“That putz.”
I blinked away the tiny lights, zoning in on the voice that had spoken to me. He held a red cup in his hand and had it pointed at Ace, who stared at me. Even though I tried to avoid him at school, during life in general, he always found me. He’d make eye contact, smile, give me a two-finger salute, and then walk away.
“No,” I said. “He’s just someone I pass in the halls at school.”
The voice laughed. “How are you, dancin’ Scarlett?”
In the glow of the fire, I searched his face. He had handsome features, in the classical sense. Everything was where it should be, the exact shape it should be, and the perfect size to enhance said shape. Intrigue was not the reason I searched though. I couldn’t place him. Then he smiled.
“Travis? Travis Becker?”
“Dancin’ Scarlett!”
I jumped off the bed of the truck and into his open arms. He spun me around for a moment before he set me down.
“Look at you!” He held me out, looking me up and down. “You’re even prettier than I remember.”
“How long has it been?” I said, an honest smile coming to my face.
“I left the summer after Elliott died.”
“That’s right.” I nodded. “What have you been up to?”
Travis had been one of Elliott’s “smart” friends, as my mother had called his group. She had urged Elliott to socialize with them more often, but Elliott had a daring heart, and his close friends represented that.
As he began to tell me about his new life out in the world, Travis and I took a seat on the edge of Mitch’s truck, facing each other. He had been accepted into medical school at Harvard. Cambridge winters and how harsh they were seemed to be the biggest topic on his mind.
“That’s wonderful, Travis,” I said, smiling at him when he took a breather.
“It’d be nice to have someone warm like you to hang out with.” He touched my leg. “Enough about me. Are you still dancing?”
“Yes, I—” I was sidetracked by Brando’s arrival. He had somehow slipped in and stood next to me, watching Travis.
Travis hadn’t noticed him either, not until my eyes drew upward and his attention followed.
“Brando!” Travis jumped from the truck bed, the absence of his weight making it lift. “How are you, man?”
Travis offered Brando his hand and they shook. It wasn’t as personal as the one-arm man hug that Brando and the Lewis brothers gave to each other from time to time; more civil.
“Travis.” Brando nodded. “I’m good.”
The conversation steered toward them. Travis asked Brando about college—where he had decided to go, what he was majoring in. My cheeks felt hot and my eyes found my fingers when Brando told him he had turned down all of the scholarships offered and was working at the oil refinery.
Brando didn’t seem to have a problem with it; neither did I. There was no shame in an honest day’s work. But I felt guilty whenever the topic veered in that direction. All of his potential had been wasted on a cause not worth sacrificing for.
“Oh.” Travis sounded surprised. He put his hands in his pockets. “That’s, um—that sounds good, man.”
“Yeah. It’s honest work.” Brando watched him, wariness in his stance. He took my hand to help me from the truck, and I naturally gravitated closer to his side. His hand snaked around my waist, his hand settling on my hip, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. It was, to us.
Travis’s gaze lingered over our connected hands longer than necessary, in my opinion. Then in a move almost comical, his eyebrows shot up to his forehead and his eyes widened.
“You and Scarlett?” Judging by the shocked look on his face, he didn’t mean the verbal vomit, but the words were out there.
“Yeah, me and Scarlett,” Brando said, his tone flat.
“Lucky, isn’t that what Elliott used to call you?” Travis asked.
“Seven.” Brando grinned. It didn’t seem all that amiable, but then again, what circulated under the surface was mine to feel.
