Page 34 of The Backtrack
Any response she had caught in her throat. She’d spent so much time running from her feelings, but now that she was forced to stare them in the face, she wasn’t sure what to do.
She quickly closed the gap between them and wrapped Damon in a hug. He didn’t pull away, but also didn’t initially hug her back, either. Eventually, he lightly wrapped her in his arms.
“I’m so sorry,” Sam said into his shoulder. “I’m sorry that I am the way I am.”
“I like you the way you are,” he replied. “I just wish you’d come back sooner.”
She didn’t have a response to that. In hindsight, she wished she’d come back to see Damon, too. What would the harm have been, really? And if her alternate life was right, then maybe part of her would’ve flourished in Tybee. But she’d been young and selfish and didn’t realize how addicting flying away from her problems could be, how freeing the sky was.
But by leaving, she hadn’t given him any closure, and his damage was all her fault. She couldn’t blame him for being disappointed with her. Sam’s eyes welled, but she’d already done enough and didn’t want to get his shirt wet. She took a deep breath in, then out, and pulled away, strategically wiping the tears with the back of her hand and averting her gaze. She turned and walked toward the house.
“Sam, wait,” he started to say.
“See you tomorrow.” She refused to look back, because she was scared that she’d come home too late to change their future together. Maybe what she’d seen in the alternate version of her life was exactly that: nostalgia for something she’d never get to have, and she’d never be able to forget, just like the “Ocean Avenue” song.
Damon didn’t say anything back, but his engine revved as he peeled out of the driveaway.
She silently vowed to make the most of her time with him the next day. Because while she may not get another chance to truly be his, she could at least try to salvage a friendship, if that was still an option.
13
Sam worked well under pressure. Actually, shethrivedwhen the heat was turned up, whether while flying or just trying to make it to a dinner on time. And luckily, she’d channeled that power-through energy into crafting a day with Damon that she hoped would say something along the lines of,Sorry for being a bit of a fuck-up, but we can still have fun together, right?
Right. She exhaled sharply. Either he would appreciate the fact that she’d stayed up well into the night finalizing details and adding thoughtful touches, or think she was pathetic. But she was parked out front of Band Practice Brews, sipping a latte and waiting for him to come out. So there was no turning back, really.
A little after two, the doors at the front opened, and Damon squinted against the light. Eventually, he found Sam and she waved a little too eagerly. She internally rolled her eyes as she unlocked the passenger door and tried to calm her breathing. She hadn’t yet grown used to the way her heartbeat ticked up whenever she saw Damon. And as he walked to her car, in dark jeans and a long-sleeved shirt with a slight V-neck, she involuntarily licked her lips.
She had to stop doing that, because she and Damon were justold friends. While she desperately wanted his forgiveness so they could move forward, she also knew work was needed on her part. Which is why, when Damon opened the passenger-side door and settled into the seat, she handed him a brown paper bag.
“What’s this?” he asked with a dubious expression as he peeled open the bag. He pulled out an apple, turkey jerky and a peanut butter sandwich wrapped in tinfoil. He looked at her like he’d just been given the saddest party favor bag.
“Well, let me explain.” Sam turned to him. “We’re going for a drive, and I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten. So I made you lunch.”
“But this is a brown bag lunch. Like, almost the exact lunch my mom used to give me in high school.” As his words landed, she realized that maybe she could’ve just gotten him anything else. A bag of chips, a Happy Meal or something that didn’t explicitly remind Damon of his mom.
“Cathy would never pack you something as vulgar as turkey jerky,” she tried to joke, but was now worried she’d misstepped. She shifted the car into gear and drove out of the parking lot. “And besides, you need your wits about you for what I have planned.”
“Which is?” Damon said as he took a bite of the apple. He handed Sam the sandwich, and she took a bite as she drove.
“Nice try, but I’m not going to spoil the surprise,” she said through her chewing. Part of her didn’t want to say where they were headed because Damon might try to jump out of the moving car, but the other part was just anxious about showing him this side of her. The route to their location was one she didn’t need GPS for. She’d driven there in the early morning and late at night, through rain and fog and blinding sunshine. It was a drive she’d never done with Damon, or anyone else. But if someone was going to come with her, she realized that she wanted it to be him.
“I don’t want you to feel like you need to do something special for me,” Damon hedged. “You don’t owe me anything.”
Sam’s grip on the wheel tightened. She didn’t want their conversation to derail to drudging up past transgressions. This day was meant to be pure fun, like crowd surfing or scoring tickets to the 2005 Warped Tour, which, in Sam’s opinion, had the best lineup—Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance and Relient K.
“I have another gift for you,” Sam said to steer them back to happy thoughts.
“Is it a handwritten note reminding me to drink water?” he said, citing another Cathy-ism.
“If only I’d had that foresight, but no. It’s better. I’m giving you control of what we listen to on the ride.” She handed him a cable to connect his phone to the car. “I would never say you have better taste in music than me—we both know that would be a lie—but you’re passionate about your playlists.”
Damon cracked a side smile and opened his phone. After a few minutes of searching, he said, “For you, we’re going to play the greatest hits of the woman you took all your style inspiration from.” And then Avril Lavigne’s “Sk8er Boi” began to blare through the speakers.
Sam had to bite her lip to stop from laughing. He was accurate about that. “You’re such an ass,” she said. But when she looked over, he smiled and the glint in his eye made her breath catch.
When they arrived in Savannah forty minutes later, Avril Lavigne’s “What the Hell” was playing, and Sam was not entirely shocked about the fact that she still remembered each and every lyric.
“Speaking of what the hell,” Damon said as they drove into the airport parking lot. “Where have you taken us, Sam-Sam?”
