Page 38 of Sunshine

“I can sleep on the floor,” Wells mutters softly, his gaze intently focused on the decorative pillows that rest against the simple pine headboard.

I turn to look at him, noting the dirt on his jeans and where it’s collected along the nape of his neck, mixed with the sweat from his exertion earlier. It’s clear his back is stiff, and I noticed at the bar he’s leaning a little more on his right leg. He’d never admit it, but he’s sore from getting thrown around on that ride today, and the floor is thelastplace he should be sleeping.

“No,” I say softly, the lightness from the beer still coursing through my veins. “It’s okay. I’ll take the floor.”

His dark gaze tracks over my face. “I’m not letting you sleep on the floor, Layla. Don’t be stubborn. Take thebed.”

I roll my eyes. “You’rethe stubborn one,” I argue, holding his stare as I square my shoulders. Twenty seconds must pass before I let out a sigh. “We can both take the bed, can’t we?” Even as the words roll off my tongue, my heart begins to pound. It’s impulsive. Reckless. A terrible idea.

Surprise splashes across his face. “Wecould. . .” He looks at the bed again, at the ordinary green comforter and white pillows. “Are you sure?” he asks, sliding those deep brown eyes back to me.

I shrug, feigning nonchalance. The regret is instantaneous, but now that the idea of sharing this bed is out there, I have to commit so I don’t risk making things more awkward. “I don’t see why not.”

He nods, the movement a little overexaggerated. I wonder if he’s just as buzzed as I am. I almost hope he is. It would ease the magnitude of what sleeping next to each other would mean.

I’m his best friend’s girl, after all.

Well, at least . . . I was.

That identity feels uncomfortable now after learning about the existence of Emma, and as I watch Wells fold himself to sit on the foot of the bed, leaning over to pull off his boots, I can’t help the question from spilling out. “How are you?”

He looks up at me, one dusty and well-worn boot clutched tightly in his hands, and something dark passes over his face. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “Howareyou?”

He drops the boot to the floor between his feet, leaving the other on as he studies the sand-colored carpet. Seconds pass, and I’m just about to walk back the question whenhe finally speaks. “I miss him so damn much.” It comes out in a whisper, and his face twists into a riot of emotions before he swipes a hand over his face, scrubbing at his jaw with the backs of his knuckles. “Today was a good distraction,” he continues, and I think he’s avoiding my gaze, looking everywhere but at me. “But . . . with you here . . .”

It’s like he’s thrown a bucket of ice-cold water directly in my face. “Youinvitedme—” I start to say, but he quickly interjects.

“No, no—god, that’s not what I meant, Layla. Fuck.” His eyes are wide as they finally find mine. “I’m glad you came,” he insists. “I wanted you to, I promise. It’s just . . .” He doesn’t finish his sentence. But he doesn’t need to.

“A reminder,” I say.

His eyes drop to my mouth before falling to my feet. “Yeah.”

I can’t say that the clarification makes me feel any better, but at least it’s honest. And honesty is something I’m a bit needy for right now, after learning that so much of what I thought was my life has been a lie. Wells isn’t normally so open about his feelings, so I appreciate that he’s trying now. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be. None of this is your fault. It’s just . . .sofucked up.” He digs the heel of his hands into his eyes, as if to block any emotion from surfacing. When he drops his hands to his lap and looks at me again, the skin around his eyes is red and his ears are flushed. “His mom came to the ranch yesterday.”

My mouth falls open. “She did?” He nods, and I suddenly feel stuck, like I’m seven years old again, playing freeze tag on the playground. It takes at least four steadyingbreaths to find my voice, but it still comes out shaky. “What did she want?”

The question sounds harsher than intended as it rolls off my tongue. As if Georgia Moore has no right to step foot on Bennett Ranch, despite her son having been there so much it was practically his second home. But for as much as Jason and Wells orbited around each other, Jason’s parents kept a safe distance from the Bennetts, just like everyone else did. I’m not even sure Wells has ever stepped inside Jason’s house. I’ve been there for dinner countless times, but I’d never once seen Wells there.

Whatever she went to the ranch for, it must have been bad because there’s no mistaking the emotion in Wells’s eyes now. They shine even under the dull light of the motel room ceiling. “She wanted to know about . . . the last few weeks, before the accident. What he was like.”

Suddenly my chest is like a vise and I can’t breathe. My legs give out from the weight of new stabs of pain pressing through me. I sink to the floor, curling in on myself, and force more deep breaths into my lungs. “Did the police find more evidence?” I finally find the bravery to ask, though I’m not confident I can handle the answer.

Wells watches me carefully but stays seated at the foot of the bed. “No. Not that I know of anyway.”

I force my eyes to meet his. “Then why?”

“She wanted to know about Emma,” he says simply. “I guess she wants to understand what might have happened. If Jason was . . . depressed.” The word hangs in the room around us, stealing all the air before he continues. “I think she was looking for answers.”

The night Jason died, there was only one set of tire markson the road where his Mustang careened off the cliff, and his blood alcohol level was twice the legal limit. If there was another car involved, there’s no proof of it. Everything seems to point to two possibilities: Jason was too impaired to drive and lost control, or he purposefully went off that cliff.

“What did you tell her?” I ask, my voice so small I hardly recognize it.

Wells straightens and finds a spot on the wall across the room to focus on. “I told her what I told you at the cabin, that I figured out he was cheating on you. That I confronted him. That I . . . that I punched him.”

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