“Since he lost both his wife and his son. Since I killed her.” I say it for her.
Sam’s arms hang helplessly by her sides. “It was an accident, Holden. Somewhere inside, he knows that.” She finally looks at me. “He’ll come around.”
Yeah. An accident. Like Tyler’s death was an accident.
I exhale heavily, trying to rein in my anger. I didn’t come here to fight with her. “Are you all right?”
She shrugs. “I’ve been better.”
It’s the first time she’s said a sentence to me that isn’t laced with venom. I think I’m making progress . . . .for whatever my reason is . . . until she lifts her head and her bright eyes spear me.
“You should probably leave.”
I press my lips together and nod once, hard. “Right.” I turn to go, but say over my shoulder, “Whatever you wanted, you know I could probably help you.”
There’s silence, me taking a couple of slow steps, waiting to see if she’ll respond, and her . . .
“Wait.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I pivot. Raise my eyebrows. Her face flushes, and I pretend like I still have an effect on her.
Sam bites down on her lip, thinking. And I can’t help wanting to taste that lip. To taste her. Stop, I mentally scold myself. She was my brother’s girlfriend. Especially now that he’s gone, I shouldn’t have these thoughts about her. She was always his. Will always be his.
“Do you have access to your family mausoleum?” she asks.
I squint. “What? You mean like a key to get inside?”
She nods. “Yeah.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry,” I tell her, hating being the reason her face falls. It’s such an odd question, but maybe she just wants to be closer to Tyler. “Is that what you asked my dad?”
With a huff, she turns around and starts walking. “Forget it. Never mind.”
“Sam—” I jog up beside her, matching her pace. “Just tell me what’s going on. I won’t judge.” And I won’t. No one’s lived a more screwed up existence than I have. Especially during high school. She saw me at my worst, and she still accepted me. Fuck. I need to stop thinking like that.
She stops and faces me so quickly I pull back, expecting her to slap me. But she only clears the loose black wisps from her eyes and says, “I need you to help me steal your brother’s ashes.”
So the rumors are true. I usually don’t listen to the shit this island says, but it seems for once, people know the deal. Sam has lost her mind.
I approach her with caution, slowly, like I’m walking up to a feral animal. The closer I get, the better I can see the telltale signs. The pasty complexion of her skin. The bloodshot eyes. The dark circles beneath. She looks like she hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a long time.
When I’m right before her, I look down. She hasn’t grown one inch since her freshman year. She’s just as petite and slender. I’m tempted to scoop her up and force feed her sleeping pills, then lay her down in my motel room. Just so she can get a few good hours in.
“Like I said,” I say. “I don’t judge. But what do you need them for?” She physically tenses. “I have to ask, Sam. And if I’m even going to contemplate something as batshit crazy as this, I need to know.”
Her eyes pierce me when I say crazy. Shit. Probably wrong word choice.
But with a forced exhale, she relaxes her face. “He wanted to travel across the country. It’s his regret . . . what he wants to do more than anything.”
“How do you know it’s his regret?” She said it in the present tense. The now. My skin’s tingling with little pinpricks.
Taking a step back, she p
uts distance between us. “I know it is because it’s all he ever talked about, Holden. And I want to fulfill it for him, to take him on his trip, spread some of his ashes along the way.” She shakes her head. “Just forget it.”
I see her shutting down. I feel it. And I can’t stand it. Without thought, I gain back the distance between us and say, “I’ll do it.”
I’ve lost my mind, too. But hell. I believe her. I know that Tyler always wanted to do this. He had maps plastered all over his bedroom walls. They’re probably still there. And spreading his ashes in the places that he wanted to see more than anything sounds like something he’d have asked for—if he’d been given the chance. If he’d had time to think it through.