I wished for them a lot, during the hard days. Aria seemed so angry at them sometimes. She never said it, but I could tell she was mad at them for leaving us—for leaving us vulnerable to a man like Craig.
She had a right to be angry, and there were times when I felt that too. But mostly . . . I just missed Mom’s smile and gentle voice. I missed Dad’s loud laugh and how he’d scoop us into his arms every evening when he’d come home from work.
I wished for them even though I knew that wish wouldn’t come true.
“Then what?” Karson asked.
“Craig gave up eventually. And when he did, we climbed out the window before dawn with our backpacks and supplies, then came here.”
“Clara.” The pain on his handsome face broke my heart.
“I’m okay, Karson.”
Without warning, he pulled me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me tight. “I fucking hate him.”
“Me too.” I dragged in a long breath of his shirt. He smelled of soap and earth and Karson. My Karson. My arms snaked around his waist, and I hugged him. A real hug, with his cheek resting on my hair.
Until he loosened his hold and tipped my chin up to his face. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I shouldn’t have brought it up. We should have just played cards and had fun.”
“We can still do that. If you want.” I hooked a thumb toward the tent. “Your beer is growing on me.”
“Only you could make me smile right now.” He chuckled and put an arm around my shoulders, then he steered me for the tent.
We played gin and pretended we weren’t living in a junkyard. We drank beers like other teenaged kids did to break the rules and push the boundaries.
“My lips are numb.” I dabbed my lower lip, flicking it with my index finger.
Karson laughed. “I don’t feel anything yet.”
“Really?” Was I slurring? “I feel . . . good. Aria is going to be mad that we left her out.”
“She can have the rest of mine.” He shrugged and surged to his feet. But he’d forgotten that he couldn’t stand in the center of the tent and he wacked his head on the roof. “Ow.”
I burst out laughing. “I thought you weren’t feeling anything.”
“I guess I am now.” He swayed on his feet. While I’d only had a beer and a half, Karson had nearly gone through the other four.
“She’s probably asleep.” I got to my feet, extending my arms like an airplane to find my balance. When one of my hands landed on Karson’s hot skin, I clung to his forearm, not shy about touching him. Not tonight.
What did they call alcohol? Liquid courage? I got that reference now.
My smile pinched my cheeks as I tugged Karson out of the tent. The air outside was still warm, even as the sun dipped below the horizon. The stars were just beginning to show in the royal blue sky.
“Want to watch for shooting stars?” I asked, walking toward the Cadillac. “We can make a game out of it. First one to three wins.”
“What about Aria?”
No light was coming from inside the truck. She’d always been an early riser and tended to go to bed before dark. That or she was hunkered under a blanket, consuming her book by flashlight. “She’s probably asleep.”
“’Kay. Stargazing it is.” Karson climbed onto the Cadillac’s wide hood, leaning so his back was against the windshield. Then he raised his arms and placed them beneath his head.
I scrambled to his side, settling against the metal. My jeans and shirt were going to be filthy, but in my happily beer-buzzed state, I didn’t care. These were short-term clothes anyway.
“I can’t believe you suck so much at gin and poker.” I barely got the sentence out before I broke into a fit of giggles.
“You should be saying thank you.”
“For what?”
“For letting you win.”
I scoffed. “You did not let me win.”
He stayed quiet, his gaze on the sky.
“Did you let me win?”
Still, no response.
I shifted, pushing up on an arm to look down at him. “Karson.”
“Clara.”
“Did you let me win?”
He looked over and winked. “You’ll never know.”
“Jerk!” I poked him in the side, then lay down again, my smile wider now than it had been all night.
He chuckled. If that was what I could do for him, make him laugh, then I was calling tonight a success. And maybe I needed a laugh too.
I was lighter, having told him my story. The fear that came with it had eased. Maybe I should have told him a long time ago.
“I know it’s not ideal, but I’m going to miss these starry nights,” Karson said.
“Me too.”
The junkyard was far enough from the center of town that the glow from the city’s lights didn’t completely obscure the night sky. The stars would come out and on clear nights like this, they were little blips of hope, twinkles of joy that promised life wouldn’t always be this hard. They were there, watching over us. Maybe the stars were the lost souls of the ones we’d loved.
Maybe two of those stars were for my parents.
I hoped at this very moment, with me lying beside the boy I really liked, Dad wasn’t watching.
“I’m not going to miss the dirt,” he said.
“Same. And I’m not going to miss the tight spaces. Sleeping in an oversized coffin. Someday, I want a house with lots of windows. So that even when I’m inside, it feels open and airy.”
“I just want four walls. Four real walls. A fridge. A microwave.”
I snuck a glance at Karson’s profile. It was perfection. His nose was straight. His jaw strong and dusted with stubble. His lips soft.
“I’m going to miss you.” The words came out before I could stop them.
When he faced me, his hazel eyes had that captivating edge again. The same one he’d given me the day of the stoplight. “I’m going to miss you too.”
My breath caught in my throat.
“Clara . . .”
“Yeah?”
Karson didn’t answer. He turned to the sky and my heart sank. I was imagining this. It had to be the beer. It had to be—
I didn’t get to finish that thought. Because one moment, my eyes were glued to the darkening night sky.
The next, Karson was there.
And his lips came crashing down on mine.
Chapter Six
Clara
The rattle of metal on metal woke me from sleep.
I blinked, wincing at the ache pounding in my temples. God, it was hot. Why was it so hot?
A weight rested on my side, and behind me, there was a furnace. A hard, strong furnace.
No, a body.
I gasped and sat up, scrambling out of Karson’s hold. Tent. We were in the tent. We were in his . . . bed.
He stirred, cracking open his eyes. Then he stretched an arm over his head and the movement caused his shirt to ride up, revealing a peek at those washboard abs. “Morning.”
“Morning.” I gulped and looked down at myself. Still clothed. Then last night came rushing back.
The Cadillac. The stars. The beers.