It could be my little secret that Tristen doesn’t have to know about. What might have been a joke for him is something a bit magical for me. I brush my finger across my lips, reveling in the realization that I wanted to kiss anyone again.
Here I thought my ex-boyfriend had broken me. Burns was the bad-boy tattooed troublemaker that other girls would lustfully stare at from across the room. A rock star wannabe, he cared more about the fun lifestyle than the work required to actually get a record label.
And I was this clueless girl from the mountains who fell for all his stupid lies. How he told me nobody cared about me but him. That Des was just jealous that we were out having fun without him. He was the wall between who I was before and who I wanted to be, trapping me so I never left his side.
He showed his “love” by placing shot after shot into my hand until the night was only a blur of pulsing music and strobe lights. When I passed out at Cliffys one evening and woke up in my bed with no memory of the previous evening, I realized I had a problem. I sat in the bathtub and let hot water spray over me while I cried.
And I prayed . . . for the first time since Granny died . . . for help.
That was the first time I left him. But he came back for me, as charming as ever. No matter how many times I left him, he always came back. I wasn’t brave or strong like I am now. I was... ashamed and foolishly optimistic that I could fix everything on my own. Then nobody would know how deep of a hole I’d dug for myself.
The club music was no longer beats to dance to but the background to a horror movie I couldn’t escape. When he forced me to get a tattoo on my shoulder, a brand to mark me as his forever, I finally escaped back home to Des. I didn’t deserve his forgiveness for the way I treated him or the way I abandoned him to grieve alone. But he did anyway.
Piece by piece, I started to put my life together. But Burns surprised me one last time and demanded I leave with him. With every inch of my life I fought him, even with a budding concussion. Who knows what would have happened if Tristen hadn’t saved me?
I rub my finger across my lips, barely noticing the sparse trees we pass. How different Burns’s kisses were compared to Tristen’s... even ifit was a joke.
“Reese?”
“Hmm?” I blink, resurfacing from my memories to see Tristen eyeing me over his shoulder.
“You okay? You’re a little too quiet.”
“Just tired.” I glance back out the window, hating how even the thought of Burns still sent me spiraling down a black hole.
“We’ll be there soon, okay? I’ll get you the biggest cup of coffee.”
“Okay.”
We pull off the highway at Fort Amarillo RV Park, slowing down to almost a crawl as we drive down a narrow road with monster-sized campers on either side. The early morning sun peeks up over the rows of campers, filling the sky with a golden orange. Then there at the end of the road is the small vintage motorhome Des had shown me.
“Ain’t she a beaut?” Gary says, pulling into the site.
“She’s something all right,” Tristen says and hops out of the car, opening the back door for me.
I mentally shake the last of my dark thoughts away, knowing I need to focus. This is one of the main reasons I came—to give the motorhome a thorough inspection.
Once, it might have been a pristine white, but time has yellowed it with age, especially the over-cab sleeping area. A few dings to the fiberglass siding, but nothing a new paint job can’t cover. The teal decal swishes across the sides are cracked and peeling from sun damage. Suspicious dark stains drip beneath the windows, and the seal flakes like dust at my touch. Tires are original from the factory, but amazingly still in good condition like the previous owner barely took this thing out on the road at all.
Overall, it’s in pretty good shape. Not perfect, but I didn’t expect that with its age.
But as I’ve learned the hard way, just because I can’t see aproblem doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. It just hasn’t reared its ugly head yet.
“This was my sister’s place. She’s gettin’ up in age and ain’t able to take it out like she used to. Too much stress on her knees since the surgery.” He unlocks the driver’s side door and leans in, and the hood pops open.
“Go ahead and give it a gander,” Gary says to Tristen and slams the door.
“Oh, I wouldn’t know much about that.” He points his thumb to me. “That’s why she’s here.”
“Is that so?” His bushy eyebrows rise past the brim of his ball cap.
“Yeah. She’s a really good mechanic,” Tristen says.
I try not to let the compliment go to my head. Diving under the hood, I poke around for any obvious issues and wear and tear. There’s a few shiny pieces mixed with the old, and I check the fluid levels.
“Can we turn it on? I want to verify the transmission fluid too.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He tosses me the keys, and I catch them in one hand.
