Page 23 of Memories of Us

“Then do. Consider it payment for helping me. And it was a bit selfish too. I was fucking hot.”

“Fancy pants,” I joked with a wink.

“I've been in rougher conditions in Afghanistan, but here, stateside, if I can help not being balls hot, I'll do whatever I can to be comfortable.”

“Yeah, I needed to shower earlier. I had total sweaty ass from the hot drive out here.”

“You’re telling me you had swamp ass.”

“Yeah, I guess, if that’s the technical term.”

“Wow, the shit you say, woman,” he grumbled and looked out the window, almost like he was trying to hide his chuckle. “Come on, let's go get my clothes now.”

“Where did you get those?” I asked as I carefully backed out using the backup camera. Damn. Maybe with this I could parallel park.

“Found them in my closet. Guess I've gained some weight since the last time I was out at the ranch. These things are damn tight.”

“You don't hear me complaining,” I mumbled to the window.

At a stoplight, I fiddled with the stereo, programming my favorite stations.

“Do you have the awful dying cat singer albums on your phone?” I nodded while shooting him the evil eye, which made him chuckle. “I couldn't salvage your tape, but this truck has Bluetooth, so you can stream the songs directly from your phone.”

That time I nodded with a wide grin instead of the death glare.

“You haven't stopped smiling,” he said, drawing my attention to the fact.

“It's the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. How could I not smile like an idiot?”

“Surprised previous boyfriends hadn't done it. That truck wasn't safe.”

“First of all, no comment on the boyfriend part. Second, not everyone has enough cash sitting around to buy a truck for a friend.”

“Friend,” he mused with a lingering look at my chest.

“Eyes up here, B. And it's how we started originally.” I shrugged and gripped the wheel tighter as the memories roared back to life.

His smile fell. “Did I never... was I good to you?”

I waited for a block or two to carefully choose my response. “We were kids, Brenton. But yeah, when you were sober, you were great.”

“And when I wasn't?”

“You were gone. The Brenton I loved was hidden, stuffed inside this blank stare. You were never bad to me, but those times when you were high, it slayed me.”

Silence fell as I backed into a parking spot. Leaving the truck running, I swiveled in the seat to reach across the large console and grabbed his forearm. His despondent stare shifted from the side window to where our skin connected.

“What happened? Tell me. I deserve to know.”

My smile fell. “You're the one who forgot. You don't deserve shit.”

Frustrated at the mix of emotions all this remembering conjured up, I stormed out of the truck and marched to the store door only to see the closed sign through the glass. I cursed at my watch. Another thirty minutes until they opened.

Turning to tell Brenton, I kept turning, not finding him directly behind me. I looked back to the truck and saw him still sitting in the passenger seat. When our eyes met, he smiled and gave an exaggerated point to his watch.

Bastard.

Defeated, I shuffled back to the truck and slid into my seat.

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