thumb. “I’m sorry,” I say.
“I wish I could’ve been here for you.”
Me, too, though I can’t imagine where Sam would’ve fit into my life these last few days. James hardly let me out of his sight, like he was afraid I’d die every time I stepped into another room. I gave up on privacy when I realized we weren’t leaving his bed unless it was to grab food or use the bathroom.
Not that I’ve been much better. All I can think about is James and the stupid drugs Leslie gives him. Our mother’s death has seriously messed him up. What if I leave him alone and he overdoses by accident? No way am I letting that happen.
“So, do you want to talk about it?”
Not really. I drop the dog tag and pick at the white paint peeling away from the doorframe. “They’re calling it a suicide.”
He frowns and seems to analyze my expression. I do my best to keep my face neutral.
“You don’t believe them,” he finally says.
This is a defining moment for us. Either I open up to Sam and let him into the mess that is my head, or I push him away. He stands eerily still, watching me, like he knows how important this moment is, too. Looking into his eyes, seeing the kind of affection I’ve craved my whole life, I find my answer.
“I think my dad did it,” I whisper. “James doesn’t know.”
Though he doesn’t move, relief flashes across his face. “What can I do?”
I know what I want him to do. Four nights of kissing him in my sleep has left me achy and desperate for more. I don’t know whether it will help, but I’m willing to find out. I look up at him through my eyelashes, feeling embarrassed by what I’m about to ask. “Can you make me forget?”
I expect him to back me into the doorframe and kiss me senseless, but he doesn’t. Instead—after checking to make sure I have shoes on—he reaches behind me and closes the door like he did the last time we were standing in this exact spot. I take his outstretched hand and let him lead me down to his car.
When we’re five miles outside of town on the road that leads deep into the mountains, I realize he’s taking me to Leslie’s. Anger and hurt seep into my heart. Does he seriously think buying me drugs is a good idea after I watched my mother die of an overdose?
But then he turns onto a service road that takes us away from Leslie’s and down into the small valley below.
“We’re going to the river?”
“Yeah.” He smiles at me. “I thought maybe we could have a secret place. Somewhere we can spend time together without worrying about someone coming to look for us. I thought it might be nice to get away.”
My cheeks get hot, and not just because I feel like an idiot about the Leslie thing. Total seclusion, zero interruptions, and Sam. So many possibilities.
But then I realize that this is what James has wanted to do for a while now—take us away from everything—and I feel guilty for saying no so many times. When he comes home tonight, I’ll tell him I’ve changed my mind. Screw the money.
Sam pulls into what looks like a wide, pine needle-covered campsite that slopes sharply away into a fast-moving stream—one of many that wind away from the Rogue River in these hills. The trees here are thick and cast an ominous darkness over the forest around us, but the rocky ledge and the water are bathed in the beautiful morning light. I’m out of the car running toward the sunshine before Sam can cut the engine.
The slope is too steep for me to make it down in flip-flops. If I slip, I’ll land in one of the many patches of slimy moss and lichen tucked into the millions of crevices and mucking up the stones’ smooth surfaces. It’s pretty, though. Even prettier is the little deer trail that leads from the rocks through the ferns along the edge of the slope and back into the forest. I’m going to need to buy a jug of bug repellant before we come up here again.
“This is beautiful,” I breathe when Sam finally catches up.
He wraps his arms
“I wish I could’ve been here for you.”
Me, too, though I can’t imagine where Sam would’ve fit into my life these last few days. James hardly let me out of his sight, like he was afraid I’d die every time I stepped into another room. I gave up on privacy when I realized we weren’t leaving his bed unless it was to grab food or use the bathroom.
Not that I’ve been much better. All I can think about is James and the stupid drugs Leslie gives him. Our mother’s death has seriously messed him up. What if I leave him alone and he overdoses by accident? No way am I letting that happen.
“So, do you want to talk about it?”
Not really. I drop the dog tag and pick at the white paint peeling away from the doorframe. “They’re calling it a suicide.”
He frowns and seems to analyze my expression. I do my best to keep my face neutral.
“You don’t believe them,” he finally says.
This is a defining moment for us. Either I open up to Sam and let him into the mess that is my head, or I push him away. He stands eerily still, watching me, like he knows how important this moment is, too. Looking into his eyes, seeing the kind of affection I’ve craved my whole life, I find my answer.
“I think my dad did it,” I whisper. “James doesn’t know.”
Though he doesn’t move, relief flashes across his face. “What can I do?”
I know what I want him to do. Four nights of kissing him in my sleep has left me achy and desperate for more. I don’t know whether it will help, but I’m willing to find out. I look up at him through my eyelashes, feeling embarrassed by what I’m about to ask. “Can you make me forget?”
I expect him to back me into the doorframe and kiss me senseless, but he doesn’t. Instead—after checking to make sure I have shoes on—he reaches behind me and closes the door like he did the last time we were standing in this exact spot. I take his outstretched hand and let him lead me down to his car.
When we’re five miles outside of town on the road that leads deep into the mountains, I realize he’s taking me to Leslie’s. Anger and hurt seep into my heart. Does he seriously think buying me drugs is a good idea after I watched my mother die of an overdose?
But then he turns onto a service road that takes us away from Leslie’s and down into the small valley below.
“We’re going to the river?”
“Yeah.” He smiles at me. “I thought maybe we could have a secret place. Somewhere we can spend time together without worrying about someone coming to look for us. I thought it might be nice to get away.”
My cheeks get hot, and not just because I feel like an idiot about the Leslie thing. Total seclusion, zero interruptions, and Sam. So many possibilities.
But then I realize that this is what James has wanted to do for a while now—take us away from everything—and I feel guilty for saying no so many times. When he comes home tonight, I’ll tell him I’ve changed my mind. Screw the money.
Sam pulls into what looks like a wide, pine needle-covered campsite that slopes sharply away into a fast-moving stream—one of many that wind away from the Rogue River in these hills. The trees here are thick and cast an ominous darkness over the forest around us, but the rocky ledge and the water are bathed in the beautiful morning light. I’m out of the car running toward the sunshine before Sam can cut the engine.
The slope is too steep for me to make it down in flip-flops. If I slip, I’ll land in one of the many patches of slimy moss and lichen tucked into the millions of crevices and mucking up the stones’ smooth surfaces. It’s pretty, though. Even prettier is the little deer trail that leads from the rocks through the ferns along the edge of the slope and back into the forest. I’m going to need to buy a jug of bug repellant before we come up here again.
“This is beautiful,” I breathe when Sam finally catches up.
He wraps his arms
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