Page 70 of Fireworks Flame
“Meaning they have to love you?” I asked.
“Meaning they’re like family,” Simone said. “And you don’t choose your family. You only get to choose yourfriends.”
CHAPTER 21
Do you think Simone told Phoebe and Mac?” Deiss asks the question as I pull out, almost causing me to panic-crash into the car in front of me.
“What?” I grip the wheel with both hands, too nervous to look at him. Simone must have already texted him, probably addressing him sarcastically as Brendan Davis. I should’ve known she would. She was still so angry when she left. She tried to hide it, but everything about her was stretched tight, like a rubber band ready to snap.
Maybe this isn’t terrible, though. Deiss knows what I’ve done, but he still chose to come with me. Maybe he understands that I was trying to defend him. Maybe hewantsto forgive me.
“She swore she wouldn’t,” I say, stopping the car and turning toward him. “But that doesn’t make it okay. I’m so sorry that I betrayed your trust, Deiss.”
Deiss chuckles wryly, reaching for a lock of my hair and fingering the end of it. “I’m pretty sure she figured out anythingyou might’ve told her the moment she saw you coming out of my bedroom, but I hate that you think I’m trying to keep you a secret, because I’m not. I’ll tell everyone myself right now if that’s what you want. I just don’t want them making us feel guilty.”
“Right,” I parrot idiotically. My mind races, circling the fact that he doesn’t know what I’ve done before returning gleefully tous. Simone laughed at me for using the same term, but it had come so naturally. This isn’t something that has happened overnight. Things have been shifting between us for weeks. I’ve just been too scared to acknowledge it.
“It would just be nice to have one day to enjoy this by ourselves without anyone ruining it, you know?” His hand leaves my hair and trails down my arm, making my skin tingle in its wake.
“Idoknow.” Unfortunately, what I know is thatI’mthe one who’s at the most danger of ruining it. But Deiss is right. Is it really so much to ask that we get one day to simply enjoy this, without the intrusion of the real world?
“We should turn off our phones,” I say impulsively, pushing down my guilt.
“Yeah?”
“Let’s leave it all behind for a day,” I say. “Just you and me, on the road again.”
—
Like my firstday in South Africa, we roll the windows down and wind rushes through the car, making me feel like I’m flying. Unlike that road trip, we never get around to the questions in the small talk game. I’ve always assumed too much one-on-one time with someone would leave you with no words left to say. But with Deiss, the opposite proves true.
We chat about the shows we’ve watched and the crazy things Booker and Mia have said. But we also talk about the concert and how many people my flyers brought in. Deiss tells me he regrets serving alcohol to such a large crowd, mainly because there were too many strangers there, but also because he pulled in good revenue without having to resort to it. And I admit that I’m scared to create the flyers for the next band. If they don’t draw in as many people, I’ll know it wasn’t me but the band that brought the crowd.
LA’s buildings fall away, replaced by dry, rocky hills and, eventually, the crooked, jutting branches of Joshua trees. The sun burns brighter the farther we travel, and Deiss puts on a pair of sunglasses he finds in the glove compartment. Unsurprisingly, they look unreasonably good on him, and I make the decision to never wear them again. I can’t be on the wrong side of a who-wore-it-better contest. It’s unacceptable.
“I miss Cat Stevens,” I admit after Deiss tells me he used to have a dog. He’s been trying to describe his old pet as well as the pictures would if we were allowed to use our phones, and there’s something about his attention to detail that’s squeezed at my heart. “I know it’s silly—he barely tolerated me when he was living rent-free in my home—but I still look for him every time we walk to the shop, like he’s out there somewhere, searching for me.”
“Maybe we should go check some shelters and see if he’s shown up at one of them.”
“I’ve emailed them all his picture,” I say, keeping my eyes firmly on the road in case the stinging in them means they’re getting red. We’ve just entered my hometown, which doesn’t help with my nostalgia.
“You have?”
I nod. “Surprisingly, not one of them ignored my message.They were nice enough to respond, but none of them have seen him.”
“I’m sorry, Liv.”
“It’s fine. He’s probably happier being on his own.”
“Maybe,” he says agreeably. “I mean, I’m sure he misses you, but I’ve heard cats can be...”
“What?” I glance over, amused to discover how awkward he suddenly looks. “Skittish? Haughty?”
“Assholes.” He lifts his hands unapologetically. “Ididn’t say it.”
“You repeated it, though,” I say with a laugh. “So, what? You hate cats?”
“I don’t hate them,” he says. “They just remind me of squirrels.”
