Page 24 of Let the Light Shine Through

“What are these? What happened?”

I scoff, opening my eyes. “Life.” Life and…nope. Not happening. I’ve already ruined enough of today.

He spins me around and the concern on his face threatens to destroy me. His golden eyes scour mine, so I hide them, concentrating on the scruff on his jaw. I got to feel firsthand just how soft the thick stubble is, but after today, I doubt I’ll ever get to again.

I cup his jaw with both hands, pressing my lips to his harder than I should. Three mistakes.

“I have to leave,” I breathe against Roz’s mouth, then in the next instant, I’ve got his sweatshirt up and over my head, swiping my phone on my way out. Yeah, I’m totally stealing his clothes again, but somebody jacked my underwear. When in Rome…

I’m halfway down the driveway, dialing Rowdy when I hear my name.

Roz—still shirtless, still drool-worthy—catches up to me before I can get my phone to my ear, asking, “Where are you headed?”

Frustration laces his tone, making his voice even deeper, and I have to fight a shiver. He wants to know more than where I’m going. He wants answers. Answers he won’t know what to do with. Answers that’ll make this so much more difficult than I need it to be. What either of us needs it to be. He’s such a mess and he knows it.

But what he doesn’t know is how much bigger a mess getting attached to me would be.

Rowdy’s voice echoes through the earpiece, so I put him on speaker, keeping my gaze downcast.

Seeing that Roz didn’t even bother with shoes to run out here has me shaking my head as I ask Rowdy, “Hey, can you take—”

Roz’s finger hits the end button, disconnecting the call.

“I’ll take you.”

The persistence is unexpected but not unwelcome—surprisingly.

I suppress the smile sneaking out, telling him, “Fine.”

Four.

Twenty minutes later, wide eyes shoot my way.

“I thought I was taking you home or something. Not that I’m complaining,” Roz admits, “but, where exactly are we going?”

He’s wearing a pair of faded black jeans along with a black and red flannel he rolled up to his elbows, reminding me of the first time we met.

I point to the open gate. “Through there and to the left.”

If it wasn’t for his tie, that pop of red against his all-black suit, catching my eye, I never would’ve stepped the rest of the way inside the church that day. I don’t always crash strangers’ funerals, but when I do, I try to stick to the outskirts, so I can still watch those affected but from afar. After my mom passed away, I became fascinated with the way people handled the death of a loved one. Would their sadness muddy the rest of their lives? Or would they roll with the proverbial punches with renewed optimism? Some people smile timidly, some people weep openly. Some people don’t even know what to think, let alone how to act. How are you supposed to feel when you lose one of the most important people in your life?

In my opinion, as long as you’re feeling, you’re good.

I wasn’t planning on staying to listen to Roz, but once I heard that gravelly rasp of his stumble over his own name like he couldn’t even stand the sound of it, I was hooked. I wasn’t sure how he was dealing with the loss of his friend exactly, just that he was doing it alone—by choice. Roz was torturing himself up there on that podium, and in that moment, I couldn’t stomach leaving him to struggle. After a little prompting though, he opened up like a Parakeet showing off its new vocabulary. Just like last night. He shared a lot with me, more than I thought he would, and it was tempting to come to his rescue again. I had to remind myself I’m not his savior.

I have to remind myself I’m not his savior.

Roz parks where I tell him to but hops out, going to stand at the front of his sparkling black Silverado as he looks around at our surroundings.

What does he think he’s doing?

“Are you racing?” he asks when I finally make my way out to him and I give him a mocking frown.

“A bunch of little girls, Roz? That’s not really my style. I race men bigger than you.” I poke a finger to his chest, walking backward and saying, “Thanks for the ride,” before spinning to receive hugs from a dozen or so pint-sized girlies in riding gear a hell of a lot thicker than what I got going on this morning.

“Good morning to you, too,” I laugh as they crowd around me, jumping right into telling me all about any new tricks they’ve learned on their four-wheelers. My academy wanted me to help young women in the community, and after seeing a lot of girls with the desire to learn about four-wheelers, but not the ability or space, I volunteered to teach them. The owner of this track knew my mom from high school and I’m pretty sure had a crush on her, so he lets me do whatever I want. I store a couple quads I’ve long outgrown on site, but the rest the girls bring back and forth themselves, meaning their parents transport them since they’re all pre-tween-to-tween range.

Once I graduate, I won’t technically have to keep doing this, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to make myself stop.