Page 47 of Truck Stop Titan

“It’s okay if you don’t want to go.” I curled an arm around her shoulder, afraid she might shrug me off, but she didn’t and sweet Jesus I needed to lock myself in the closet and cry for a week. “But you have to let me know, Little One. You have to let me know if it’s a yes or a no.”

Mim turned her head and watched Rocky wrestle with his uncle on the floor. Rocky threw a punch in Tucker’s gut, and Mim buried her face in my boob. It was then I realized she wasn’t afraid of the boat, but the roughhousing.

“Hey. Mim.” I tucked a finger under her chin and urged her to look up. “They’re just playing. See? Rocky’s laughing. He’s happy. People do that sometimes. They’re pretend fighting. None of those boys would ever hurt each other. And none of them would ever hurt you.”

Tango must’ve overheard our conversation. He tore Rocky away from his uncle, whispered in his ear, then set him on his feet. The little man came our way. “C’mon Mim. The boat is so much fun. And I can teach you how to fish. I only have one fishing pole, but I can share.”

Mim studied Rocky with scrutiny only an adult should be able to pull off, the tip of her pinky finger between her teeth. After a long spell, she hopped off the chair, and took Rocky’s offered hand.

I scrunched my face, fighting another sob.

Tango stared a hole straight through me.

“Hey, Rocky.” Lettie stood and held her hand toward her grandson. “Let’s go see if we can help Mim find the right clothes to wear on the boat.”

The kids dashed down the hall without a backward glance, Lettie and Tucker following behind.

Tango invaded my personal space in two strides. “You okay?”

I nodded, biting my lip against a wave of nausea. “Did you see? She leaned on me. She let me touch her.”

“Yeah. I saw.”

“She’s gonna be okay.”

“I think so.” Exotic green eyes narrowed. “But are you?”

Aside from the overwhelming emotions choking me, I’d never been better. “I haven’t felt this good in a long time.”

As if on cue, the room spun, everything in my stomach clenched, and I dashed to the kitchen garbage, my breakfast making a violent reappearance.

Tango stood in wait, a cold, wet dishtowel in hand, a sad smile on his face.

When I could stand, he asked, “That good, huh?”

“I’m so embarrassed. I’m sorry. I have a sensitive stomach. This happens when I’m under a lot of stress.”

“You gonna be okay out on the water? You look a little green.”

“I’ll be fine, and a day on the lake will be good for Mim.”

“Yeah. Something healing about the water.” He offered nothing more but shooed me out of the way and tied the bag I’d just barfed into.

“Oh, God. Tango. Let me do that.” Mortified, I grabbed for the trash.

With one swift motion, he twisted to keep me from advancing, and lifted the garbage from the container. “We’re heading out in about thirty minutes. You go get ready.”

I stared at the bag in his hand, my vision blurring.

“Moriah.”

Matthew never would’ve cleaned my mess. He’d have left the room in a cloud of dust. Whenever I would get sick, he’d avoid me for a week, to make sure I wasn’t contagious.

“Hey, Moriah.”

Ugh. Matthew. I hadn’t had time to miss him, but he still hadn’t called, and that stung. But the more time I spent in Whisper Springs, the more I realized how blind I’d been to my boyfriend’s selfish ways. He was waiting for me to make the first move, to grovel, apologize, admit I’d been foolish to break up with him over the phone. To break up with him at all. Before Mom’s funeral, before Mim, I had been that girl. The girl who caved. Admitted fault, even when the fault belonged elsewhere. That girl needed a permanent vacation.

A hand landed on my shoulder, squeezing gently. “You sure you’re okay?”

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