The Darkest Part (12 page)

Footsteps sound from behind me, Holden’s boots crunching the gravel. Tyler begins to fade, and it’s like a knife to my heart.

“Sam?” Holden hands me the water bottle from over my shoulder.

“Thank you.” With a steadying breath, I push to my feet, my gaze still cast on the emptiness Tyler’s presence left behind.

Once we’re back on the road, I can’t stomach the thought of reading anymore of Tyler’s memories. I know there’s something in there that’s going to test me, and I’m scared to find out what.

Pulling both feet onto the seat, I hug my legs to my rocky stomach. “How far away are we?”

Holden glances at the time. “About an hour.”

“Really?”

He chuckles. “I drive fast.”

It’s only been three and a half hours. “No shit.”

“You feeling better?”

I nod. “I think it’s just been a while since I’ve been in a car, for like, more than ten minutes. I can’t remember the last time I was on a road trip. Probably carsick.”

He turns down the volume on the stereo even further. “Rachel mentioned that you don’t drive anymore.”

Of course she did. Along with telling Mr. Marks (who I don’t think I can ever be around again—not without taking a bat to his head) every detail of my medical history, my mother’s also been talking to Holden. She doesn’t know what happened between us. Just thinks he’s a friend, my boyfriend’s brother, and our neighbor. I wish she didn’t gossip so much. But I guess it’s just part of living on the island. People can’t help themselves.

And that’s why Tyler had to be so secretive. I can’t imagine how scared he was as a boy. Terrified of what his father would do to him if anyone ever found out.

I run my palms over my thighs, my hands shaky. “I’ve been having panic attacks.”

He nods like he gets it, and I wonder if he does. After all what his father did to him and put him through, I can’t imagine what he’s suffered. What he still must be suffering. The long-term effects of abuse.

Tyler wrote that Holden, being the older sibling, always tried to divert their father’s attention, always tried to take the blows for his brother. So he got the worst of it for a long time. Now all of Holden’s issues in school—the fighting, failing a grade, the vandalism, the drugs—make sense. He needed an outlet for his rage.

And their mother? How did Shannon cope? The journal says she was beaten, too. Not to the degree the boys were, but enough for Tyler to write about her getting hit. I can’t help wondering if any of Holden’s rage was directed toward her—the woman who was supposed to love her kids more than anything, but who didn’t protect them. Or if he just felt helpless against it all.

I look over at Holden. Study the strong profile of his face. His tight grip on the steering wheel. The furrow between his eyebrows. Fighting the urge to ask him questions I know he’ll refuse to answer, I force my gaze away. Regardless, I’ve opened Pandora’s Box, and there’s no closing it.

In just under an hour, we’re pulling into a Best Western near the Talladega Superspeedway.

“We’ll check in first, then if you want, watch a race. Or we can do that tomorrow if you’re not feeling it.”

“I’m up for it,” I say. “I think getting out in the fresh air will be better than sitting in a hotel room.” My mouth pulls into a tight-lipped smile. It feels off, like I’m trying to force myself to be polite because of what I now know. This complicates so much. I need to get my mind off of his past,
our
past, their father. Everything.

After he parks and we grab our bags, we head toward the entrance. There’s nothing special about the hotel; it’s like every roadside hotel I’ve ever seen. But just the fact that I’m so far away from home makes it seem more exciting.

Once we’re at the check-in counter, Holden looks at me and raises his eyebrows. “Two rooms?”

My mouth pops open. “I, uh. Yeah. I’ll get mine. You can get yours.” I pull out my small cross-body bag from my pack, but he waves his hand.

“I got you.” He turns his attention to the portly blond woman behind the counter. “Two rooms, single beds. Next door to each other, if you have them.”

“Holden,” I say. “I can pay for my own.”

He doesn’t respond. Just hands over his credit card to the woman when she tells him she has two available rooms next door to each other.

“Fine. I’ll get it the next time.”

His lips twitch into a slight smile. “Just take your room key.”

As we walk through the hallway toward our rooms, I say, “You didn’t have to do that. This trip was last minute for you, so I don’t mind paying for stuff.”

“I’m not a broke hoodlum, as hard as that is to believe.” He glances at the numbers along the doors and stops when he reaches ours. “I have some money saved. And besides, I cost you your train ticket. I’m sure it wasn’t cheap.”

I tilt my head. “True, but still. It was unexpected. I’m sure you don’t want to spend your savings on me.”

Slipping his key card into the reader, he says, “I’ve got a good job and I’ve never taken any of my vacation time. I’m due for some time off, and I have plenty to blow.” He tosses his bag into the room, then he looks at me and extends his hand. “Let me check out your room first.”

I feel my forehead crease. “For what?”

“Monsters.” He winks.

Holden

The Best Western kicks the shit out of The Island Getaway Inn. I haven’t been in a decent bed, meaning mine, since I left my apartment in Atlanta. Stretching out, I toe off my boots and tuck my hands behind my head.

