Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Tiny grins.
Exaggerated eye rolls.
Her lips at my ear.
Her fingers clenching my shirt when we kiss.
I’ll miss her.
“Where are your keys? I’ll check over your Jeep now,” I say, stepping out of my truck. I fully anticipate her “you don’t have to” response.
Instead, she totes her skateboard to the shed and returns with her Jeep keys just as I open the garage door.
“Thank you,” she murmurs without making eye contact.
“You’re welcome.” I take her keys and wait for her to look at me, but she doesn’t.
She strides back to the shed, the wind catching her hair and exposing her tattoo. It fucking slays me.
I give up on her looking back at me, but at the last second, she does. I should look away, but I can’t. I should say something, but I won’t. The thread of stubbornness woven into my DNA is too strong. She turns first, disappearing into the shed. Does that make her the weak one? Or does it make me the weak one for being unable to look away or say anything?
Does it matter?
Chapter Twenty-Four
JAYMES
“I’m not going to cry,” Maren says in a high-pitched voice like she’s afraid to breathe.
“You are.” Will snickers while loading my suitcase, skateboard, and box from my mom.
“Fine. I am.” Maren hugs me.
I can’t stop my tears but quickly wipe my cheeks when she releases me.
“You’re welcome back here anytime, even if it’s just on the sofa for a few nights.” Will wraps me in his arms.
I nod several times, emotion clogging my throat.
“It sucks Fitz couldn’t be here.” Maren sticks out her pouty lip. “But he said he told you goodbye already.”
He did not.
I return a reassuring smile. “I’m overjoyed that I managed to catch both of you at home on my last day here.” I fan myself, feeling warm from the summer heat and my restrained emotions.
“What’s that?” Maren’s head cocks to the side, stepping closer to me while I absentmindedly pull my hair off my sweaty neck.
I quickly drop my hands to my sides and narrow my eyes. “What’s what?”
Maren slides my hair away from my neck, sending my heart into a frenzy. “When did you get this tattoo? Have you had this ever since you’ve been here?”
I rub the back of my neck. “Yes.” I force a laugh that I’m not sure sounds believable.
“How have I never noticed it?”
I shrug. “In all fairness, I rarely wear my hair up. I’m not sure why I even got a tattoo there. Oh, that’s right . . .” I face-palm. “A drunken afternoon with my friend.”
“What did you get?” Will tries to see my neck.
I reluctantly lift my hair again for two seconds.
“Who is he?” Maren’s eyebrows form two perfect peaks. She and Will share the same look of excitement, like I’m on the verge of sharing some juicy details.
“Just a guy.”
“You don’t get a tattoo for ‘just a guy.’” Distrust lines Maren’s face. “You must have loved him a lot to ink yourself.”
“I was intoxicated.”
“Who in their right mind would tattoo someone who was intoxicated?” Will’s head jerks backward.
I frown. “I thought the same thing. It’s a miracle I didn’t die.”
“I think it’s romantic.” Maren smirks. “Risking it all to make a permanent statement about someone because you can’t imagine not carrying a reminder of them with you forever.”
Will bites his lips with a slow headshake.
Maren elbows him. “You wouldn’t understand that level of romance.”
“Getting drunk and making stupid decisions? I excel at that level of romance. And he’s clearly not still hers, so can we really say it’s romantic?”
I almost forget they’re talking about me. I’ll miss this banter with my roommates. The laughter. The camaraderie.
“It was stupid but not regrettable. If that makes sense,” I interrupt.
“It makes perfect sense,” Maren agrees.
Will rubs his chin, not as convinced as Maren.
I climb into my Jeep. “I’ll check in. This is not goodbye; it’s a see you later.” I blow them a kiss and shut the door before Maren’s next round of tears and before I let thoughts of Calvin Fitzgerald back into my consciousness.
It takes me three days to get to San Bernardino. Three soul-searching days of breathtaking scenery and summer heat mixed with refreshing dips in pristine lakes and delightful conversations with strangers along the way.
Idaho.
Utah.
Nevada.
California.
This girl who never left Florida is making great strides to rectify that regrettable situation.
As I keep track of fires, closures, and detours, I think of Calvin Fitzgerald jumping out of planes, cutting lines, sawing trees, and trekking through the wilderness with over a hundred pounds of gear in the stifling heat of summer.
A true warrior.
Does he think of me?
Will he miss me?
I know my heart will unavoidably carve time out to miss him every day for the foreseeable future. Maybe I should be angry, but I’m not. The emotions born from any kind of trauma are unique to everyone. And how one person deals with it can be as personal as their DNA. I only have empathy toward him.