The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood #1)(8)

When my painting is complete, it’s a version of Sam’s, only abstract. A bit derivative of Van Gogh, but this isn’t about my talent. It’s expression, like Ms. Snyder said. Expressing my feelings for Sam, and what I wish we could be. She’ll be able to see the message. Two people meeting secretly under a dead tree . . . embracing.

I push my easel up against the wall and leave right when the bell rings. Tyler’s waiting by my car as I hustle into the parking lot. He picks up his book bag near his feet and threads it over his shoulder.

“Thought you had practice today,” I say, my nerves causing my voice to sound off. I clear my throat and unlock the Honda.

Tyler’s forehead creases and he points to the sky. “It’s about to rain, dude. Coach canceled. Something about a severe tropical storm.” He shakes his head. “He was pissed.”

As I slide behind the wheel, I curse under my breath. Sam’s going to be out by that tree, in the storm, waiting for me. I should call this off.

“You wanna go by The Shack?”

I look at Tyler. “What about the storm?” I need to drop him off and call or text Sam. It’s awkward, talking to her over the phone or even in person after our secret language. Hell. It’s always been awkward.

It’s not that I never wanted to talk to her before—it’s that I couldn’t. I’ve always sucked at talking, at expressing myself. And because of that, we were never close. Not that I didn’t want to be. But when we started sharing paintings . . . and I found a way to tell her everything I’d kept bottled up . . . my feelings exploded over the canvas, like a never-ending color palette bearing my soul.

I wish I could just send her a painting and she’d understand.

If we do this, it changes everything.

And looking at Tyler now, I’m not sure either of us are ready to hurt my brother. Even though Sam doesn’t feel the same way about him, Tyler’s been in love with her since grade school.

My gut twists. I’m the biggest shit.

“There isn’t crap to eat at home,” he says. “Come on. You know how they always blow storms up. A hurricane hasn’t hit us since the eighties or something, and they still evacuate the island every season.”

“Look,” I say, turning the key in the ignition. I grip the wheel. “I have something I need to do, but I’ll swing by real quick. Run in and out.”

Tyler eyes me, but just says, “Yeah, that’s fine.”

After I pull up to the house, I look around for Sam, thinking she’ll change her mind and show up here, like she does most days. But when Tyler gets out of the car, he again gives me a weird look.

“Did you see Sam after school anywhere?”

I shrug. “No.”

With that, he slams the car door and heads for the house.

The sky overhead is dark. Ink-swollen clouds blot out the sun. The wind picks up, swaying the tall pines in our yard. The creaking sends a thrill through me, making me anxious.

Sam’s different than other girls. I can’t f*ck this up.

I back out of the driveway. With a determined huff, I pump the clutch and shift into first, gunning the engine. I park a little ways down from the nature trail that runs behind both our houses. Sam’s parents and mine moved into the plantation around the same time—and never moved again. Both our parents just used to vacation here; it’s a resort island. But that’s how it is. Tourists come and go, eventually deciding to stay. Then never leaving again.

Hilton Head is like a black hole. It just sucks you in.

And that’s another thing, another reason why this is so messed up. I’m leaving right after first quarter next year. Because I failed a grade in middle school, they put me on this fast track program to graduate early. And I worked my ass off to do it. To get the hell out of here.

I’m older than her by almost four years. Three years and nearly nine months, to be exact. Probably not a big deal when we’re older, but right now, I feel like a creeper for what I’ve allowed to happen between us. Though, I could stop it now. It’s not too late.

Tyler wouldn’t have to feel betrayed, and I wouldn’t have to figure out how to keep a girlfriend in high school while I’m trying with every fiber in my body to get away from this place.

I’ll always come back for Tyler and Mom, but I can’t have anything here that will stop me from getting out permanently. The guilt over leaving Tyler with him eats at my soul. But I have to believe it will get better—when I’m not here to piss him off all the time.

Shit. I exhale heavily when I glimpse the first raindrops on the windshield. I’m lost in my thoughts and staring out the window for what feels like forever. I look at the time on my phone.

Sam’s tree is down the wooded trail, next to the golf course. It’s tucked away and doesn’t look like it’s a part of anything surrounding it. It’s the one place that’s all hers—that she doesn’t share with Tyler. Where she draws, listens to music, paints.

I know about it because I found her there after she ran away when she was seven. Her parents had a big fight, and she told me and Tyler that she was going to live at Nickelodeon. I followed her, scared that she’d get lost in the plantation, staying a safe distance behind so she wouldn’t see me.

She did, though. And we ate cookies and drew together under the tree for hours until night came, and then I convinced her to go back home, telling her that Nickelodeon had monsters. Probably mean, but hey, I was ten. I was kind of a little shit back then.