Page 145 of Finding Delaware

“No wonder you’re so good at what you do.”

He throws me a sideways glance. “Don’t tell me you’ve never learned to drive a manual?”

I blink at him for a second, and his eyes widen.

“Really?Aaron never taught you?”

“My mom was the one who taught me to drive, and she only knew automatic, so...no.”

“Damn.” He grabs my hand and puts it on the shifter, “here, I’ll show you.”

Over the next twenty minutes or so, he tries to teach me about the different gears and how they tie into the clutch, and I try to pay attention. He’s so confident, patiently answering my questions even though I’m not retaining much. I just like hearing him speak.

“Fifth gear is only for sixty-five miles per hour or above. But I’m not taking this corner that fast with you in the truck. Ihavedone it before, though.” Using our hands to downshift into second, he pulls onto a dirt path, taking us through the trees. It’s too dark to see anything other than shadows beyond the beam of his headlights, but it doesn’t seem to phase him.

“Who taught you to drive?” I ask, and his body slightly stiffens.

“My dad started teaching me when I was five.” The truck slows, turning as he whips us around to back into a spot in the brush. “Couldn’t even reach the pedals yet. He’d beat my ass every time I stalled on the clutch, but I sure learned fast.”

My stomach twists at that, anger blooming for the little boy he’d been.

“I’m sorry. You deserved better parents.”

It’s true. Even though Maisie has always been kind to me, it doesn’t excuse how she treats her flesh and blood. A part of me wonders if my dad has ever questioned it or saw anything wrong with it. Yes, Taylor fucked up. He did a lot of bad things growing up, but would he have still been that way if he’d grown up in a loving environment?

I guess I don’t really know. I grew up with two caring, supportive parents, and what had that gotten me?

Anxiety,that’s what.

Maybe instead of being ‘nature versus nurture,’ it’s a bit of both.

Taylor shrugs tightly. “I had Salem and the guys. I was lucky.”

“This the place?” Not wanting to make him uncomfortable by discussing his childhood, I steer us away from the conversation.

“Yeah.” Reaching behind the seat, he grabs a wadded-up blanket and a plastic bag before rolling down the window to open his door. “Come on.”

The chilly canyon air hits me when I leave the truck, making me shiver as I follow him to the back. Water sloshes in the distance, backed by a cacophony of crickets and croaking frogs. Taylor unlatches the tailgate, hopping onto the truck bed with a pat for me to join him, and as I settle in, the view before us catches my breath.

Silver Lake glitters under the waxing moon, the dark sky above so clear that I swear I can see our own galaxy flickering among the stars. Far away from the bright city lights, it’s almost ethereal, watching the sky’s reflection ripple in the water, surrounded by nothing but aspens and spruce.

“Unreal, huh?” Taylor’s eyes are on my face, and I turn to give him an appreciative nod.

“It’s beautiful. I can only imagine what it looks like in the daytime.”

“During the day, it’s just your typical lake. Still beautiful, sure, but at night?” He tips his head back, sweeping his gaze above with a small smile. “Everything goes quiet and still. There’s nothing but you and space out here, stretching for miles.”

Quiet is definitely right. Even the frogs have stopped their bellowing like our presence scared them off. The silence is almost deafening, unlike the water lapping on the shoreline. With the darkness of the trees around us, it’s a bit eerie, if I’m being honest.

“You don’t find it unnerving?”

“Nah.” Leaning on his palms, he swings his legs back and forth. “It’s the calm that settles me. Sometimes, after a big show or practice on my bike, I have a hard time coming down from the adrenaline. Weed used to help, but...yeah. Once I stopped smoking and drinking, I’d be antsy as fuck for hours. Couldn’t sleep. So, my therapist suggested ‘peaceful’ activities to get my brain to shut off. Coming here is soothing.”

I hum, keeping my eyes on the shadows in case something decides to jump out. “The first time I went to a doctor at eighteen with sleeping problems, they just threw pills at me.”

He’s silent for a bit, gazing at me sadly, but his eyes slip away when I turn to look at him.

“They tried that, too, at first,” he admits softly, “but after...everything that happened, and with my newfound sobriety, I wanted to stay off meds. Took a while and some experimentation,but I found what worked for me. Everyone’s brain is different.”

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