The Darkest Part (19 page)

She drops her feet to the floorboard. “Can I have one?”

I shrug and flip out a cigarette, then nod toward the glove compartment. “There’s a lighter in there.”

She lights hers and coughs, fanning a hand in front of her face before she hands me the lighter. “Oh, God. That’s as bad as I remember.”

My lips stretch into a small smile against my will, and the weight pressing on my shoulders lessens. “Did Tyler ever find out I got you to smoke that time?”

I can feel her tense up. That cord between us snaps tight. “I don’t want to talk about him. Not right now.” She rolls down her window and flicks the ashes out.

Inhaling a deep drag, I roll down my own window and then blow out, watching the smoke get sucked out of the cab. I didn’t mean to bring him up, but fuck. He’s my brother. “That’s kind of hard, considering we’re doing this trip for him.”

She takes another drag and then stubs out the cigarette in the ashtray, apparently not feeling it anymore. Then she sinks into her seat. “I don’t know if I can forgive him.”

My gut twists. And I can’t believe I’m about to say this. “Omission is betrayal . . . to a certain extent. But he technically didn’t do anything. I think, considering everything, you should cut him some slack.” Truthfully, I don’t know if I’m talking about him or me.

She looks at me and bites down on her lip. I swear, if she keeps doing that, I can’t be held responsible for my actions. I adjust in my seat, shifting my suddenly alert dick. I’m trying hard not to have these thoughts of her.

“Yeah, well. I think it’s
complete
betrayal. He should have said something.
He
was the one who proposed to
me
.” She laughs darkly. “He didn’t even have a ring, but I didn’t care. That stuff wasn’t important to me. And I wasn’t sure, either. I had doubts. But I would’ve talked to him before I slept with someone else.” She holds up a finger. “And don’t try to play that ‘he’s a guy’ card. It’s bullshit. I’m sick of the fucking double standard.”

“Agreed,” I say. “I’m not arguing the facts here. Not going to debate right and wrong. I’m just saying, he’s not here to tell you his side of the story.” I cast her a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile. “He’s not
really
here.”

“Okay,” she says, and I brace myself for an argument, anyway. But she floors me when she says, “You were there, right? You tell it.”

Christ.

Sam

Driving through the city of Memphis feels longer than it actually took to get here. Holden wanted to take the scenic route, but after stopping and going at about ten lights, he cursed and pulled a U-turn, jumping back onto the highway to get to our designated location.

Buildings and concrete and lights, even in the daytime, are everywhere. After riding for so long with nothing around for miles but fields and trees, it’s almost a shock to my system. The park on our left, full of green and people, ends, and the Mississippi River comes into view. Yawning and endless. I can see a bridge stretching over the glassy water top, and I can’t wait to view it at night, lit up and reflecting off the river.

Holden didn’t have much to say on Tyler’s “supposed” betrayal. He told the same story again, like he’s rehashed it a million times. And, I guess he has. I feel awful making him recall the events of that night. I know how painful it is for him. And when he repeated, again, that Tyler went home in a cab (no redhead with him), I let it drop. I loved Shannon like a second mother, and Holden shouldn’t have to relive that night. Not now. Not because of some fight between me and Tyler.

I feel scraped raw, empty, and too tired to think. I don’t want to think.

“This is definitely one of my favorite stops so far,” I say. My voice feels flat as I stretch my neck to see the top of a building.

Holden chuckles. “We’ve only had two.”

I pretend not to hear him. I’m sure he doesn’t count the Oak Picnic as an important stop on our trip, but before my world fell apart, it was for me. I feel ridiculous, like I’m fourteen and making up stuff in my head, running down the path on my way to see him, just to be reminded how very ridiculous I am.

And what’s more? I’m angry. Angry over the dumb flutters in my chest when our hands touch as we’re reaching for the stereo knob at the same time. Angry that my stomach tumbles when his blue eyes seem to see me. Really see me. Like how they did a long time ago.

Angrier, still, that I’m feeling and thinking like this at all. It’s only been five months since I lost Tyler. And, he’s not even gone. Not really. Not yet. Despite the past two hours, and the heartache kicking me in the soul, I still love him. And miss him. I miss what he was before he became this . . . whatever he is now.

He doesn’t tell new jokes, only repeats the same ones from when he was alive. Doesn’t look at me with deep chocolate eyes; they’re now faded and the gleam is too distant. Won’t even fight me with the passion he once used to have. He could win any argument—it always drove me nuts. Now, he only claims to be forgetting, incapable of feeling anger, bitterness, hurt—and unable to do anything to make me
not
feel those things.

He was always the one who could get me out of whatever funk was bringing me down.

And I hadn’t noticed any of this until Holden’s very
here
presence made me so painfully aware of it.

Now, this trip is even tainted. When Holden had fallen asleep under the oak, I thought I could skip ahead in the journal, look for something near the end that might give us a clue if Tyler’s hit-and-run wasn’t simply an accident.

Holden’s main purpose, I’m starting to think, is finding out who was driving that car the night Tyler was hit. The only evidence there has ever been is what the few witnesses claimed they saw: a small red car driving away. That’s it. And even when I’d upset Holden, bringing up his past, he put that aside to keep going on this trip. I wanted to find something that could help him on his quest.

When I read that Tyler kissed that girl—everything turned red around the edges. I flung the journal under the seat and shouted until Tyler appeared. I didn’t care if he used up every last bit of his energy to manifest in the daytime. I was confronting him.

In life, Tyler would’ve fought back. Would’ve yelled and screamed and matched me in every verbal blow. But this version? All he can do is claim he can’t remember. He has no memory of the redhead. No memory of that night, other than when he let me hold him after the news of his mother’s death hit.

