By the time we’re both inside the cab, the
rain lashes around us like a monsoon, striking the truck’s hood so
hard that it kicks up a fine mist. The steady pounding matches the
thudding of my heart. Riley sits behind the wheel, an arm’s length
from me and so far away, his hands on his thighs as he stares out
into the storm. I want to say something, apologize again, but I’ve
already said too much. My hands twist in the hem of my T-shirt, the
damp fabric clammy against my skin. I want to go home.
“Todd.” I close my eyes at Riley’s voice, so
damn familiar. I wish I had never met him, had never known someone
like him could exist. I don’t answer when he says my name again
because I don’t trust myself to speak. Finally he turns to me—I see
him from the corner of my eye, I still can’t
