I blinked in surprise, moving a hand up to uncrush my overgrown hair. “I must look awful. Helmet hair and whatnot.”
Sam’s fingers took over and brushed through my curls. “Love your hair. And you never look awful.”
“You’re one to talk,” I muttered, trying not to preen under his attention.
“I don’t think I’ve ever actually taken a selfie, but can we take a picture together? Maybe commemorate our first ride together?”
Sam looked adorably unsure of himself, a state he was probably completely unfamiliar with.
“Only if you can make my hair look decent,” I said, knowing it was impossible.
He got a devious look on his face. “What if I can make it so you don’t care what your hair looks like?”
Within seconds, he was kissing me with full tongue and sneaky hands. Somehow he had octopus hands because he managed to get his phone out at the same time and snap a picture the minute he stopped kissing me. I sputtered and flapped my hands, demanding to see the photo so I could delete it into oblivion.
But it was amazing. One of those magical shots no one could ever capture on purpose.
My eyes were closed as if I was savoring the moment, and Sam’s gaze was riveted on me with a combination of affection and self-conscious awareness. As if he cared about whether or not I was okay with what he’d done.
The entire valley was laid out behind us in a swath of golden sun.
I clutched his phone to my chest and looked at him. “Cripes,” I breathed.
“Is it good? Let me see.”
First, I texted it to myself in case I accidentally deleted it somehow. The day Sam Rigby changed my life. Then I showed it to him and watched the smile take over his face. “I’ve never seen myself look that way before,” Sam said.
“Like what?” Did I even want to know?
“Like I had everything I’ve ever wanted right in front of me.”
I sucked in a breath and met his eyes again.
And that’s when I heard the squealing of tires as a familiar vehicle came barreling toward us.
19
Sam
I was in the middle of a magical moment when Truman’s face suddenly paled and his eyes widened. “Run!”
Instead of doing what he’d said, I stared at him a beat too long. The beat-up pickup dropped a tire off the edge of the road which seemed to set everything else into motion. Suddenly, the car swung around until it was coming straight for us.
Truman yanked my arm, and I lurched after him, racing out of the way of the vehicle as it connected with the motorcycle and sent it crashing into the guardrail. It tipped over the rail and hung precariously with one wheel over and one still on the roadside while the driver of the truck threw the car into reverse and sped backward.
Within seconds, the driver was aiming the giant grill right at us again. I shoved Truman ahead of me as we aimed for a stand of trees up ahead. Just as we reached the safety of the first tree trunk, I hit a thick root with my boot and lurched forward until I’d tumbled poor Truman face-first into the forest floor and landed on top of him.
It took us a minute to untangle ourselves. I flipped Truman onto his back and brushed dusty dry leaves off his face and out of his hair. He was covered in smudges of dirt and bits of debris, but he was safe.
“Thank god,” I said, yanking him into my arms and holding him tight. “Fuck. Fuck.”
His entire body trembled in my hold. “It was Gene,” he finally said between chattering teeth. “He did it again.”
I sat on the ground and held him half on my lap. I was surprised he’d recognized the driver considering the sun had reflected blindingly off the windshield, but it was a distinctive truck. I thought I remembered seeing it at the Chop Shop the first day I came to town. “Gene Stanner?”
Truman nodded once in confirmation. “Craig and Patrick’s dad. The sheriff’s brother. That was his truck. He’s the one who…” He clamped his mouth closed, but I shook my head.
“No, Tru. No more keeping this to yourself. Tell me.”
“He’s the one who hit Mikey and Pim last December.” Truman’s eyes filled with tears. “And I didn’t tell anyone.”
He looked so small and vulnerable. His glasses were bent, and his hair went every which way. Smudges from the dirty ground marred his cheeks and chin. I wanted to bundle him up and secret him away somewhere, but I knew that wasn’t possible.
It was time for him to stand up. And I was going to make sure he knew this time there was an entire army of people who had his back.
“I’m a horrible person,” he whispered, almost to himself.
“You’re a scared person,” I corrected, brushing some of the dirt off his cheek with my thumb. “And you’re allowed to make mistakes. Tell me what happened.”
The pickup was long gone by now, and we were alone on the roadside again. I wondered how the hell the man had found us or if somehow it had simply been a lucky opportunity that had fallen in his lap while he was out for a joy ride.
“I was closing up the shop when Mikey, Pim, and Bill showed up. Suddenly, they were shoving me out of the way. I looked to see what was happening and saw Gene’s truck peeling off down the road. I didn’t know what had happened until I heard Pim groaning and they were both on the ground.”
His tears had overflowed and run a clean streak through the dirt on his face. I held him closer and tried comforting him as best I could, but I could feel the tension as his body continued to shake with adrenaline and fear. “Why didn’t you tell anyone what you saw?”
I already knew the answer, but I wanted to be sure I understood his fear.
“It all happened so fast. What if I was wrong? What if the sheriff didn’t believe me? What if he did believe me and he didn’t do anything about it? What if he didn’t hold his brother accountable and Pim and Bill and Mikey hated me for it?”
Truman swallowed around his tears. “It’s just another example of how I’ve failed everyone. Part of me wants to leave, Sam. And make a fresh start somewhere else.”
I stayed quiet so he could, hopefully, get to the next stage of processing this. He finally sighed. “But then how would I feel about myself? It’s already been so freaking long of feeling like the world’s biggest fool. And I can’t… I can’t keep all of this inside anymore. It’s killing me.” Truman let out a humorless laugh. “Heck, it’s literally killing me. First the hit-and-run in December, then the attempted beating the day I met you, then the fire at the shop, and now—”
“He could have killed us. Especially if he was drunk. And if he’s driving drunk, he could kill anyone.”
Truman sighed and met my eyes. “We need to call the state police.”
I nodded. “Or maybe the state bureau of investigation like Mindy suggested about the pension fund. But after what just happened, we can’t afford to wait.”
Truman stood up and brushed himself off before noticing what had happened to the bike. Suddenly, he started laughing, and he laughed so hard he nearly fell down again.
“I hope you had insurance,” he said through his laughter. “Two bikes in one week, Sam. I don’t know…”