Page 78 of Catch the Sun

I have. I really have.

My face burns with shame. My palms are close to bleeding from my angry nails and my stomach coils into anxious knots.

I’m about to apologize. Maybe tuck and roll from the car while we’re going seventy—broken neck be damned. I’m going to. I am.

But then…

“Fuck you, Dr Pepper,” Max finally says.

I suck in a sharp breath. A laugh almost falls out, but I’m too stunned to laugh right now. He heard me that day at the vending machine. He heard me and he remembered.

I stare at him and nod slowly, my heartbeats ricocheting. “Fuck you, Dr Pepper,” I murmur.

“Say it louder.”

I straighten in my seat and tip my face to the truck’s ceiling. “Fuck you, Dr Pepper!”

“Again.”

I’m breathing like I just ran a marathon. High jumps, long jumps, pole vaults. Lifting up, I lean out the open window as my loose hair obscures my vision and the wind tries to choke me. And then I shout at the top of my lungs, “Fuck you, Dr Pepper!”

No one is around us, not a single car on the road. Only Max can hear me. Only the wind feels my grief as I release it with wild abandon, my hands clinging to the passenger side door, my heart in my throat. I scream it again. And again. I purge and shriek and bend and break.

I laugh.

I laugh with mania, with defiance, with soul-churning awareness. The song plays loud, volume up all the way, a forever soundtrack to this moment.

This magic moment.

When I flop back into the passenger seat, I’m breathless, boneless, and more alive than I’ve ever been before. It takes a second for me to notice the wetness trickling down my cheekbones, creating little pools along my lips and jaw. I stick out my tongue and taste the salt.

Tears. I’m crying.

I’m crying.

I swipe at the teardrops with the sleeve of my sweater, another sob-drenched laugh spilling from my lips. I’m crying, but not because I’m sad. It’s because I finally found what I’ve been searching for. What I’ve been desperately craving for years.

Peace.

Just one peaceful moment.

I’m not broken. I’m not beyond hope. I’m worthy; I’mso worthyof this moment. Of this precious pocket of peace.

It’s here.

It’s mine.

I found it.

I found it in this rusty old truck on an open road, the music loud, the sun blood orange. I found it with dust in my eyes and wind in my hair as Max reaches for my hand and links our fingers together with a tender squeeze.

And I realize it’s not the first time I’ve found it. It’s merely the first time I’ve let myself acknowledge it.

I’m a mess of tears and joy when I look over at Max, our hands tightly locked together. He holds on to me. He’s with me. He feels it, too.

The truth is I’ve had many peaceful moments.

And every single one of them has been with him.

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