“Couldn’t sleep?” I ask.
“No.” His knee bounces, making the Jeep shake.
“Me neither.” I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. “I fell asleep for a little while. But I had a weird dream.”
“About what?”
I think about lying, but I don’t have the energy. “When I was thirteen. That thing with Rachel and Chase Henderson.”
He goes still. I’m sure he remembers. He has the memory of an elephant.
“You called me spineless,” I say.
“I said ‘no backbone.’” The corner of his mouth shifts. “Different thing.”
“It really isn’t.”
He looks back out at the road, and his knee starts back up. “I shouldn’t have said it like that.”
It’s the closest thing to an apology I’ve gotten from him in years. Maybe ever. It does something to my chest.
“You weren’t wrong, though,” I say.
He’s quiet. No argument, no comeback. I’ll take it.
I stare at the trees, wondering if I should mention Ella’s texts. I want to. I intend to. But I don’t think now’s the time. I’ve been carrying the weight of them since yesterday and it’s killing me. I don’t want Knox to have that burden. Not yet, at least. Not until we get through Owen’s funeral.
Night settles around us. It’s peaceful here next to him. Not uncomfortable, like sitting in silence would be with some people. It feels natural. For the first time in a while, I’m not thinking about the accident.
I should probably brace myself for Knox to do or say something hurtful again. That’s the pattern. Warmth and then the rug pulled out. I know better than to let my guard down completely.
But he’s quiet for a long stretch, and when his knee stills, I turn to him.
“Do you ever think about that summer?” He pauses, looking out toward the road more than at me. “Before your dad’s arrest.”
My breath catches.
“Yeah,” I say. “I think about it all the time.’
He nods slowly.
“I think about what would have happened if he never…” He stops, squeezing his fists together. “If things were different.”
The words hang in the night air between us. I don’t breathe.
There are a hundred ways I could respond. So many things I could say that would either shut him down or crack this conversation wide open. I feel the options all lined up inside me, pressing against my teeth.
“I do too,” I say, so quiet it’s almost a whisper.
He turns to look at me. His gaze is so intense—the way it was on the ride, the way it was when we spoke alone at Wonder World, the way he’s been watching and stopping himself from watching for years. But now, in the dark, at 2 AM, he looks completely unguarded and it’s…a lot to take in.
I stare at his lips. Picturing the way they felt on me yesterday. The pull to touch him is so strong, I’m almost shaking.
He sees it. Of course he does.
His eyes drop to my mouth for just a second before he looks away, grinding his teeth, and staring somewhere over my shoulder into the night. The muscle in his throat moves as he swallows.
“Sawyer.”
