Eight
I stumble away from the log and Sam and the warmth of his lips, which were so close to being pressed against mine. Part of me registers my brother’s voice, but my thoughts and emotions have scattered in a zillion different directions, dusting the trees and ferns crowding around us with undiluted awe.
Sam almost kissed me. He actually almost kissed me.
Even if I die five seconds from now, I’ll have this memory—and Sam’s cinnamon breath—to take with me.
“Sarah!” my brother yells again.
“Coming,” I call back, then force myself to look at Sam. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He smiles and catches one of my hands and holds it between both of his. Heat seeps from his palms into my cold fingers like a soft sigh.
I blink at our hands. James crashed into a tree on the drive up here and now I’m in Heaven—that’s the only explanation for what’s happening.
I love Heaven.
The rustle of undergrowth yanks my mind out of Heaven and my hand free from Sam’s. In the glow of the flashlight, I see disappointment flash across his face.
“Did I interrupt something?”
Sam stands up and slowly, I turn around. James is waiting in the middle of the trail with his feet shoulder-width apart and arms folded across his chest. Even in the dim light, I can tell he’s furious. I never have to see his face to know what James is feeling.
“We were just talking,” I say before I can stop myself.
Not a lie, but apparently the wrong answer. Sam grunts and James moves closer, his menacing expression now murderous. When he steps into the light and turns his dark look on Sam, I expect Sam to shove me away. I expect him to laugh and pretend he’s not the one who asked me to go for a walk. To say I’m the one who wedged myself into his side, almost kissed him, and then lied about it.
He doesn’t do any of this. He doesn’t do anything.
The longer Sam stands there glaring at James, the guiltier we look—especially with me wearing his sweatshirt. This isn’t the time for a stare-down. Judging by how hard my heart is slamming against my ribs, I’m about to explode.
“Calm down,” I say, more to myself than anyone, though neither of them look very calm at the moment. I reach for my brother’s elbow. “Are you ready to go?”
James nods, his gaze still fixed on Sam. “Sure.”
I want to tell Sam we’ll continue this later, that I’ll never be able to eat a cinnamon mint again without thinking about him, but I can’t. Not with James right here.
Without waiting for either of them, I pick my way back down the hill and hope to God I don’t step in a pothole or trip over a wayward root. The shadows up here are thicker than puddles of spilled ink. Maybe I should have asked Sam for his flashlight.
Heavy footsteps follow me, thudding closer and closer on the pine-needle-strewn dirt trail until they’re so close, I can hear my brother’s uneven breathing.
“Sarah, wait up.”
I keep my head down, picking up my pace while I try to acclimate my eyes to the filtered moonlight streaming through the misty tree canopy. It doesn’t matter that I’m headed for a truck I won’t let him drive—if James and I get into this now, it’ll ruin the memory of my almost-kiss with Sam.
“Damn it, I said wait!”
He grabs my arm and yanks me around to face him. I slam into his chest with a thud that jars my bones and knocks the fight right out of me. I stumble back, away from him, and fold my arms across my chest to cover as much of Sam’s sweatshirt as I can.
“Why weren’t you at the party?” he demands. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”
“Sam was showing me the trails.”
“It’s not safe to hang out with random guys in the middle of the forest.” He waves his arms at the trees on either side of us, as if they’re hiding an army of rapists and murderers.
“Sam’s not a random guy,” I remind him. “And what did you expect us to do while you were off getting high? God, I can’t believe you’ve been taking that crap!”
His gaze drops to my chest. To Sam’s sweatshirt. He doesn’t flinch when I hurriedly move my arms higher, but I see the flash of shock that morphs back to rage.
“What did I expect?” He gives me a frosty laugh. “I expected you to be grateful I brought you along so you didn’t have to hide in our room all night. Not sneak off and fuck my best friend.”
A lump of fear rises in my throat. “I didn’t—”
“Shut up!” He closes his eyes and rolls his shoulders, trying to shake off his anger like the boxer I know he wants to be. When he finally looks at me again, his eyes are dead calm. “You know what? Go home and have fun with Dad. I’m done.”
He stalks off into the thick trees, disappearing in the darkness. His rage I could have handled. A screaming match over how badly he’s overreacting would have been a nice release. But to be deserted by the only person who cares whether I live or die…
One foot in front of the other. That’s what I tell myself as I resume my trek down the trail to the driveway. He didn’t mean it. He never does. If I wait in the truck, he’ll eventually calm down and drive us home. It might take awhile, maybe an hour or two, but we’ll be fine. We’ll go home and lock ourselves in our room, then he’ll crawl into my bed just like he always does when he hurts my feelings. We have a pact. Nothing will ever come between us. I have to believe that or I’m going to start crying.
Someone falls into step beside me.
“Are you okay?” Sam asks quietly.
