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That’s when the horror sinks in.
What the fuck have I done …?
Hoyt turns away suddenly, eyes still wide and unblinking. He crouches down and, in total silence, resumes changing the tire. I stare at his back, standing right where I am, mortified beyond words. I can barely breathe.
I don’t even know how it happens, but the tire is changed, and suddenly I’m back in the truck, staring blankly ahead. Not a word is said when Hoyt enters the truck after finishing. I turn the key, then off we go down the road.
There is only silence and the road.
Four tires, the dirt tumbling beneath them, and silence.
Silence, and my tightened knuckles on the steering wheel, and the air blowing past outside …
And fucking silence.
I muster the strength to glance at Hoyt. He’s looking out of his window, hands hanging limply in his lap. I can’t tell if he’s angry, or in a daze, lost in thoughts, sickened, or freaked the fuck out.
He has a right to be each and every one of those things.
It’s the longest five-minute truck ride I’ve ever experienced. Every second crawls by like an ant. Every minute, glacially slow. I finally pull into the long driveway of Gary’s farm, then steer my way to my spot next to the cabin.
My heart is pounding something fierce when I shut off the engine. I turn to him. “Hey, Hoyt. I—”
He’s out of the truck the next instant. I stare at his back as he heads off to the bunkhouse without a word. My mouth is hanging open. My eyes are glassy.
I’m at a total freak-out level of loss.
Chapter 13
Hoyt
I feel like someone else.
Floating around the farm like I’ve got no clue what’s going on.
My blank eyes see a chicken, and that feathery little mother clucker is minding her own business, dancing and pecking at the ground, and I don’t even remember why I came over here to the coop. Didn’t I collect the eggs already?
I’m standing at the door to the barn, gazing out at the horses trotting around the paddock, whinnying playfully at each other, but literally nothing is there in front of my eyes.
Nothing except Harrison’s face—angry one second.
Then descending on me the next with his lips.
It was me and Toby in the bathroom all over again. It was us, in a secret world of our own, no one around, just us, just our lips, just our breath, just our bodies.
Except it wasn’t Toby. It was Harrison.
And it wasn’t me stealing the kiss.
It was him.
My heart hasn’t slowed down since that moment, pressed to the scorching-hot side of that truck. I didn’t even notice how hot it was, too distracted by what was happening with my lips.
And his lips.
Our lips.
Did that really just fucking happen …?
One of the horses stops suddenly and seems to stare at me from across the grass, as if reading my thoughts—or at the very least sensing that something is very off about me.
What if Harrison was just toying with me? What if it’s a joke? Wasn’t he laughing just seconds before he kissed me? It didn’t feel like a joke. It felt very real.
Painfully real.
Did word get out about what Toby said at that party once? Did word get out about our kiss? Is all of Spruce whispering about it, and all this time, I never knew? Is that why my sister asked?
Did Harrison know this whole time?
The thoughts spiral around inside my head as I walk aimlessly across the yard. Is Harrison gay? Is that why he was so awkward after we left Lance and Chad’s? Is that why he had fucking hearts dancing around his head while we were there?
I can still vividly remember how it felt in that bathroom when I kissed Toby last fall. I didn’t know how to express whatever was going on inside of me. I had no idea what to do with my feelings. They came out wrong. And they came out all over Toby’s lips.
Is that what happened at the side of that truck?
Did Harrison just come out all over my lips …?
My heart is pounding when I enter the bunkhouse for dinner, only to find that Harrison isn’t there. After we serve ourselves and gather at the table, I expect him to come late, but he doesn’t. “He’s got some client deadline to meet,” answers Emmalea when Miguel asks where he is. “Workin’ on some furniture piece or some other. He’s probably eatin’ on his own.” Fred grunts and makes some comment about Harrison needing to construct them all a new set of bunk beds, to a few halfhearted chuckles.
I can barely stomach a single bite of my food. Everything is bouncing around inside of me like my insides are suddenly made of rubber.
Why would he go and do what he did, then disappear?
