Free In Honor by Jessi Kirby Page B

knew that on the other side, I’d keep moving, like he had said.
    I was pretty sure he knew too, because when we let go of each other, he stood there looking at me the way you look at something you wish you could have but know you really can’t. He smiled at me, sad, in the warm morning light, and we were one of those songs that talk about a missed moment or chance that you go back and think about over and over, wondering, What if?
    He straightened his shoulders and shook the disappointment from his smile. “Well . . . we should maybe get back . . . before your good ol’ boy wakes up and thinks you ran off with me or something.” He held my eyes a long moment. Long enough to be an invitation.
    “Wouldn’t want him to think that.” I sighed, wishing for a second I could accept. And then I just stood there. I didn’t want to move from where we were or go back to Rusty or leave here with one of those “what if” moments to wonder about down the road—literally. Instead, I took a step into Wyatt, stood once again on my tiptoes, and kissed him lightly on surprised lips that took a heartbeat to catch up. It didn’t last more than a few seconds, but when we pulled back and smiled shyly at each other, it felt a little more like a sweet conclusion than a missed chance.
     
    That sweetness lasted even after we exchanged phone numbers, promises to keep in touch, and more than one lingering hug. It lasted right up until I ducked through the trail in the bushes between our campsites. And then it ended abruptly. Just as I saw Rusty leaning shirtless into the open hood of the Impala. He stood casually at the sound of my footsteps, and I felt myself tense up with irritation as he wiped the grease from his hands on his balled-up shirt. He eyed me a moment, then shut the hood, hard.
    “Mornin’.”
    He said it just like nothing. Just like he hadn’t been a total ass the night before, just like he figured I’d forgiven him and all was well. He didn’t even ask how the dive was or if I was okay. Which made me even more angry. I’d expected him to be asleep still when I got back, or maybe awake and wondering when I’d be back, feeling bad for what he’d said the night before. Instead, he was up, showered, and indifferent. I walked past him without saying anything and leaned into the driver’s side to pop the trunk.
    “When’s the last time you got this thing a tune-up?” He leaned against the hood, squinting into the sun.
    I ignored him and huffed back to the trunk, pulled out underwear, a tank top, and a pair of cutoffs. And socks, too, for under my boots. I didn’t want to give him anything to complain about. Then I ducked behind the open trunk and rearranged my towel so I could change beneath it.
    Rusty raised his voice over the trunk. “Looks like it’s been awhile. You’re lucky nothing’s gone wrong.” His words left off, and I heard the unmistakable crunch of boots over dirt as he came back to where I was changing. “You listenin’?” I yanked my top over my head and pulled it down, lightning quick, before I dropped the towel.
    “Oh.” He stopped short as I smoothed my shorts over my legs.
    I rolled my eyes, then leveled them right at him. “I heard you, Rusty. And yeah, it’s probably been a while, but it’s not the car that something’s gone wrong with, it’s you.” My voice came out icy. “Actually, it’s all wrong, if you haven’t noticed. See . . . my brother’s dead. Oh, wait—you reminded me of that last night in front of everyone.” Something like confusion, or shock, spread over his face, and I stepped right up into it, strengthened by his reaction. I lowered my voice. “But. My brother, who used to be your best friend, sent me this letter and these tickets, and now I’m on this trip, which wouldn’t be so bad, except for . . . you .” He flinched, and I took a step back, losing a little of my bluster. I looked at the ground and hoped he couldn’t see that I’d gone from shaking