Grady just wants to grieve the loss of his ex in peace, but then Quinn's younger sister, Taryn, whirls into his Texas hometown, looking to stir up the past. She brings in a wave of goons with her and a mystery that's well beyond his pay grade. Still...
I startle awake when the truck comes to a stop at a gas station. I see mountains and the sunrise. The heat is on, and I let loose a shiver.
Taryn must have really put some distance behind her.
I drove all the way to Albuquerque last night. We arrived around one in the morning. I was tired, so I suggested a hotel room with two beds, assuming we could find one that late. Taryn wanted to keep going, though. She had dozed off in the evening and said she was fine driving for a while. I said I was fine with that, too.
It was probably the longest conversation we managed to have in ten hours. And it didn't end much better than any of the others.
We pulled over and switched sides. I put my chair back, shifted toward the window, and that was that.
Anyhow, I didn't expect her to get this far or for me to conk out to the extent that I did. It'll be no substitute for real sleep, but I should be able to function at some basic level for the time being. At least in theory.
Taryn, despite the hand injury and six hours of driving, looks normal, and I'm still too drunk with interrupted sleep to let that bother me. As an accounting major, fresh out of college, I'm sure she's been through worse.
I catch a glimpse of myself in my sideview mirror and should probably cringe at the ugly crease on my face and my hair every-which way, but I'm also too tired to care. I just rub a hand over everything on my head and leave it at that.
I'm digging for my hat in the back with a stiffness Taryn has never likely experienced while she's pumping gas, gazing longingly at the Rocky Mountains. She's using her own credit card, I guess. After our fight yesterday, I doubt she'll ask for anything extra. We aren't even by any means, but heck, at least she's trying. And by all appearances, the card went through, and that's an added bonus.
She's back in the truck before my body and wits are put back together right. She immediately puts the truck in drive. I'm about to complain about all kinds of things, a full bladder included, when she re-parks it in a spot with a view. It's practically mountainside.
"Where are we?" I wonder aloud.
"About an hour south of Denver," she answers.
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Upon closer inspection, there's a dirt path that seems to snake down for a while and a picnic table in the distance. Slightly closer, there's a boulder with a couple of kids climbing on top of it. They look about to leave. Their mother is calling them, and she has snacks and the car started.
There's just something about the scene that pushes the words out of me. "Are you still mad at me?" It's a new day, and a spectacular one at that—there are no storm clouds here—and even if we haven't had the chance to call a truce, the slate seems cleaner somehow.
She shakes her head and looks down at the steering wheel. The knuckles of her right hand go white from clenching it too hard. "I was never that mad. At you anyway. As hard as it may have been to hear, you were right about a lot of things."
