Page 59 of The Pieces We've Lost

“You totally are!”

“Okay, fine. Maybe a little bit. But it’s normal! I mean, people have super irrational fears, and flying, I don’t think, is that irrational,” he rambled.

“Relax, Sparky. I get it.” He was kind of cute when he was flustered. “Not everyone can be fearless like me.” I winked before I grabbed my suitcase off the conveyor belt.

“All right, this is it.” I gestured to my bag.

“Let’s get out of here, shall we?” he suggested.

We walked out of the airport and immediately the air felt much colder than what I was used to. It might have been nearing the sixties in Bozeman, but Houston was probably somewhere in the eighties.

A shiver went down my spine, and I shuddered.

“What’s wrong, Texas? Not used to this weather?” Colter nudged me as we walked.

“No, Montana, I’m not.” I nudged him back, initiating a war between our elbows.

“Don’t worry. I can provide enough warmth for the both of us.” He winked.

What is that supposed to mean?I ignored his comment, and a few hundred feet later we were at his pickup.

“All right, are you ready for this little road trip?” he asked.

“This’ll be the real test of our friendship, won’t it?” My eyes widened a little at the thought of being in the car, with Colter Carson, forfour hoursin a place I was completely unfamiliar with.It’s really not a problem.

“Friendship? If that’s what this is, then I’m not sure I have very many friends.” Colter winked at me, causing my face to turn red from my choice of words.

We had been in the car for the past three and a half hours and surprisingly our conversation never stalled. It seemed like we would never run out of things to talk about; the topics just flowed into one another.

One moment, we could be talking about country music, and then the next, we’d be talking about Nashville and the favorite places we had traveled to.

“What’s your favorite country song?” he asked me.

“‘Amarillo by Morning’ is one of my favorites. I still can’t believe it never made it to number one. It has to be one of the best,” I answered. “What’s yours?”

“You know that one song? The one that has all of the elements of a perfect country and western song? That one.”

“Really?” I was surprised.

“Nah, not really. I mean it does embody country music, though. It talks about drinking, pickups, and prison.”

“Ah, yes. And don’t forget his mother.” I chuckled, thinking about the song. The first time I heard it I had to rewind it to make sure I was hearing everything right.

“Did you listen to theGreaseplaylist I sent you?” His tone suddenly turned serious, like he was a teacher and I was his student.

“Was I supposed to?”

“You’re killing me, Ellison. Yes! That was the whole point of me sending it to you. I can’t be the only one singing the songs when we watch the movie, I’ll get embarrassed.” He jutted his lip out and gave me the sad puppy dog eyes.

“I’m sure your ego can handle it.”

“Actually, you know what. We still have forty minutes or so. I’ll turn it on now.” He reached for his phone to switch the music from the ’90s country playlist we were currently listening to.

“Great.”

What have I gotten myself into?

Forty minutes, and a bad rendition of “Greased Lightning,”later, we pulled into Silver Creek. The townitself was tiny. I didn’t know if you could even consider it a town, or just a cluster of houses and farms out in the middle of nowhere. Colter’s place was on the edge of it, but close enough that you could consider the other houses his neighbors, even though they weren’t close together like some of the cookie cutter styles back home.

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