CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Sutton—

Finally, the ground is dry enough that people are beginning to leave.

A man approaches our window, and Kyle dips his head. "Can I help you, sir?"

"If you're goin', now's your chance. Word is that people are getting through. They say another storm is moving in tomorrow."

Kyle glances at the sky. "Thanks, man."

He nods and moves away.

Kyle's eyes shift to me. "Guess we should pack it up."

I look at the soft ground. "You sure?"

"I don't want to risk staying. We could get stuck for a week and run out of food. I need to make sure you get home safe."

Because everything between us is awkward now? Is that why he's in a hurry to leave? He's barely spoken to me since the other night. I feel like I've ruined everything.

My shoulders slump. "You're right."

He stares at me for a moment, like there's something more he wants to say, but in the end, he just turns to the grill and starts cleaning it.

I wash utensils and pack them up. It takes us two hours, and the line leading out the only road in is getting long as more and more people decide to try getting out. Some of the other food trucks are sunk in the mud up to their wheel wells.

"Those poor people," I murmur, watching out the window.

Kyle nods. "That stuff's probably like cement by now. I'm glad Green made me bring the plywood."

"What will happen to them?"

"I don't know, Sutton. Maybe they'll send in the National Guard to get them out. I'm sure the promotors have contacted someone. Maybe they'll bring in military helicopters with food. By now, surely this disaster has made the news."

"I suppose you're right."

Within an hour, we're packed and rolling slowly in the long line of RVs, mini-vans, and pickup trucks.

I stare out the window and think about our time here. I can't work with Kyle anymore. He's right. It'll be too hard. And I can't pull apart two brothers who've been so close their entire lives. I know what I've got to do when we get home.

"You okay?"

"Yes. So, your food was a real hit, Kyle. How much did you make?"

"With the food I gave away at the end, I'll be lucky if I break even."

Melancholy washes over me. "So, it was all for nothing?"

"Don't say that. We tried our best. There will be other festivals. I'll make do." He watches me. "Hey."

I turn to meet his eyes.

"You're always the positive one. Don't go getting depressed on me now."

I look out the window.

"Sutton?"

"Yes?"

"You okay?"

I nod.

"I mean about that guy. He tried to hurt you. I don't mean to sound like you don't have a right to be depressed or sad or pissed off."

"I'm fine. And thanks for what you did. I should have said it right away."

He shakes his head. "This isn't about me. I was wrong to say that to you. I was being an ass."

"No, you weren't." I pluck at a thread on the hem of my shirt. "I just wish this had been a success for you. I hate you lost money."

"Well, get to work, marketing manager. Post some of those pictures of the lines we had before the storm hit." He shrugs. "And maybe some of those after."

He's right. I have pictures. Lots of pictures. I even managed to take a couple of the line of wet and muddy people, waiting in the rain for a free hot meal.

I pull my phone out and tap a post, picking just the right photo. It's one I took from the vantage point of the back of the line, showing the truck and the sign Kyle had written.

Maybe it'll help.

"Sutton?"

"Yes?"

"I feel really guilty about what happened. I should have protected you. I should have taken better care of you. I never should have let you go walking alone."

"Don't," I snap. "You can be sorry about what happened to me, but don't you dare take on the guilt or responsibility for what that man did."

His eyes shift to the road. "Is that what I do?"

"You did it with Rafe, didn't you? I mean, you never told me everything, but—"

"He was shot, and I wasn't there for him. I let him go out in that alley alone."

"I'm sure Rafe does a lot of dangerous stuff for the MC. You both do."

"I guess."

"If Cole gave you an order, you'd do it." I can see by the way he shifts in his seat and sucks in a breath, that my words are getting to him. But he needs to face this and realize the truth, or he and Rafe will never have the relationship they had before the night of the shooting.

"It took Rafe a long time to recover," Kyle whispers. "A long time. You'd maybe never know it now, but he had a rocky road of physical therapy. He had to relearn how to walk, how to talk. It was bad."

"I hate that for him."

"He ever tell you any of this?"

"No."

Kyle stares out the windshield. "Maybe he doesn't like to talk about it. Sometimes, I'm not even sure what he remembers. He lost a lot of memories."

"It's sad, but I try not to be sad for him. I know the last thing he wants is pity."

"Yeah."

"It costs a lot to face the truth. You can be sorry about something and not take on the guilt and responsibility for it," I murmur.

We spend most of the rest of the trip in silence. Eventually, I doze off. When I wake, we're on I5.

Kyle stops to get gas, and I can see the exhaustion on his face.

"Let me drive," I offer.

"It's a big RV pulling a big trailer, Sutton. You have any experience?"

"No, I guess not."

"I'll be fine. I just need some coffee." He hangs the nozzle on the gas pump. "You want anything?"

I shake my head.

Ten minutes later, we're back on the road.

It's almost midnight when we get home. Kyle drives me to Rafe's house, and idles in the street, and calls his brother.

"Get your ass up, and come get your woman, loser," Kyle teases.

A minute later, Rafe strolls down the drive in just a pair of jeans.

"Are you working tomorrow?" I ask.

"Nah. Gonna sleep in."

I pull on the door handle.

"Thanks for everything, Sutton," Kyle says.

"You're welcome." I stare at him a long moment, then walk around the front of the RV to meet Rafe.

He hugs me and waves to his brother. The RV and trailer, still covered in dried mud, pull away, and I watch the taillights disappear.