“Crud. Is that clock right?” Reese takes a long swig from her mug. “I’m cutting it close.”
“Yep. Traffic was worse than I thought.”
I pull into the line for drop offs and hesitate. Now that I got her here, I don’t want her to go.
“Do you have your check-in information on you?” I ask, the prickle of worry tickling the back of my neck.
“It’s in the app. Don’t worry, I sent the tracking link to Des so he can keep an eye on me. Did you need me to send it to you too?”
“Yes, that would be smart.”
She rolls her eyes. “I was joking.”
“I wasn’t.” I hold up my phone and tilt it back and forth. “Send it.”
“So bossy.” She taps her thumbs quickly on the phone, muttering under her breath. “Happy?”
My phone buzzes with a text from Reese. “For now.”
Her phone alarm rings in her pocket.
“Oh, shoot, look at the time.” She grabs her backpack and bolts from the vehicle. She’s already dragging the suitcase out of the truck bed before I can cut the engine.
“Let me do it,” I say, jogging to catch it as she tosses it off the side of the vehicle. It clanks suspiciously as it slams into the cement. “What is in there?”
“Tools. I’m staying the night at a campground inAmarillo, and I don’t want to be twiddling my thumbs. Don’t tell Lewis I borrowed a few things.”
“I think the man will notice some missing tools.”
“Maybe. It’s only two days. The shop is closed for Labor Day weekend, and Lewis won’t return from his fishing cabin until late Sunday. It will be fine.”
I grab the handle and lift it upright. Her hand brushes mine as she takes it, and that warm tingly sensation shoots up my skin at the contact.
“Thanks, Tris. Even though it was a bumpy ride and I thought I might die at one point, it was definitely more fun than I’ve had in a while.”
“So, more of a two-star Uber?”
She barks out a laugh and nods. “Yeah. Something like that.”
The dark streets bustle with commuters. Doors of the vehicles behind us open and close, mixing with the muffled chatter of conversations. But even in the commotion, neither of us move. We are standing so close. Odd how before she was desperate to flee, and now she seems rooted in place.
“You’re gonna miss the bus,” I say reluctantly.
Snapped out of her trance, she slings her backpack over her shoulder and grabs her coffee.
I tuck my hands in my pockets, confused at the sudden urge to hug her goodbye.
“Okay, then. See ya,” she says, shifting the weight of the bag so she can grab the suitcase handle.
“I’ll be watching you.”
“Uhh... not weird at all.” She starts to back away, her lips twisting.
“On the tracking app you sent me. I’ll be watching your progress.”
“I knew what you meant,” she jokes. Winking, she turns to head to the station’s entrance.
I’m seated back in my truck when the guilt hits me like a freight train. My stomach cramps at the thought of her riding that bus alone. All the weirdos that will be around her. Someone needs to go with her. I need to go with her.