That’s more frustrating than if he admitted he’d fucked her. I can’t even rail at him, take out my hurt and feel justified because what made Tyler, Tyler . . . is disappearing.

How the hell am I going to keep this up?

Fine. He didn’t sleep with that girl. That woman. Whoever. (I want to pull my hair out!) And I knew going in that I’d discover things that would test me. All I can do is keep going. I shouldn’t have skipped ahead in the journal. I need to read everything. Everything that lead up to how Tyler got to that place. I have to understand, at least, how and
why
. How
we
got there. And it will probably kill me, but there’s no turning back now.

Forward or nothing at all.

“We’re here,” Holden says as he pulls into a parking spot and puts the truck in gear, popping the e-brake. “Just off the corner of Beale Street.”

We’re parked in a garage under a Hampton Inn. A hard lump forms in my throat as I reach for Tyler’s map. But I made a promise, and no matter what happens on this trip, I owe it to Tyler to keep it. If Holden can push his hurt and despair and emotions aside for this, so can I.

I locate Beale Street on the map. “Because partying like a rock star is a must.” Despite myself, I laugh. “He wanted to hit every bar on the strip, but mainly BB Kings. And learn how to . . . juke?” I laugh again. “Something about juking.”

Pushing a fist into the palm of his other hand, Holden pops his knuckles. “BB Kings is blues. Tyler didn’t listen to blues music. And what the hell is juking?”

I shrug. “He also didn’t party like a rock star. But I guess we’ll find out.”

He cracks a smile. “I think I get it.”

I raise an eyebrow, hoping he’ll let me in on the know, but he just smiles wanly and jerks his head. “Come on. Let’s check in. I need to rest for sure before this.”

As we step out, the warm air, city noises, and chaos of Beale Street engulf me. A thrill hits my blood, and I feel alive. Free. And remembering Tyler’s past, his abusive father, the expectations for him to become a lawyer—always doing what
was
expected of him—I think I get it, too.

This trip, one that Tyler had been planning since middle school, was a form of escapism the average person takes for granted. With a pang, my chest aches deeply. Was the redhead an escape, too? Did I put unreasonable demands on him that he had to run into her arms? I don’t want to blame myself. And I know I’m just feeling self-pity. But there was so much festering beneath the Tyler I thought I knew. I can’t help but blame myself for not seeing it.

And a horrible, painful thought hits me. We hadn’t slept together since before that night. Was it because he felt too guilty? Maybe he was working up the courage to tell me before he could be with me again. Or maybe he was trying to end things.

I was so oblivious to everything else, maybe I just couldn’t see what was really happening. I can’t think about it anymore. I just can’t.

With a heavy sigh, I decide (for now) to put my hurt pride and feelings aside. With forward momentum, I walk ahead, toward the hotel, and plan to party like a rock star.

For Tyler.

At the check-in counter, I don’t even try to pay. Holden already has his wallet out and is requesting rooms.

“I’m sorry,” the guy behind the counter says, tapping away at his keyboard. “There aren’t any available rooms next to each other.” He looks us over, waiting.

Holden’s expression darkens. He said at the last hotel he didn’t want us far apart. Some manly thing he has going on where he feels more in control, able to sense danger, and can get to me quickly (again, Douchebag Superman). Because I need rescuing, apparently.

I turn toward Holden and shrug. “I’m a grownup if you are.”

This gets a clipped laugh from him. “All right.” He nods at the guy. “One room, two beds.”

A tingling sensation travels through my body, and I immediately tamp it down. Once I got over Holden in high school, and knew that I could love Tyler fully—for him and not a rebound—I never had any residual feelings about Holden.

Truth is, I didn’t have to worry about it. I never saw him after he left the island, and loathing for the asshole I thought I once cared for took precedence. But now . . . I don’t understand why these old feelings are bursting through the dam. Like they were never really done, just on hold.

No matter what Tyler “almost” did, I feel disgusting. I’m not like that. I’m a one guy kind of girl. But I can’t deny that, when Holden lets me in past his walls, like at the oak . . . I want more. More of that Holden he apparently has locked away.

We exit the elevator on the fourth floor and find our room easily. When I step inside, I’m instantly drawn to the window. “Wow.” It overlooks part of Beale Street, and the buildings of the city stretch on, high against the light skyline.

I turn back around as Holden tosses his bag at the foot of the bed. He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m going to go clean out the truck. So it doesn’t get funky.” My cheeks flush, remembering my discarded food that got tossed in during my meltdown.

“You want me to help?”

He shakes his head. “No. You rest up.” He turns to go, but pauses at the door. “Are you hungry? I saw a food court near the lobby. I could bring you back something. Or we can wait and grab something later.”

“I’ll wait,” I say. “But thanks.”

He nods, not making eye contact, then leaves. The door’s audible
click
makes me flinch, and the silence that follows is thick and consuming. I look out the window again, my thoughts banging against my brain as I watch people walking along the sidewalks.

“You’re still in love with him.”

Tyler’s voice startles the shit out of me, and I turn and grab my chest. “Hell.” I take in deep breathes before his words register in my mind. “What are you talking about?”

He looks stricken, his features pulled into a wounded expression. “I never used to scare you.”

His words blanket me in shame. “I just have a lot on my mind right now.” I leave my meaning open.

Taking two steps closer to me, he nods, understanding. “I can’t erase the past. And I can’t even give you an explanation. I’m sorry. That’s all I can say. It’s not good enough. But know that I
am
sorry, Sam.”

“I know.” And I do. “Look, it’s too soon to do this again. I need . . . I don’t know. Let’s leave it in the past. For now.”

He soundlessly slips his hands into his pockets. His aura is even more faded in the dim lighting of the hotel room. “That day in your room, months before we officially got together, I knew why you were crying.”

My chest constricts. I don’t want to relive that either. “Let’s not, Tyler.”