Page 6 of Salvation

“I didn’t realize he left it to you,” I respond, unsure of what else to say.

He shrugs, “Can’t imagine you would’ve heard about it in New York City.”

Ouch.Okay.Suppose I deserved that.

Buddies’ is his dad’s bar. Washis dad’s bar. Ben asked us one day what he should call it, so we had picked Buddie, and it just stuck. I can’t remember why we agreed on that one, but he loved it. And soon, it became the town’s nickname for Ben. Everyone called him Buddie, and he even named the family ranch after it.

We often spent hours at the bar when we were younger, playing pool or helping clean-up for free ice cream that his dad would bribe us with (without telling our moms, of course). My heart cracks a little at the memories.

Hell-bent on breaking the growing tension, my mom claps her hands together, “On that note, you two shouldreallyget going. Don’t wanna piss off the regulars by keeping them waiting!”

Screw this.My therapist was wrong. I’m definitely better off staying in bed. “Mom, I don’t think that’s a good idea –"

“Nonsense.” She cut me off. “I need to run some errands anyways, and I’m sure Wesley will be more than happy to have you tag along. It’ll be just like old times. I’ll pick you up before dinner. Maybe it’ll give you a chance to explore the rest of the town, too.”

I go to protest, but one look from her has me snapping my mouth shut. I should have known, even before landing in this godforsaken town, that my mother would meddle with something so broken. I internally berate myself for not getting a rental car the minute the plane touched down.

I don’t look at Wesley, but with a gesture of my hand, I say, “Lead the way.”

Chapter 7

Wesley

Iwasn’t planning on coming back.

Don’t I know it.

Whyis she here, then? Why, of all times, did she decide to come homenow? I shove off those questions and all the restless memories that come with them. I tried and failed to focus on placing one foot in front of the other and not on the blonde bombshell trailing behind me. It doesn’t matter what Blake’s doing in town, not anymore.

Blake.She’s exactly the same as I remember, yet so different.

Still devastatingly beautiful, and still the only person who can so easily crawl under my skin after just a few words. With full, plump pink lips, and big honey-brown eyes, her thick hair is tied back in a high pony that cascades down her back. She has perfectly arched eyebrows and dark, long eyelashes. A button nose that’s still a host to the tiny scar she gained from the time she fell off her bike in my mom’s driveway. Tight jeans and awhite tank do little to hide her ample curves. It’s as if the devil himself crafted Blake Warner just tospiteme.

As I swing open her door and motion for her to hop in, my eyes lock on another scar that runs along her forearm, one I don’t recognize. She does so, hopping in and completely avoiding my gaze. Slamming the door shut, I clench my fist at my side and walk around the back of the truck, hoping to prolong the awkward as-shit encounter that’s inevitably about to happen. Thankfully, it’s silent for the first few moments. Until her mom’s house is fully out of view.

“I’m surprised you managed to get this thing up and running,” Blake says, filling the silence.

I watch from the corner of my eye as she runs her pink manicured nails across the dash. Something about it has me squeezing the steering wheel and tearing my gaze away. I don’t respond, still a little shocked that she’s sitting inmytruck. But leave it to Blake toprod the silence once more. For whatever reason, she never could stand it.

There’s a teasing tone in her voice once we hit the one-way dirt road into town. “Bar ownerandmechanic, huh?”

“Yup,” I answer, not willing to elaborate.

She hums, “Hmmm. Long way from future astronaut.”

I loosen my tight grip on the steering wheel and refrain from shooting her a look.

“I was ten when I said that,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road.

“Oh, please. You said that all throughout high school. Youevenbegged your parents to send you to space camp.”

“If I remember correctly, you’re the one who wanted to be a ballerina when you clearly only have two left feet,”I retort.

“Whatever. At leastminewas realistic,” she says with a snort.

“You broke your ankle five minutes into the warm-up," I say, making Blake gasp.

“You promised you’d never mention that out loud!”

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