Page 185 of Wild Like Us
Even when they’re true.
“Kits,” I start.
“It’s okay,” he chokes, swallowing hard. “I’ll call a tow truck for the Jeep, so it’ll get back to Philly without us.” His eyes stay on me, mine stay on him, and he says, “It’s not a new realization, Sul. I’ve known how you feel about him.”
“Do you know how I feel about you?” I breathe, my throat swollen.
He nods with a sad smile. “Yeah.” He nods again. “You love me too, string bean. It’s why you haven’t picked yet.”
Yeah.
I sniff back snot that tries to drip down my lips.
“We’re going to get through this,” Akara tells me and also Banks, and even though his words encompass our current car situation, it feels like he’s speaking about so much more too.
We whip out our phones.
Akara books a tow-truck to transport Booger, so the Jeep is set to arrive back home in a few days. But we need to find a way to get ourselves to Philly much earlier than that.
“Nearest airport is a two-hour drive,” Akara says.
I scroll through my phone, looking for taxis, Ubers, Lyfts. Anything that will get us from point A to point B.
Banks is looking for flights.
Akara breaks away and speaks to the mechanic. I barely pick up their conversation as Akara asks, “Is there any local we can call to take us to the airport?”
The mechanic chuckles. “If you find someone ‘round here to take you there, let me know. I’d like their number.”
Fan-fucking-tastic.
“No ride shares are in range,” I tell Banks.
He eyes Akara, who disappears into the back of the shop with the mechanic. “Akara will think of something. He always does.”
Five minutes later, Akara returns and opens the glove compartment of Booger. He pulls out an envelope stuffed with cash—hiscash that he brought for “emergencies”—and he jogs back to the mechanic. Vanishing again.
One-minute later, he comes out and dangles a set of keys. “Let’s go.”
“You bought a car?” I ask, my heart swelling up.
“Yep.”
I could kiss him, but I think the way I’m looking at Kits means more than any kiss. He smiles down at me, his eyes roaming over my features. He tells me and Banks, “I paid all cash and bypassed the paperwork. We can get out of here now.”
Wasting no time, we all unload our crap from Booger. Transferring our bags to an old, black Honda with wrinkled and ripped, black leather seats.
Before noon, we’re on the road.
I drive first since they’re both on the phone.
“Slow down, Sul,” Akara says in the passenger seat.
“I’m only going fourteen-over,” I refute. “I won’t get stopped.”
“It’s not going to matter,” Banks says from the backseat. I glance through the rearview. He’s looking at his cell. “There’s only one flight back to Philly. And it leaves tonight.”
“What time does it say we get in?” I wonder.
