The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood #1)(83)

Tyler feared this guy enough to write about it, claiming he was mental, and he was even trying to figure out a way to report him to the dean or the cops without involving Sam. His last entry said he was meeting James to work things out.

I’d always wondered why Tyler said he was meeting me that night. The one thing that drove me crazy, making me wrack my brain to figure out why he’d told that to Sam. I wasn’t even in town. But like his words state, he didn’t want her to ever find out about the redhead. He was trying to handle it himself.

Witnesses said the car that they caught glimpses of speeding away from the hit-and-run was small and red, but no one could tell the make. According to Tyler’s journal, the douchebag drove a red Civic.

It’s a leap. And the cops still might not be able to charge him, or a judge be able to convict him, but Tyler’s journal gives them a starting point and enough new evidence to reopen the case. And I’m sure once they start digging, more evidence will surface. I have to trust that.

All the pieces fit together now, and it’s unbelievable that one f*cked up night could cause this much pain. For so many people.

But no matter the outcome, Tyler’s words offer me one thing: freedom.

I’ve been carrying my brother’s death on my shoulders for the past five months. And before that, the burden of my mother’s. Just with Sam knowing the truth, an enormous weight has been lifted.

As Sam folds her shirt and puts it in her pack, she looks over at me. “Are you going to tell them the truth?”

I know she means the wreck. “I don’t know,” I admit. “Does it matter now? The only person who would’ve benefited from it is gone. And honestly, I wouldn’t accept an apology from my father if he offered one, anyway. I’m through with him.”

Tossing her pack to the floor, Sam walks over and stands before me, then climbs onto the bed and straddles my lap, her arms linking around my neck. I lock my arms around her waist, loving how perfectly she fits against me. And trying like hell—and failing—not to get a hard on at the thought of her being naked all but her tee. I know it’s bad timing, but hell. She’s sexy. And I love this sexy woman.

“I think you should come to a few sessions with me,” she says, and I raise my eyebrows. “Dr. Hartman can be a pain, but she sometimes says smart stuff. “ She smiles wanly.

For Sam? I’d do just about anything. But I have a feeling she wants me to do this for myself, or some shit. One of those twelve-step things. And maybe it wouldn’t hurt.

I shrug. “We’ll see how it goes when we get back.”

“Good enough,” she says, then places a soft kiss on my forehead, keeping her lips there. I breathe in her sweet scent, my own personal drug.

“You’re handling all this with a scary calm,” I say against her throat. She hasn’t said anything about Tyler’s admitted infidelity or his attempted suicide. It’s scaring me to think of her holding it all in, falling apart on the inside. If she needs to rail at someone, I’ll take it for her. “Are you okay?”

Lacing her fingers in my hair, she pulls back to look at me. “I will be,” she says, a sadness glistening in her irises. “Thing is, Tyler and I were growing distant before any of this happened. I guess, college and all. But I was just too afraid to admit it, or I didn’t want to. I was afraid of losing my best friend, and I should’ve been brave enough to make us talk about it. I’ve just never been good at ‘dealing.’” She unlaces her arms from behind me to make air quotes. “And I’m more upset that Tyler obviously didn’t trust me enough to let me in.” She sighs. “I want to feel guilty, thinking maybe I should’ve seen the signs myself . . . but I know that’s not right. Tyler’s actions had consequences. And he suffered them more than anyone. He also held the responsibility to tell someone, anyone what was going on . . . with his dad, the bar girl, everything. He wasn’t a child anymore.”

I feel my brow furrow. A sharp pain knifes me right in the chest. “I didn’t tell you, either.”

She tilts her head. “Yes, you did.”

And I realize, she’s right. Sam didn’t discover any of this from the journal. I’d already been battling with myself on this trip about keeping so much from her. And earlier this morning, I’d been coming to the conclusion that it was time. Then I just let everything rip.

I press my lips together and clutch the back of her shirt. “I wish I’d told you sooner.”

“We had our own shit to work out before that could happen,” she says. “And I think for two extremely f*cked up individuals”—she smirks, and I chuckle low, pulling her closer—“we did the best we could.”

I kiss her chin and say against her skin, “You’re right. So f*cking smart.” I move to kiss her neck, reveling in the way she shivers at my touch. “And smart girls are so damn sexy.”

She laughs, and it lightens the heaviness in my chest. Oh, we have a long way to go before we’re fixed, and declared sane, but I can see the light peeking through. The darkest part is behind us.

Bringing Sam with me, I fall to the bed, loving the way her hair drapes my face, my chest. She braces her elbow on the bed and runs her fingers over my tattoo. I lift her wrist and kiss her inked tree, like I wanted to do the first time I saw it—the first glimmer of hope that she could be mine.