Page 40 of No Turning Back
Aiden groans into his hands. “You people are sadists.”
The laughter carries us through the rest of the evening, pizza boxes on the counter, empty soda cans piling up, the easy kind of chaos I haven’t felt in a long time.
By the time Kate and Aiden finally head out, the stars have blanketed the sky. The house is quiet again, but not heavy like I’m used to.
Sam drags two lawn chairs into the yard, and we sit side by side watching the couch go up in flames. The fabric sizzles and pops, foam hissing like it’s trying to scream its way out. Sparks spit upward, drifting into the night like tiny shooting stars.
“It deserved worse,” I say, pulling my knees to my chest.
Sam chuckles, leaning back in his chair. The firelight dances over his face, making him look younger, softer. “Don’t let my mother hear you say that. She used to nap on this couch every Sunday after church.”
I snort. “She’d probably thank me.”
His mouth quirks at the corner. “Maybe.”
For a while, neither of us talks. The fire crackles. The cicadas drone their endless summer song. Somewhere in the pasture, a night bird calls out.
I tilt my head back, taking in the stars. There are so many out here, unpolluted, bright enough to make me dizzy. “You forget, living in the city, how loud the sky is.”
Sam glances up, then back at me. “Loud?”
“Yeah.” I gesture with a hand. “Like, this isn’t quiet. It’s screaming. Every star, every shimmer, every damn thing out there yellinglook at me, look at me.”
He chuckles softly. “Never thought about it that way.”
“You should,” I say, resting my chin on my knees. “You’ll never see it the same again.”
For a long stretch, we just sit there, breathing in the night.
Sam finally shifts, propping his forearms on his knees. “You know, I don’t remember the last time I laughed like that. Not since…” He trails off, staring into the fire.
I don’t press. I already know what “since” means.
Instead, I say quietly, “Me neither.”
He looks over, and for a heartbeat, the world narrows to just his eyes on mine, the firelight flickering between us. It’s too much, too close, so I glance away quickly, focusing on the fire.
“You think Kate’s serious about a B&B?” he asks after a while, voice lighter.
“Kate’s serious about everything until she isn’t,” I answer with a grin. “She’d last one week here before demanding a Starbucks and a yoga studio.”
Sam chuckles, low and warm. “Still. The idea doesn’t sound half bad. People might actually like it here.”
“People already like it here,” I say, then immediately wish I hadn’t. Because the way he looks at me makes my stomach tighten.
The fire collapses inward with a hiss, flames licking higher for a moment before settling. I hug my knees tighter, staring into the glow. The warmth hits my skin, but there’s still a cold knot in my chest.
Then an idea occurs to me.
I push up out of my chair and head back inside. The house feels different in the dark, quiet, expectant. I dig through the stack of boxes in the hallway until I find the one I want: the junk box. Stuff I don’t want, don’t need, things that feel like dead weight.
When I come back out, Sam raises an eyebrow.
“Got another sacrifice for the fire,” I mutter.
Instead of pulling out each item like some movie heroine having her dramatic moment, I just toss the whole box straight in. It lands with a thud, then catches, flames swallowing cardboard and paper.
I freeze for a second, suddenly wondering if there was anything too flammable in there. Other than the boudoir pictures I once took for Markus, nothing dangerous. Just embarrassing if they didn’t burn fast.
