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“Because you didn’t let me finish the sentence, chatterbox. Jesus,” he snaps.
My eyes go wide.
Why do I get the impression I’m riding with someone very different than Cole’s goofy sidekick? It’s like there’s another side to this silly, almost boyish best friend.
He licks his lips and continues.
“Look, I just meant there’s a silver lining to her losing the damn thing I don’t think you’re seeing. Have you ever thought that maybe she doesn’t need to think about her dead mom every day? Does she really need such a morbid trinket swinging from her neck? The funeral was ten years ago.”
“Funeral?” Now, I’m really confused. “But Aster only wore it when she was alive, right? I thought it was the last gift Cole ever gave her. I guess I just don’t see the harm in—”
“Shut it,” he growls, his eyes flicking over at me and then back at the mess outside. “Sorry. That was rude. It’s just a goddamned mess out here and I’m trying to focus. Give me a few.”
Holy crap.
Is it really just the storm and traffic stressing him out?
That appeasing smile he always wears is gone, and there’s a hard edge to his words now. Very strange, but maybe he’s had a rotten day, too.
“Okay.” I try to keep my voice even.
For the next few minutes, we’re quiet as we turn onto the highway. Things are moving slightly faster, but it’s still like riding in a hovercraft.
His eyes narrow when he looks at me again. “Sorry about that, again. Me and my big mouth. Guess I’m just a little overprotective when it comes to Dessy and all that shit. I’ve been hoping they’re finally moving on, is all.”
Okayyy.
So, apparently, we’re not dropping it.
“I’m just surprised. Back in Hawaii you seemed happy that she found the turtle necklace.”
“It was Aster’s last memory. I had to respect that. Plus, with how Dess behaved on the rest of the trip, I figured she could handle it. But I have to be honest with you, E—I was goddamned glad to see it go. Way more than finding it. In my opinion, if you care about her, you’ll hang on to that thing a while longer. Maybe you’ll give it to her someday years from now, or maybe you won’t. Right now, not only is it a symbol of her dead mom, it’s also a reminder she was attacked.” He’s quiet for a minute, his face set like stone.
I frown. I hadn’t thought about it like that.
Maybe he has a point?
The rain picks up again, though, pelting the windshield and dragging us to a complete stop.
I decide he’s making some sense, even if he seems weirdly pissed about it. I’m just not convinced he’s right.
“Sorry if I upset you,” I say, stuffing the necklace back in my purse. “I’m really not trying to rub salt in any old wounds. I just...I care about her, too. I want her to be happy.”
“What do you have to be sorry for?” he asks.
Red and blue flashes spin up ahead through the gloom. Police lights.
Awesome, more traffic.
Good thing my plane doesn’t leave for two hours.
“I think I’ve just been on edge since Destiny got mugged that day,” I tell him. “I’m in constant Mama Bear mode—funny, because I’ve never thought of myself like that.”
I try to brush it off as that. I don’t dare mention stupid Cole and his stupid emotional roller coaster stressing me out.
Slowly, we creep by the accident.
It’s a newer car that slid off the road into a ditch. Small crowds of people are milling around in the rain, watching a stretcher being loaded into the back of an ambulance. We both eyeball it as we drive past, our faces set.
I’m going to need a good rom-com or something on the plane after talking about death and potentially seeing it, too.
Troy’s appeasing smile returns—like the grim scene makes him lighten up—and he nods. “That’s what makes you bowing out even sadder. Dessy needs somebody to be protective of her. Someone with a lighter touch than her bear of an old man.”
“That’s Cole, all right,” I say bitterly.
“Girls need a mom, too. Or if they can’t have that, at least a badass woman in their lives.” He shrugs, his knuckles tightening on the steering wheel. “Don’t you think? Correct me if I’m wrong since I’m not a chick. I just know Destiny loved the crap out of you, Eliza.”
“Yeah.” I nod glumly, trying to smother the heartache.
Lightning blazes across the sky like broken glass and I jump. My heartbeat triples.
“Y’know, I get why you feel responsible for her losing the old necklace,” he says.
“You do?” The fact that someone else understands just confirms that I’m right to blame myself.
I feel like such a loser.
How did I ever let a teenager get robbed?
“Yeah. She got hit because you weren’t around. And now maybe that you’re taking off to live your own life—understandably, I’ll add—you feel a little guilty leaving her alone again. Whatever you do, don’t beat yourself up.”
