The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood #1)(56)

Best it ended when it did.

Fuck. I lower my lashes and glimpse the hard-on tenting my jeans. And then I peek at her. She’s invested in finding something to listen to, so I shift my weight and tug my waistband, alleviating the pressure in my pants.

I really need to stop thinking about her. In any way.

One thought sobers me and wilts me faster than a cold shower ever could. And I know I’m going to regret asking her, but I need to know. To be able to bury what happened between us for good. “Sam?”

“Huh?” She doesn’t look up from her music search.

“I know this subject has been closed. And I promise, after you answer me one thing, I won’t ever bring it up again.” I glance over. She’s still, a curtain of her hair blocking my view of her face. “But I need to know what exactly . . .” I trail off, trying to find the right words. There are none. I blurt it out. “What made you stop?”

She flips the sleeve and continues to look over the CDs. I think she’s not going to answer or even acknowledge my question, then, “I didn’t see him. If that’s what you’re asking.”

A rush of air leaves my mouth in a relieved exhale. It’s what I’ve been wondering ever since she said my brother’s name. Even though his ghost is all in her mind, the thought that she saw him watching us—while we were at it—turns my stomach.

But now that she’s admitted that’s not what happened, I’m wondering more shit. I’m probably reading too much into it. She loves my brother. He died. She’s suffering some form of psychosis from guilt or an inability to deal, and I’m her ghost boyfriend’s brother. Not just his brother, but the guy who treated her like dirt. So yeah. All those things combined, she’s justified for having a moment of guilt and stopping it.

“All right,” I say. “That is what I wanted to know. And I’m glad that—”

“That what, Holden?” Her head whips up and she looks at me. I quickly check out her tense frame, her eyes narrowed and hurt. “Glad that he didn’t see? Or that you got as far as you did with me? You know what? Let’s just not. If you really want to know, I haven’t seen Tyler since we first walked into that hotel room back in Memphis.”

“As far as I got with you? You think that’s all I’m out for?”

“Drop it. We’re not going there.” She crosses her arms over her chest, shutting down the conversation.

Where the hell did that come from? I’m glad we’re able to talk about it, which sounds stupid now. Real stupid.

“Fine.” I feel my eyebrows draw together. “But look, I know I said I wouldn’t talk about this either”—I angle my body so I can see her better from my peripheral—“but don’t you . . . I mean. Somewhere inside your mind, you have to be wondering if it’s really happening. If it’s not just in your head.” I blow out a heavy breath. “Shit, Sam. If it were me? I’d have asked myself that. I think any sane person would ask themself that at least once.”

And, oh, my shit. Her face blazes redder with every dumb word I say. When I finally shut up, I brace myself against the clutch, ready to drop the truck into neutral if she launches herself at me. I wouldn’t blame her if she did.

“You think I haven’t asked myself that?” Her chest heaves, and she’s clutching the CD case like she is about to launch that at my head.

I shrug. “Okay. But have you asked yourself that lately?”

“You *.”

“What? Don’t you think that since you’ve left home and gone on this trip, it’s strange how you’re seeing my brother less and less?” I should stop. But hell, there’s no holding back now. “Think about it, Sam.”

“Fuck you.” She tosses the case on the floorboard and unbuckles her seatbelt.

“What the hell are you—?” I cut short as she grips the door handle. “Sam—”

The door cracks open. “I have to get away from you!”

“Shit!” I glance in my rearview, then slam down on the brake and clutch at the same time that I reach out and grab her arm.

The tires squeal and the backend fishtails before we come to a stop. Releasing her arm as she yanks out of my hold, I move to grip the gearshift. “Fuck.” I shift into neutral and pull the e-brake. “Are you—?”

“Crazy?” Her eyes widen and she laughs. “I guess so. At least I’m accepting it. Isn’t that what you want? You want me to admit that I’m nuts so you can have a clear conscience to f*ck me?”

I’m breathing hard, my hand gripping the shifter knob so tightly my arm shakes and my knuckles turn white. My gaze drifts over her and lands on the tree tat on her wrist as the echo of her words punch me in the gut. I open my mouth to say something, but she laughs and shakes her head.

“Fuck this,” she bites out under her breath and throws the door open.

“Where the hell are you going?”

She doesn’t bother to respond. Just reaches behind the seat and grabs her pack, then slams the door.

Fuck! I bang my head against the back windshield and release a deep growl through clenched teeth. How did this happen? I run through the conversation again, trying to figure out where it went wrong. It’s like she plucked her last statement out of the thin f*cking air and threw it in my face.