The gauze bandaging my left hand is loose and annoying. I go ahead and remove it and inspect the cut. It’s red and sore, but healed over. Thinking of Sam’s tee tucked into my bag, still stained with my blood, I feel my brow crease. I don’t know why I kept it. With a heavy exhale, I put my hands back behind my head and close my eyes, hoping to get some rest before Sam and I head out.

Spending four and a half hours with someone isn’t a huge ordeal. Spending four and half hours with someone closed up in the cab of a truck? A whole other story. I have a feeling by the end of this trip, Sam and I are either going to work through our issues or want to kill each other.

Maybe both.

Unable to turn off my brain, I reach for my phone on the nightstand and pull up the browser. I Google the Talladega Superspeedway and click the first link for their website. Scrolling through the site, I find their number and jot it down with the pen and notepad next to me.

Performing these mindless actions keeps me from thinking about what I witnessed after Sam got sick on the side of the highway. She was having a conversation with an invisible person. I stood there, water bottle in hand, battling a mix of confusion and fright. I’ve never dealt with someone who suffers from delusions, or psychosis. I’m not sure I’m capable of handling it right.

So I didn’t handle it. I ignored it. That’s easier than asking questions.

It would only make an already stressed situation that much more strained and complicated. I doubt she wants to divulge the information, anyway.

I didn’t dive into this completely unprepared, though. Before I tracked her down at the train station, I contacted Rachel and asked for all the sordid details of Sam’s condition. What her doctor suggested would be the best way to behave around her, and what to do in case of an emergency. I’m sure Sam would be furious if she knew I’d talked to her mom about it behind her back, but desperate times and such. I don’t want to chance anything with Sam.

Glancing at my bag, I remind myself that I have a backup plan if things get bad. I just hope I don’t have to resort to it—that this trip will help her overcome her grief, and her mind can heal. Maybe she needs to be able to say goodbye to Tyler on her own terms. Or maybe she just needs to release whatever guilt she’s harboring over his death.

As much as I miss my brother, I’ve let him go. That’s not to say I’m not battling my own demons. I’ve dealt with all the regret and anger and frustration . . . but not always in a healthy way. The first two months after his death were the hardest. Harder even than dealing with my mother’s. But now, right this minute, I’m burying my guilt. As long as the world accepts that Tyler was killed by a hit-and-run, I can move on.

I have to.

I should’ve tried harder to be there for Sam, though. I knew she was struggling, but I let her push me away. I let her, because it was easier to avoid. But I’m here now. And as difficult and painful as it is to be around her, I’ll deal. If she needs me to take the guilt so she can free her mind of
her
demons, I can do that.

I’ve locked mine up in my nightmares where they can torment me, but I’m not haunted. Not afraid my brother will appear.

Maybe I should be.

I blow out a heavy breath and dial the number to the speedway. We need to have some fun. Stat.

I haven’t stopped since I hung up with the guy from the speedway. Screw rest. I don’t want to see the disappointment in Sam’s eyes.

Working up my courage, I knock on her room door.

After a few seconds, “Who is it?”

I told her to keep the door bolted after I checked that there were no creepers hanging out in her room. I’ve watched those shows; I know the deal. Of course she just rolled her eyes. Obviously, she’s watched them, too.

“Me.”

She unlocks the door and fans a hand, welcoming me in. As I walk past, I inhale the scent of strawberries and something else, some kind of girly fragrance. It’s the smell of her body wash and shampoo. I smelled it the whole way here and it drove me crazy. It’s even stronger now. Her hair’s wet and combed straight over her shoulders, and she’s dressed in a simple black tee and yoga pants that hug her hips and thighs nicely.

Her eyes narrow as she notices the laptop tucked under my arm.

“Good and bad news,” I say, setting my computer on the bed. “It’s the off season. We won’t be able to catch a race, but they said there’s a practice run tomorrow, and visitors can watch.”

She crosses her arms as her lips purse into a tight frown, and I can’t help but notice she’s not wearing a bra.
Shit
. Clearing my throat, I look away.

“What’s the computer for?” She walks to the bed and sits, pulling her legs up to block my view of her chest. Good.

“I downloaded
Talladega Nights
. Thought since we can’t catch a race, we could watch the inspiration for this stop.”

She smiles, and warmth prickles beneath my breastbone. I haven’t seen a sincere smile from her in years. I forgot how her lips curved, revealing the tiny dimple beside her mouth. I immediately want to make her smile again.

“And”—I jog to the door and grab the pile of food I left in the hallway—“dinner. Or vegging out food. Whichever you prefer.” I hold up the Chinese takeout and the grocery bag of junk food I picked up from the store across the street.

“Wow,” she says. “And you accomplished all this while I was in the shower.”

“You apparently take really long showers.”

A hint of red touches her cheeks, and she reaches out. “Give up the chocolate.”

Digging through the plastic bag, I find the Hershey bars and the Pepto-Bismol. I hand her both. She looks at the medicine, her eyes studying the label. “Thanks.”