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“Thank you, Father Time.”
He gestures to the bottles in my hands. “I’ve tried that. It’s not going to work, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
The seat belt is too tight around my stomach, but I can’t bring myself to care, or to readjust it. And there’s glitter on my hands that isn’t coming off, no matter how hard I scrape at it.
“Well, you do seem to be an expert on what I’m thinking.” Half a bottle goes down my throat, slick and overly sweet. “And I have too. Hopefully the universe will know how determined I am this time.”
A pause. “I never know what you’re thinking,” he says quietly as he puts the car in gear. “All these Wednesdays, and you’re still a mystery to me. And maybe this makes me an idiot, but all I want to do is keep trying to figure you out.”
And I have no idea what to say to that.
Even now, I’m thinking the same thing. I’ve genuinely enjoyed getting to know him, and in some ways he’s exactly the person I thought he was. But in even more, he’s something completely different. I liked that completely different Miles so much, and that’s why this is so crushing. I wanted him to be the person who kept those shattered pieces of my history safe, but maybe the truth is that no one can. They can’t be unshattered.
We pull onto the highway, a darkened stretch of I-5 that winds through mountains cloaked in fog.
“There has to be a way I can make it up to you,” Miles says, easing the car through a tight turn. “You want me to wear one of these shirts every day? Done. Lead my own Save the Gophers march? I’ll do it.”
“This fucking cap,” I mutter, twisting at the next bottle.
“Here, I’ll—” He takes one hand off the wheel, reaching out to help me.
But I push his arm back with more force than I intend. “I don’t need any—”
In our scuffle, the cap flies off the bottle, the energy drink spraying us both.
“Shit,” I say under my breath, just as Miles grabs the wheel again.
Twin bright lights cut through my vision, temporarily blinding me.
“What the—” Miles says, leaning into his shoulder to swipe energy drink off his face.
Up ahead, a semitruck has drifted from its lane, and now it’s speeding right. Toward. Us.
“Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck!” I shout, the energy drink forgotten, gripping the seat with more force than I thought I was capable of.
Miles slams the horn.
On our left is a steep hill covered with evergreens.
On our right, a rough edge and a rushing stream.
I have never had my life flash before my eyes. I always thought it would be an organized, chronological kind of thing—I’d recall my childhood, my teen years, all with fondness and peaceful reflection.
Now that it’s happening, there’s not enough time for any of it, only a brief ache for my mom. And then all I can focus on is that the last thing I did on planet Earth was argue with someone over a bottle of 5-Hour Energy.
“Hold on!” Miles yanks the steering wheel to the left, but he’s too late.
The truck careens toward us, stark white against the near-black road. We’re going to die, I think, the fear a hot and sticky thing in my throat.
I’m not ready.
Horns wail and tires screech, and I can only squeeze my eyes shut and hope this isn’t the end.
The last thing I register as metal smashes into metal and glass rains down on us is Miles’s hand finding mine and holding on tight.
DAYS TWENTY-FOUR AND TWENTY-FIVE
Chapter 31
