Page 133 of Keep Me Never
“Works for me. It’s not like I’m taking much home yet.” He chuckles.
“Hey!” Cam smacks him, head still buried in her textbook. “I want to start packingonMonday, that way I can take those last few days to really go through everything and see what I need to leave and what can go.”
I might have convinced everyone we should take some things to the beach house when we head out next week. I didn’t think anyone would go for it, seeing as they still have one full semester here, but surprisingly, they agreed, planning to leave not much more than their clothes and necessities behind. It was the only thing I could think of so that when they saw me loading up my things, no one would question it.
“So, Monday afternoon?” I double-check.
“Yep.” He nods. “I’m staying the night at Cam’s Sunday, and I’ve got no finals till Tuesday, so just pull up when you’re done and we’ll go.”
Panic flairs and I tense. “Actually, can we take your truck?”
He frowns for half a second but shrugs it off a moment later and digs into his second scone.
It’s a little after two when I make an excuse to leave a bit early, letting Paige know I’ll call her later tonight before bed.
I head to the little pizza place down the road and pull into the parking lot, my shoulders falling when I see the Help Wanted sign is no longer hanging in the window. I never did get a call.
That’s all right.
I’ve got a good eight or so other applications out right now. Someone is bound to call.
Unless every other college student is looking for work over the break too, but then again, my availability won’t end in January.
The sound of gravel crunching has me turning. A blue Bronco pulls in, one of the ancient ones with only the doors and the long, massive window in the back—the one I was told to look out for.
I open the glove box, pulling out the single paper that now sits inside.
My fingers run over the edges slowly.
Maybe it’s dumb, but I feel like I’m betraying something, like I’m handing over a part of my identity. But then again, who even am I now?
I climb from the cab, forcing a smile as I reach the old man who exits the vehicle first. The guy in the passenger seat is out next, and of course he’s wearing an AU baseball hat, a wide grin on his face as he circles my truck.
He slips inside, revs the engine, and pops the hood, disappearing under it while I stand back, a hint of guilt in my gut.
When he comes back, his grandfather at his side, it’s with a white envelope and a smile.
He holds it out and I take it, passing him the pink slip in return.
“Thanks, man,” he says. “She’s a beauty.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “She is. My dad took good care of her.”
He slips inside it and drives away.
I watch as my truck rolls down the road, its new owner behind the wheel.
I look down at the envelope in my hand.
There’s four thousand dollars in it, and I thought holding it in my hands would make things start to feel right.
It doesn’t, and I’m not sure what to do with that.
Paige
He’s not okay, and I’m not sure what to do about it. He disappears at random times, and when he comes back, it’s always with his shoulders a little lower, his eyes a little less alive. But the saving grace is when he sees me or takes my hand, and everything in him shifts. His smile is more genuine and his eyes shine.
He spends so much time trying to be strong, and I don’t know how to tell him he doesn’t have to be. Not for me. I know itmight not be the same, but I do know what it means to hurt; I know loss. First with my dad—I didn’t know my mom, so she doesn’t count—and then the studio.
