“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck. For a moment, he looks like he wants to argue but he deflates instead, his arms going slack by his side. “Okay.”
Good or bad, my emotions always seem to ruin everything. I feel too much. I feel too little. I’m angry. I’m sad. It’s a balancing act I can’t seem to master.
Especially when Tristen sends me off-kilter with one kiss.
Stopping my retreat by the back bumper, I catch the faintest hint of a pungent odor. I inhale again, sniffing around like a bloodhound under the motorhome.Oh, no.
“Do you smell gasoline?” I ask.
Tristen sniffs the air dramatically. “No? Should I?”
“Most cases, it’s not a good sign.” Squatting down, I scan the path of the fuel line. “This better not be another leak, Gary...”
“I thought we liked Gary?”
“That remains to be seen.” My poor bruised knees complain as I crawl under the motorhome, landing on every jagged rock possible. Rain puddles soak through my denim, and mud squishes between my fingers. But I keep searching, determined to not disappoint my brother. A suspicious darkspot puddles near the middle of the camper, shimmering with chemicals on top. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
A tiny spot in the hose steadily drips gasoline through a weathered crack and splashes silently into the oversized puddle below.
Compared to the transmission leak, this one is a walk in the park to fix, especially since I packed a replacement hose in my suitcase. In about thirty minutes, I have the new piece installed and cinched tight with a brand-new hose clamp. When I get back to Rocosa, I might have to do a more thorough check so Des doesn’t have any surprises like this while he’s on the road.
I scooch out from the underbelly to signal for Tristen to start the engine again. Instant relief rushes over me when the engine roars to life.
“You did it. Now we are back down to one leak,” he says.
I swipe a glob of mud off my pants and stretch my cramped back. “I’ll have to figure out the transmission leak when the auto shop opens tomorrow.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”
“Right now, no. I have a pretty big hunch of what it could be, but it’s a soggy mess to crawl around under there. We could lose screws and bolts if we’re not careful. Maybe it will dry up some by tomorrow.”
He nods, still watching me carefully.
“You hungry? I can make some lunch if you want.”
“It’s probably for the best after the quality of the eggs this morning.”
“Right.” He hesitates for a second then heads up the steps inside the camper.
I take the moment of solitude to plop onto the picnic table and gather my thoughts. My lips tingle at the memory of our kiss. That wasn’t our first kiss, but something about it flipped a switch inside of me. One momentit was lighthearted and sweet, the next the floor dropped, and I was plunging into the unknown.
Is this a good thing or bad?I comb my fingers across my scalp, unsure of the answer.
Three days ago, I was ready to deck him for just looking at me. Now I’m tracing my lips, swooning over a kiss. Allowing myself to contemplate dating has been the furthest thing from my mind since my failed online date last year. My quick attempt to be normal resulted in meeting a creep only interested in how fast he could get me back to his place.Yuck.It makes sense why my AA sponsor recommended at least a year before dating to prevent relapsing. I’m well past that now, but the fear still lingers.
What if I rush this and doom our relationship from the start?
Tristen isn’t some guy I met online or in the club. He’s family and important to me. I want to be serious and see where this can lead. But how do I know when the time is right? How do I know when I’m healthy enough to try? I still have mood swings and anxiety attacks when I’m overstimulated.
What if Tristen doesn’t want to wait? He has a budding career in California. Where do I fit in his life in LA? Or is this him passing the time before he leaves?
Am I strong enough to survive being left behind or would it lead to a relapse?
My head snaps up, horrified. I’m terrified to find out. I shoot to my feet, already knowing where my decision lies. I pace back and forth, preparing myself even though I know the answer. My throat swells as I hold back the tears, my hands vibrating at my sides.
It’s for the best.
Before I ruin things. Before I become too attached.
