I turn my head and look out the window. That was a long time ago.

As he merges onto the freeway, it belatedly occurs to me that with him behind the wheel, he could easily ignore my route altogether and drive straight to California as was his original plan.

I reach into the backseat and rummage around until I come up with the blue journal where I painstakingly planned the trip, with driving directions, motel options, and a place to jot thoughts about all the different stops.

He’s heading south, at least. That’s a start.

Reece glances over briefly at my notebook as I smooth my hand over the page where I’ve written Day One in curly letters across the top, followed by directions.

“You know they have GPS for that, right?” he asks.

I shrug. “Yeah. I’ll use that if we get lost. But it chews up the data on my phone, and I don’t want to pay the extra if I go over my monthly allowance.”

He doesn’t respond, probably because he can’t turn my statement into a fight.

“I thought we could stop in Wilmington tonight. North Carolina,” I continue.

“I know where Wilmington is, Luce. And why? We can easily make it to Miami in one day.”

I grit my teeth, hating that he’s talking down to me, as though I hadn’t bothered to look up the distance from Virginia to Florida. He never used to do that. It’s one of the things I used to adore most about him (aside from his eyes, smile, hands, laugh, etc.)—the way he didn’t treat me like I was young and stupid the way Craig often did. Reece always treated me like we were equals, like I was every bit as smart as him, despite having been born a year later.

That’s over, apparently.

“I know we can make it,” I say. “But isn’t the entire point of this trip to do what we want to?”

“What you want to, you mean.”

“Well damn it, Reece, I didn’t freaking invite you. You had an out, and you didn’t take it.”

“I didn’t exactly see you politely declining.”

I open my mouth, then snap it shut, because he’s right. I’ve been stewing for two days now, pissed off that he got us into this, but the truth is I didn’t have to go along with it just because he did.

The truth is…

I don’t know the truth. The truth is I’m confused. And maybe the truth is, I’m a little curious as to why he said yes. Even more curious as to why I didn’t fight it.

The man broke my heart. I should be keeping my distance, and yet…here we are.

“What’s in Wilmington?” he asks, after a few more tense moments of silence. “Another boyfriend?”

“Yes, another boyfriend,” I reply snidely. “Didn’t I mention it? I have four.”

He changes lanes. “Hard to juggle?”

“Not at all,” I say sweetly. “See, I just watched the way you attempted to juggle multiple girlfriends and failed, and then did the exact opposite.”

He glances at me then, a mocking smile on his face. “Oh, sweetheart. When did I ever claim you as my girlfriend?”

I suck in a quick breath, because it’s one of the more hurtful things he can say—dismissing that summer as though it were nothing.

And maybe he knows he went too far, because there’s something like regret that flickers in his blue eyes before he looks back at the road.

I swallow the lump in my throat, and smooth a shaky hand over the notebook once more. “We’re taking 64 to I-95 South,” I say, relieved that my voice doesn’t wobble.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him nod once before reaching out a hand and flicking on the radio.

It’s rock. Eighties crap that I hate, but it’s better than silence. And it’s definitely better than talking.

I turn my head to look out the window and I try to focus on Oscar—try to imagine what it’ll feel like when I surprise him. See, I know Oscar. If he knows I’m coming, he’ll get all nervous, get his restaurant staff all hyped up and nervous too. I want to see his new restaurant just as it is on any day. I want to see him in his element.

So yeah, he’ll be surprised, but not annoyed. Oscar’s easygoing, and gorgeous, and loves to laugh. Unlike the guy next to me, who’s never had a damn thing easy in his life and looks like he hasn’t laughed in months.

He probably hasn’t.

It hits me then that there’s something I haven’t said—something I need to say—even as I sit here hating him.

“How are you doing, truly?” I ask. “I really am so sorry about your father.”

The words come out as a whisper, and at first I think he doesn’t hear me, because he doesn’t respond.

Okay then. I guess we’re not going to talk about that day.

Then I remember who I’m dealing with. Reece Sullivan takes any and all emotions and buries them deep. Any sort of kind gesture is likely to be ignored, or worse, used as a weapon.

Fine then. I lash out with the only recourse I have at the moment, turning the radio to country.

Reece hates country.

I turn it up.

It’s a classic Jenny Dawson song. “Heartbreaker.”

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Chapter 9

LUCY, TWENTY-FOUR, REECE, TWENTY-FIVE

Lucy nervously stepped into the small funeral parlor; for a second she thought she was in the wrong place.

A quick glance to her right showed the unassuming, handwritten sign telling people why they were here.

Right place.