The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood #1)(29)
She raises her eyebrows. “I knew there was a secret.”
Our banter is easy and light, but there’s a slight tension snapping at the air, creating a tangible wall between us. And when she says secret, my insides twist. I can’t reveal Tyler’s darkest parts to her. Or mine, for that matter. I can only be here for her while she works out the mess in her mind. I just hope that it doesn’t tear me down in the process.
I’m not as immune to her as she is to me.
After setting up the laptop on the bed, I grab a box of Chinese takeout and a plastic spork—can’t believe they still make these—and plop down on the other side of her. “Sure you don’t want to eat real food first?”
“Blasphemy.” She shakes her head and takes a bite of her chocolate bar.
I stuff a huge sporkfull of Sesame Chicken into my mouth to keep from smiling.
During the movie, my gaze occasionally drifts to her. She braids her hair, two long tails over her shoulders. Fidgets with her nails, like she’s trying to keep from biting them. It used to be a habit. Then she shifts positions, from sitting to laying on her stomach, her ass kicked up at me. I squeeze my eyes shut and rub my hands over my face.
I’m such a f*cking masochist.
When the movie finally ends, I spring off the bed like it’s on fire. I can’t be in the same room as her any longer and maintain chivalrous thoughts. As if I’d ever had them about her to begin with. Maybe if I beat my head against my room wall for the rest of the night, by morning I’ll be straight.
I quietly pack up my computer and then grab a bag of potato chips.
“Holden.” Sam’s voice is questioning, and I look up, finding her pressed against the headboard, her eyes locked on something over my shoulder.
Turning around, I spot the box on the dresser. When I look back at her, her eyes are on me. “Yeah?”
“I don’t want to sit in here by myself.” She tucks her legs into her body. “We should go out and do something.”
“I’m up for that.” And up for anything that doesn’t involve being closed off in a small room with her. I need fresh air; her scent is clinging to me, torturing me. “Where do you want to go?”
She pushes off the bed and stalks toward the box. “I have an idea.”
Sam
The tree line of Logan Martin Lake graces the pink and amethyst sky like mountains. Dipping low and rising high, the dark pines stretch endlessly across the shore. Houselights dot the twilight, and docks reach over the water. The night air is a balmy mix of Alabama’s hot summer and the lake’s humidity, caressing my skin with a warm, light breeze.
I walk the shoreline, my hands clamped tightly to the picture box, as Holden trails behind at a distance. He was quiet on the ride over. I don’t think either of us spoke a word. I’m not sure he’s ready for this part of the trip. I’m not sure I’m ready.
But taking in the scenic beauty, I can’t think of a better place to spread Tyler’s ashes while we’re here. It’s close to the speedway, and I feel like if Tyler and I had taken this trip together, we would’ve ended up here. We would’ve watched the sunset, and kissed under the stars.
I feel like such a cheesy romantic right now. And my heart aches at the moments we didn’t get to experience together. All the lost memories we’ll never get to make.
After we parked, Holden asked if I wanted to do this alone. And maybe I should have said yes. But I believe Tyler would want his brother to be a part of this. I glance around, hoping Tyler will appear. I want to tell him . . . so much.
Holden has stopped walking, and I find a sandy spot to plunk down on near the lake. The sounds of water lapping and crickets, and the distant noise of traffic from the freeway, pull me under. And all I can do is cling to Tyler’s box.
“Do you remember,” Holden says, his voice low, like he’s trying not to disturb the tranquility of the lake. “When we were kids. That day my mom took us to Hunting Island? When my dad was away on business, and we were driving her crazy because it was too hot to go out and play.”
I laugh. “Yeah. Shannon was ready to ship us off to a third world country.”
I don’t look at him, but I can feel his hesitant smile. Hear the happiness mingling with the sadness in his voice. “Tyler loved those big puddle things on the beach. I don’t know what they were called, but all the kids always played in them. And even when we were tired and ready to go, and Mom was screaming, Tyler kept playing.” He settles down on the bank beside me and rests an arm over his knee. “This is a good spot, Sam. He’d like it here.”
My throat grows thick as a burning begins behind my eyes. I swallow hard to keep from tearing up.
Tyler, where are you?
I swallow again, and look down. Run my hand over the satin box. I’m not ready.
Holden’s hand covers mine. “Let me help.”
Unable to speak, the lump knotting in my throat, I nod. Holden stands and reaches down for me, and with a deep breath, I accept his hand. A cool wind circles us, and I watch as strands of his dark hair whip around his eyes. The lowering sun casts his face in shades of shadowy grays and purples.
Putting the box between us, I take one corner as he takes the other. We lift at the same time, and then I hold the box out and lightly move it back and forth. The breeze catches the loose remains, picking them up and swirling them into the air, then out over the lake.