Page 77 of Catch the Sun

“Yep. Sorry this old truck doesn’t have Bluetooth, but you can play it off my phone.”

Nodding, I reach for the cell phone and browse through his library that features a single playlist.

It has a title.

Sunny Songs.

I blink over to him.

He answers before I have time to question the discovery. “Those are some of my favorite bands and a lot of the songs have lyrics about the sun. They make me think of you.” He sweeps a hand through his tousle of hair and clears his throat. “Two of those bands are playing tonight at the concert. Wilderado and Bear’s Den. They’re kind of—”

“You have songs that make you think of me?” I interrupt, because that’s allthat registered.

He hesitates, swallows. “Yeah.” When we stop at a red light, Max plucks the phone out of my hands and scrolls through the list, landing on a song. He presses Play. “Especially this one. It’s called ‘Surefire’ by Wilderado.”

Melodies burst to life as he turns the volume up. The song is upbeat. Happy. I wonder why it makes him think of me. I’m constantly a dark cloud raining on him, and this song is so pure. It feels like living. Real, authentic living.

And suddenly…

I’m angry.

It happens so fast.

My hands clench in my lap as the lyrics ring loud and hot pressure burns behind my eyes. I see Max turn to glance at me in my peripheral vision.

“What’s wrong?” he wonders, pulling off onto an open road as sunlight pours down on the infinite stretch before us. Rocks and pebbles light up, a tapestry of gold. Tree branches sway and shake.

“Nothing,” I croak out while my fingernails dig into the heels of my palms.

He presses down on the accelerator and the landscape becomes a blur of motion. “If you’re mad, let it out. You’re safe with me.”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Let it out, Sunny.” He rolls both windows down all the way. “Let it go. You’ll feel better.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

Anger blooms in my chest, searching for a way out. I try to keep it contained like I always do, but it teases me, pokes me, and then it starts to claw. Right between my ribs. A sharp talon, jagged and mean. My breathing escalates, morphing into steady pants. “Fuck Jonah,” I hiss through my teeth, emotion balling in my throat. “Fuck him for being on death row, for abandoning me. Fuck my father for leaving us behind without a backward glance, and fuck my first-grade teacher and her stupid tits. They deserved each other.”

“Fuck them,” Max agrees, his fingers bleaching white around the steering wheel. “Fuck them all.”

“Fuck them all,” I repeat. “And fuck the kids at school who look at me likeI’m some kind of monster. The teachers, too. Mrs. Caulfield, especially. Fuck her and her pointy head and cruel words. She’s supposed to be a teacher, but all she’s taught me is that people can be so horrible to one another.”

“Fuck her.”

“And fuck Andy Sandwell and Heath and all of their asshole friends. Fuck my mother who worked so hard for her money and then worked so hard to lose it, hiring the best lawyers, thinking she could set Jonah free,” I confess, feeling positively rageful. “He wanted to take the plea deal, you know. A guilty plea for life without parole. Mom begged him to go to trial. She was certain he’d get off, because she’s convinced he didn’t do it. Turns out, she was wrong. She sentenced him to death.”

Max remains silent, glancing at me every few seconds as we gun it down the vacant dirt road.

I keep going.

“Fuck everyone who crucified me for that interview, who punished me for my sad, bleeding heart. It’s not fair. It sucks. I hate being so mad.” I’m near hysterics, so I turn to Max and ambush him with what’s left of my pain. “And fuck you, Max Manning. Fuck you for being kind to me. For making me feel safe and vulnerable when I know it’s a mistake. For dancing with me, for holding my hand beneath the stars, and for making me laugh like there are still things worth laughing about. Fuck you for giving me flowers, then and now, as if I really matter to you, and for making my birthday special. And for playing me this stupid song that I absolutely love because it makes me feel the same wayyoumake me feel.” I catch my breath and swallow hard, my voice softening to a hoarse whisper. “Like…I have no reason to be mad anymore.”

A few tense beats roll by.

He says nothing, his hands still curled around the wheel, his jaw tense. He’s looking straight ahead, processing my tirade, probably thinking I’ve lost my mind.

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