Page 36 of Sunday's Best

He’s smiling too hard to kiss me, but it doesn’t stop him from trying. Lips and teeth press to mine, and I nip at his bottom lip with a giggle.

“Feel this?” He links our fingers, clutching them tight to his chest. I feel it—his heart knocking on the back of my hand, a steady and secure beat. The kind I could rest my head against and fall into what I’m sure would be the deepest sleep of my life. “It’s yours.”

When we pull back into the rest stop and see Logan sitting outside in a camping chair, hat pulled low and dark sunglasses on, it feels as though all the air has been sucked out of the truck. Holden’s hand slowly untangles from mine, and I stare down at the empty spaces between my fingers.

“What if he knows somehow?” I ask the question that’s been niggling at me since we left the grocery store.

In there it was so easy to get swept up in playing pretend. We held hands, and he told me more about the job he’s starting this fall. He made fun of my coffee creamer, and I teased him about his kiddy snacks. We made out when we got back to the truck.

I don’t regret anything, but I do feel guilty.

“Angel, he doesn’t know. But if he finds out, I’ll handle it. Okay?”

I nod, mentally preparing to slip back into the role of Logan’s girlfriend. Just until we’re not trapped in a vehicle together anymore, I remind myself.

Holden climbs out of the truck first and loads his arms with groceries before sauntering over to his brother. Fucking brave, if you ask me. If Logan jumps up and punches him, Holden’s basically defenseless without either hand free.

Brown paper fast food bag clenched in my hand—a peace offering, of sorts—I hold my free hand over my stomach, trying to keep the rolling nausea to a minimum.

“My girl followed through.” Logan pumps his fist in the air, eagerly taking the bag. Then his expression changes, and he sighs. “For fuck’s sake. Why didn’t you leave the top of the bag open a little bit so some of the steam could escape? They’re soggy now.”

“Oh, I⁠—”

“I had one request, Sunday.”

Holden turns a heated, defensive look onto his brother. “Dude, it took us half an hour to drive back here. They would’ve been gross regardless. Don’t be an asshole to her about it.”

“Whatever.” Logan huffs and crumples the bag in his hands, then sets his sights on the groceries Holden placed just inside the open door of the trailer.

“You got the horses ready to go?” Holden changes the subject. “I want to hit the road in the next fifteen minutes or so.”

“Yup. Was just waiting to load them until you guys got back.” Logan rummages around in the cloth shopping bags, then haphazardly rips into one of many small cardboard boxes and pulls out an ice cream sandwich. “Thank God you got ice cream, at least.”

Logan wiggles a second ice cream sandwich at Holden. “Want one?”

“Nah, man. Ate a Sunday earlier.” Holden’s eyes cut to mine.

My heart crashes into my stomach, and I choke on my own spit. Through a fit of coughs, I swallow and swallow, trying to make it all stop with a couple firm pats of my fist on my chest. My cheeks are flaming, and I shoot past Logan to get inside the trailer before he notices.

Mouth filled with ice cream, Logan mumbles a barely audible, “Typical.”

I pause outside the bathroom door.

“You gave me so much shit about morning milkshakes at that diner, and you’re out here having sundaes for breakfast. You guys should’ve brought me one of those instead of the fries.”

“Sorry, man. It was delicious.”

Thirteen

The mountains above town appear bruised by the purple light of dusk, and moths crowd the headlights of Holden’s truck when we pull into the driveway. I let the truck door fall shut and adjust the heavy duffel bag slung over my shoulder.

With our late departure this morning, the entire schedule was thrown off, and we’re home hours later than Holden had initially wanted to be—especially after factoring in the time it took to make sure the horses were turned out with adequate food and water. But at least we’re here now, which is better than being in the truck with Holden, Logan, and the complicated whirlwind of lies and emotions.

Logan steps out of the trailer with a garbage bag filled with dirty laundry tucked under his arm. We’re only supposed to be here for a few nights—a quick reset before the local rodeo, then back on the road.

Then he turns to Holden, rapping his fingers on the open passenger window. “Have a good night.”

We walk side by side up the short path to the house. The motion light turns on with a blinding radiance, and stars flicker across my vision. It’s a good thing, honestly. Saves me from being able to glance at Holden while Logan fumbles with his house keys. If I caught him staring back at me, I might never make it inside.