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The next three days are a whirlwind. I blink and Veronica returns, full of stories about her new precious grandbaby, delighted about how our little musical festival went off without a hitch. And my bus is fixed and ready to take me on to the next adventure.
I made enough in earnings and the proceeds from the festival to fund the repairs to the bus and then some.
My family is surprisingly chill when Jake spills the beans about Atticus and me. Maybe because I’m leaving and anything that might be between us is over before it begins. Maybe because they know me, and my longest relationship thus far has been with a bottle of wine.
Yep. That’s me. Noncommittal, go-with-the-flow, breezy Taylor.
Is it, though? Am I still that person?
“You’ll be home before Thanksgiving, right?” Finley asks, stepping back from our goodbye hug, her hands on my shoulders.
“Yeah. I’ll call you.”
We’re standing outside the main house, next to my bus. It’s all packed up, the tank is full, and I’m ready to head out to Silvertongue headquarters in Sacramento.
Jake is the next to tug me into an embrace. “Drive safe. Call when you can. Don’t do drugs. Oh, and don’t ever lie to me ever again.”
I squeeze him tight. “I promise. And you too, baby brother.”
Mindy left yesterday to meet up with Luke at his next tour stop. She was beyond excited about my new job, jumping up and down and squealing like a banshee when I gave her the news. I joined in her glee, ignoring the sinking in my stomach at the thought of leaving. I said my goodbyes to Archer this morning before he left to take care of camp duties, along with Atticus.
I stayed the night at Atticus’s last night. We made slow, torturous love, wringing orgasms out of each other like it was our life’s mission. I didn’t sleep. He didn’t either. In between bouts of sex, we lay together, not speaking, only touching and thinking.
We drove here together this morning, the drive drenched in the silence of unspoken words. What is there to say? It’s not like we’re breaking up, we were never together. Not really. This was just a fling.
I hate this. I hate everything about it.
But hey, I have a great new job.
Why isn’t the thought as exciting as it should be?
Jake lifts his brows at me.
“What?” I ask.
He jerks his head to the side and looks pointedly at something over my shoulder.
I turn around.
Atticus is standing behind me, by the bumper of the bus, his hands shoved in his pockets.
Finley pats my shoulder as she passes, Jake following behind her up into the house, giving us our moment.
My heart thumps so loudly in my ears, their retreating footsteps barely register. “Hi.”
“Hey.” His gaze lifts to mine, dark torment shining in his eyes. “I hate this.”
Unable to withstand the pull of his presence, I take a few quick steps and then my face is pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped around me.
My throat burns. I never wanted to stay in Whitby. The thought of living in this small town for the rest of my life always made me ache to bolt. It was akin to a prison sentence.
Then why is this so hard? Why is my heart ripping itself into little pieces?
I tip my head back, and like he plucked the intention from my mind before it fully formed, his mouth is already there.
The kiss is wild, abandoned, and reeking of desperation.
Abruptly, he yanks away.