I nod, even though I’m not, and scrub away my tears. As long as he doesn’t turn on his flashlight, my lie will be safe.
“You know you can talk to me, right? About anything.”
Tremors of hope and relief shudder through my body, but I quickly shove the feelings away and shake my head. If I open up to Sam and my brother finds out, he’ll never forgive me.
“Then, can I at least give you a ride? I’m heading home anyway, and it’ll probably be a while before James levels out.”
I hesitate. Riding with Sam will make my brother even angrier, but I don’t know if I can face two hours of waiting in the truck. For the first time ever, I just want to go home.
“Okay. Thanks.”
As we walk down the hill, Sam reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together. It’s nice. Comforting.
Too nice. Too comforting.
As wonderful as it felt to almost kiss him, Sam and me…it can’t happen. I’m not worth ruining his friendship with James. My place is in the kitchen, fishing recyclable beer cans from the garbage and cooking lame boxed dinners for my father and brother. If not there, then locked in my bedroom, listening to my mother and father fight when he stops by her room to “visit.” Hoping he doesn’t try to “visit” my room as well.
Mine is not a world Sam belongs in.
Before we reach his car, I wriggle my hand free. I feel his searching gaze on my face, but I won’t look at him. I refuse to see any more disappointment directed my way.
Sam holds open the passenger door while I slide into the seat, then closes it carefully behind me. His car may look like a junkyard reject on the outside, but the floors are clean and the smooth, charcoal-colored seat covers beneath my fingers feel new.
I jerk my hand away. Charcoal-colored seat covers, charcoal-colored eyes. I need to forget those eyes.
He opens his door far less gingerly and folds his long body into the cramped seat. For several excruciating moments, we don’t do anything but sit and stare at the shadowy forest in front of his car. If this is how the entire one-hour drive is going to be, my disaster of a night just went from bad to worse.
“Do you mind if I sleep?” I ask. “It’s been a really long day.”
“Was it that bad?”
His disappointment makes me feel worse. Irritated, I wrap the drawstring of my—no, his—sweatshirt around my finger and mumble, “Not all of it. Some of it was…nice.”
When he doesn’t say anything, I chance a quick glance in his direction. The way he’s staring at me—like he’s five seconds away from dragging me into his arms—sends tingling zaps of light shooting through my body. There’s no way can I break eye contact when he looks at me like this.
He leans closer, one hand plucking my fingers from the noose I made of the drawstring while the other moves to cup my cheek. “I almost didn’t come tonight. For the first time ever, I almost didn’t come. But James called while you were at the hair place and said he might be bringing you, so…”
His gaze roams over my eyes, my lips, my cheeks. We’re going to kiss—I can feel how much he wants to straight down to my toes. And judging by the heat in his eyes, it’s not going to be as simple as what almost happened in the forest.
Despite the logical part of my brain screaming at me to run and hide in the trees—seriously, what does he see in me?—I melt into his touch, face upturned, waiting for the moment Sam knocks my world off its axis.
That moment never happens.
An explosion louder than a dozen shotguns blasts through the trees and nearly sends me scrambling into Sam’s lap. Cheering and laughter cuts through the dim ringing in my ears. A string of shrieked curses that sound very much like Leslie quickly follow.
Sam closes his eyes and lets out a frustrated cinnamon-tinted groan, but he doesn’t pull away. Even when another blast rocks the forest, he holds me close, a mere breath away from kissing, his gaze boring into mine.
That’s all my logical side needs to take over.
I recoil, removing Sam’s hand from my face before curling in on myself in the passenger seat. What the hell am I doing? James could have seen us. Even now, he might be in the woods watching.
“We should probably go,” Sam says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the cops all the way back in town heard those.”
Maneuvering a small sports car through trucks and SUVs wedged together like a twenty-car pileup is a nightmare. Sam curses a lot, mainly at the latecomers who boxed him in and the people streaming out of Leslie’s trailer who don’t seem to care if we run them over. Eventually, after a twelve-point turn that includes a pass over an ill-placed mound of dirt and branches, we get free.
As his car bumps and bottoms out along the winding gravel driveway, I close my eyes and try to get comfortable. It’s not easy. Every time Sam hits a pothole, my forehead and elbow smack into the glass.
“Here,” he says when we’re halfway down the driveway. “This should help.”
A warm, balled-up t-shirt lands in my lap. I stare at it in the darkness, horrified at the possibility he took off his own shirt to make me comfortable, despite how I blew him off.
Upon closer inspection in the dim light from his headlights, the soft fabric is red, not the gray that I noticed matched his eyes earlier. I tuck it between my cheek and the window and offer him a small smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Pine trees, dryer sheets, and a hint of musty car smell soothes me. I burrow deeper into the t-shirt and let the weight of what’s turned into a very long day shut down everything—my eyes, my hearing, my heart—and drift off into blackness.