I’m a little jealous that my new best friend is on her way to meet someone. There’s a person at the end of the hall who will greet her, hug her, be thrilled to see her. My first interaction is going to be with the app on my iPhone for the Super Shuttle.
I’m not used to sitting in the front, and I see now why people fight to board first. With only a carry on, I’m out of the plane and winding through the gate seconds after we’ve landed. I already see Sophie’s curly hair mashed up against the chest of a large man who has actual tears in his eyes at seeing his daughter, and it makes my heart feel terribly hollow. I force my lips to smile at the sight, because I know that’s what’s natural, but inside I’m sad.
“How was your flight?” a voice near me asks.
I scream out in a breathy gasp, and my bag drops to the floor. Cody reaches down and picks it up, pulling the strap over his head so it crosses his body. I must be dreaming, still on the plane—asleep—when I thought I only shut my eyes to rest them. Because Cody is here, and I see how all of the pieces fit. It’s a small ceremony, and I’m in a white cotton dress. He’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and we’re both barefoot by the river. My aunt is there along with Jessie and Gabe, and there’s a minister who I swear I’ve seen before. Our rings are nothing but bands, no diamonds or engravings. Everything is simple, but perfect. The water ripples beneath our feet, there’s the faint sound of fifties music piping through Cody’s truck and then he’s kissing me.
I startle again when he brushes into me, waving his hand in front of my face. “Hello, earth to Charlie,” he’s chuckling.
“Oh, uh…flight. Yeah, flight was good. Short…how?” I say, pointing at him directly. The last thing I said to Cody was in a text, and I told him I couldn’t give anymore. Yet here he is, standing in front of me. He smiles with tight lips and nods at my question.
“Trevor,” he says, his face falling before he turns and continues walking ahead of me. Trevor? Why would Trevor call Cody, of all people in the world? He would send Shelly for me first. Hell, he’d charter a special jet and race me home before he’d let Cody be the one to welcome me.
“Wait a minute,” I say, pulling on the strap of my bag and forcing Cody to stop. “Trevor called you?”
Cody doesn’t even turn to look at me, just shrugging my bag back in place over his shoulder. “Yeah, he called me. He’s all freaked out and shit because you left early. Said he needed me. The whole thing was really…well, strange.”
Cody turns to face me just before we hit the elevator bank to head down to the garage level. His face looks tortured, and I feel my fingers tingle wanting to touch it. I stuff my hands into my pockets instead.
“Why’d you come?” I ask, not sure what I want him to say in response.
Cody just shrugs and curls his lip to the side. “Thought you were in trouble. Had to be, if Trevor was calling me,” he says, sliding in backward as the elevator doors open. I follow him in and stand to the side next to him, getting a little closer when a few more people join us for the ride down.
I swear I can feel the heat coming from Cody’s body, despite the layers of sweaters and sweatshirts between us. His eyes shift to the side to look at me, hoping I don’t catch him, but I do. I do because I’m just flat-out staring at him. We’re only traveling down three floors, but the ride feels like it lasts for minutes. We’re both shuffling our feet, awkward and anxious all at once.
When the doors finally open, I follow Cody all the way to his truck and offer to help with my bag. He brushes me off and tosses it in the back. His body seems tired today—I always notice when he’s been working too hard, his limp is more defined. “Your leg hurts,” I say, not able to stop my thoughts from sounding. I close my eyes from my mistake; I hate calling attention to his injury, mostly because I know it makes him uncomfortable.
“Yep,” he says, climbing into the truck and slamming his door with a little extra muscle.
I can tell he’s angry. He reaches over and turns the music up loudly as soon as we pay the toll. I laugh to myself because it’s The Killers. I know he’s done this on purpose. The show is in two weeks—the show I offered to take him to in trade for his tutoring help, though deep down I admit it was only about wanting to have a reason to be close to him, alone with him.
We’re silent the rest of the way to his shop, and when he pulls in the main drive, I lean forward and turn the music off with a heavy punch of my finger, wanting him to see how angry I am, too—though I’m not sure what I’m angry about.