The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood #1)(53)

As we’re headed to the garage, Sam says, “We need to find a place for Tyler’s ashes. But I’m not sure where.”

Hell. I actually forgot that part. Now I feel like an even bigger douche. This trip is supposed to be all about Tyler. Not scoring with the girl I lost to my brother back in high school. I need to get my shit together.

“Right,” I say, glancing around, like somewhere special is going to materialize out of the concrete. Then it hits me. “What about the Hernando Desoto Bridge? We’re passing over it anyway, and Tyler had a thing for bridges when he was a kid.” I feel a smile stretch my lips. “He had a shit ton of them for his boxcars.”

Sam’s face brightens. “Yeah. I remember that. Good call.” She smiles at me, and it’s free, unguarded. It almost feels like we’re back to normal. At least where we picked up at the beginning of the trip. It’s not where I want to be. But I’ll take it.

I unlock the truck and slide in, reaching over to open her door. Sam pulls the map from the glove box and traces her finger over the route we’re about to take. “I can’t believe you remembered the name of that bridge off the top of your head.”

Turning the ignition, I check my rearview. “I’ve looked at the map, and I have a photographic memory.” I tap my temple and glance over. And watch her jaw go slack. She stares down at the map, fiddles with her thumbnail, her cheeks reddening and giving away her embarrassment.

My words smack me across the face as realization dawns. Facing forward, I grip the wheel. Shit. Fuck. I pull out of the parking space with more speed then I intend, then peel the tires as I gun it out of the garage.

Trying to make her understand that picturing her half-naked isn’t a bad thing . . . I guess . . . probably isn’t smart right now. So I shut my mouth and drive. It shouldn’t be a bad thing. Not for her, anyway. But for me? I almost laugh.

I used to think my awesome memory was a gift. Got me through a lot of tests I never studied for. But now it feels more like a curse. I can picture her perfect little hot body in my mind every time I close my eyes. And I want to tell her that, it’s not a pervy thing. That she’s beautiful and tantalizing and delicate. That I never knew I preferred a perfectly shaven girl—completely smooth; so f*cking sexy—until I saw her. That now, I can’t ever imagine being with anyone else.

Just knowing that she puts in that kind of attention to detail . . . oh, my shit. When I first laid my eyes on her, I didn’t think I could hold out. I wanted her right then. Had to know what she’d feel like around me. But I held back, wanting to bring her to the edge first, to make her want me as badly as I was craving her.

But the look on her face just now says it all. I can’t tell her any of that.

It goes into the lockbox.

After a few minutes, we come up on the bridge, and Sam points out her window at a giant silver pyramid. “Wow. That’s gorgeous.” She glances at the map. “It’s the Pyramid Arena. Too bad we can’t check it out.”

My chest tightens. “We’re not on a tight schedule or anything. We can go. If you really want.”

She shakes her head. “No. It’s fine.” She looks at her lap and says even lower, “I’m over Memphis.”

And she finishes me off. Dagger right to the heart. But what did I expect? After only a few days, the girl I’d fallen for way back when, who was engaged to my f*cking brother, who I ignored every time we were around each other after I treated her like shit, would just be ready to hop into bed with me?

I’m beyond delusional. Hell, I’m a guy. I guess a typical one.

Whatever was going on between us at the club was like she said, the atmosphere. Grinding bodies everywhere. Alcohol. And back at the hotel? I took her off-guard. But I think one thing needs to be stated so that she’s not freaked out around me. So that she doesn’t resort to fearing me, the way she did when I first carried her to my truck.

I don’t want her to look at me like that ever again.

“Sam,” I say, my voice raspy. I clear my throat. “I won’t touch you again. I promise.”

Her body tenses. From the corner of my vision, I watch as her shoulders and neck pull straight, her chin lifts a fraction. And I might actually be delusional, but a flicker of something akin to hurt flashes across her face. It hits my chest, so quickly, knocking the breath from my lungs.

But just as quickly, she’s composed. “Thanks. And I won’t, like, wear sexy jean skirts again. I promise.”

I bark a laugh. It escapes my mouth before I can rein it in. She laughs, too, and the tension-filled cab releases some of its pressure.

I’m still smiling as I pull onto the bridge. And so is she.





Sam

Tyler’s picture box feels heavy in my hands. Weighted. Like all my shame has been added to the inside. I inhale a huge breath, taking in the mix of marshy river and city fuel smell as I walk the bridge toward the section overlooking the Mississippi River.

The much needed tension breaker in the truck didn’t last long, unfortunately. Holden and I have to get past last night if we’re going to continue this journey. And I can’t let him take on all the responsibility himself. Not all of it, anyway. But it’s easier, for me, to pretend like it never happened.

Besides, Tyler still hasn’t come back to me. And when he does (because he has to), I don’t want him popping up in the middle of an awkward moment or conversation between me and his brother.