghost is all in her mind, the thought that she saw him watching us—while we were at it—turns my stomach.
But now that she’s admitted that’s not what happened, I’m wondering more shit. I’m probably reading too much into it. She loves my brother. He died. She’s suffering some form of psychosis from guilt or an inability to deal, and I’m her ghost boyfriend’s brother. Not just his brother, but the guy who treated her like dirt. So yeah. All those things combined, she’s justified for having a moment of guilt and stopping it.
