Page 19 of Under Pink Skies

I rolled my eyes, tossing my duffle bag into the passenger seat before slamming the driver’s side door of my Chevy. I turned to face Kam, leaning against the side of the car.

“Yes, Mom, I packed extra underwear.”

Kameron was beaming. “Good lad.”

I laughed, which helped uncoil some of the tightness in my chest.

“You’re sure you don’t want to blow that guy off and come to Watford with Lucas and me instead?”

Kameron’s smile was strained, and I could only imagine why. Yesterday evening, Kam got a phone call from someone who seemed to shake him to his core. I couldn’t remember ever seeing Kam so rattled. He told me that someone he knew long ago needed his help and would be arriving at Winding Road later this afternoon.

I knew better than to ask too many questions, but I could sense Kam’s unease. I’d offered to call off the entire Watford trip to stay here with him and help him through whatever craziness might unfold, but he’d waved off my concerns and told me there was no way in hell I was getting out of it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and I gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t worry about it,” a chipper voice said from behind me, and I barely held back an eye roll. “I’ll keep Harvey company. We’ll have good times.”

Kameron was clearly biting back a laugh.

I pressed my lips together in a thin line. “Thebest.”

Lucas threw his weekend bag in the cab of my truck, and I gave Kameron one more pleading glare, which he answered with a smirk of his own.

“You boys have fun. But not too much fun. You’re there to work.”

“Will do, Dad,” Lucas said airily, then hopped in the passenger seat, letting the door of my truck—mybaby—slam shut. I winced.

“Be careful this weekend, and call me if you need anything,” I said to Kam, who nodded his thanks.

“I will. And Connor?”

I looked over my shoulder to meet his eyes.

“Thank you,” Kameron said quietly. He didn’t need to specify.

I slipped into the front seat of Lucy, my ‘87 blue Chevrolet, and some of the tightness in my shoulders eased.

“This is a nice truck,” Lucas said almost reverently. “Like . . . really nice.”

As I cranked the engine to life, I took a deep breath.

“She’s been with me through some crazy adventures. Treat her nicely, Morales, or I’ll wring your neck myself.”

Lucas rolled his eyes. “Bit melodramatic, don’t you think?”

“I don’t screw around when it comes to my truck,” I said seriously. “If you put your boots—or worse, yourbare feet—on the dashboard, I’ll have no choice but to kill you and dump your body somewhere in the valley where they’ll never find your remains.”

Lucas blinked, trying to determine whether I was joking. I kept up what I hoped was a neutral expression. Lucas buckled his seatbelt without saying another word.

Watford was nestled deep into the mountains with a few stops once you crested the first peaks. Winding Road was in one of the valleys en route to Watford, leaving my hometown less than two hours away.

I still didn’t know what I’d do when I got there.

Lucas flashed me a thumbs up saying he was ready to roll. I plugged my phone into the cassette-to-aux contraption so I could play my music without having to sift through radio stations. It was particularly helpful in this stretch of mountains, where good radio service was hard to come by.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to control my breathing.

Zach Bryan’s voice lulled me to that zoned out place where I could imagine she was with me, riding in the passenger seat, the dogs we’d always wanted to adopt running across the backseat, their faces against the wind. In these moments, it was the sound of her sweet laughter and the smell of the highway wildflowers that gave me peace.

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