I cut Dex a wary glance. He seemed cool, calm, like a bored cabdriver, and it made me more insecure about everything. Howwas he so aggressively fine with this? Strangers on an almost three-thousand-mile journey across the country in a car—it would take at least a week to get there, and Phoebe had a list of stops she was campaigning for, and goodlord, what were wedoing.
Oh, this was bad. In my desperation to cheer up my sister, I let her steer us right off the ledge of a cliff. I would die in a crumpled heap before breaking Phoebe’s heart. That didn’t make me a decent guardian—it made me a coward.
“So, I have this idea,” Phoebe said, popping up between the center console. I gasped out loud, my heart making a decent attempt to separate from my chest. Dex glanced at me, brows knitting together.
“You good?” he said. I rubbed my chest.
“What kind of idea?”
“Weeell,” Phoebe said, dragging the word out long enough for Dex’s fingers to tighten against the wheel, “I think by the time we’ve been on the road a couple hours, we’re gonna need a break, right? And what better way to take a break than with cotton candy and roller coasters?” Dex was already shaking his head, but Phoebe remained unruffled. “Coney Island is basically on our route! I’ve always wanted to go! It’s literally my dream.”
“We’re not stopping four hours into the drive,” Dex deadpanned. “Especially for Coney Island.”
“Excuse you, Coney Island is amazing.”
“You just said you’ve never been.”
“My dad went all the time when he was a kid,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “He used to tell us stories about cutting school to go to Coney Island with his friends. He was supposed to take me someday.”
My heavy heart could’ve crashed right through the bottom of Dex’s car. “Bee—”
“Don’t,” she snapped. I dropped my gaze to my lap, stung. “This isn’t a pity thing. I’m not trying to manipulate him into stopping. I’m being opportunistic. We’re driving right through New York, right? So, this is my chance to go to Coney Island.” She drew back into her seat, folding her arms over her chest. “Please.”
My hands were bloody from Phoebe’s barbed wire attitude, yet her suggestion of Coney Island sang to me. For our dad, sure, but also the fact that a four-hour trip was considerably more palatable than a week; I could survive four hours to Brooklyn and make the decision to turn around, or keep going for the next four hours. A coping mechanism from those first days after losing my dad, repurposed for a new mountain to climb. Back then, I’d lie in bed and think,I just have to make it until morning.
I took a steadier breath.Four hours.
“Coney Island’s a good idea,” I said to Dex. Phoebe scoffed, mistaking this as ass-kissing. “I think you’re the kind of guy who could use a corn dog.”
“I’d prefer if you didn’t think about what kind of guy I am.”
“How am I not supposed to think about you? You’re five inches away from me.”
“Do you think about the people around you in the grocery store?”
“Yeah? All the time.”
Phoebe popped up between us again. “Sometimes we come up with bizarro backstories for them,” she said, grinning. Immediately, the air didn’t seem so stifling. “We made our dad pee his pants once.”
“See?” I tossed Dex a victorious smile. “It’s normal.”
“This doesn’t have to be a bonding moment,” he replied, keeping his eyes locked on the road. “We can be three people traveling together. End of.”
I studied his profile for a moment, taking in the way his dark hair curled over his ear and his stubble snaked down his throat. A profile worthy of being sculpted by Michelangelo himself. I knew so little about this man, but I knew he was once sick with love and it had nowhere to go, literally stamped and returned. I felt that so hard. All the love I had for my dad swirling around like storm clouds without rain. All the love I had for my sister, thrown back in my face.
I had that feeling, an inkling we were the same somehow. He must’ve felt it, too. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have offered a bit of comfort when I fell apart in front of him; not after what brought us together.
“But we’re not,” I said. His hands flexed against the wheel.
“We’re friends,” Phoebe piped up, punching his shoulder for emphasis.
“We’re not friends.”
“Why would you invite us on a road trip if we’re not friends?”
“You invited yourself.” His phone buzzed in the cupholder, the screen flashing with a call fromMom. He ignored the call and flipped it over, screen facing down. “If we were on a plane, you wouldn’t make small talk with the other passengers.”
“Yes, I would. That’s so normal,” I interjected. “But we’re not on a plane. We’re traveling across the country together in a car and you’re telling me we shouldn’t get to know each other even a little?”
