I smile back at him and fight the urge to unhook my seatbelt and hug him with all my might. Instead, I just nod yes and hold my tongue.

“Oh, and he said he’s bringing that guy, Kevin or something like that? The golfing dude,” Cody says, his voice almost sounding excited. “He’s bringing him for Thanksgiving in a couple weeks. His wife, too. Said he wants us all to have Thanksgiving dinner.”

I’m so thrown by all of this; I can hardly absorb it fast enough. I don’t know what to question first, so I start with the most difficult question. “You mean, with Jim and Shelly?” I ask, my question lingering in the air, the truck cabin silent with our thoughts.

“Huh. Yeah, I think so. He says he’ll have everything ready by then; that’s when I should try to talk to Jim,” Cody says, his hands tapping nervously on the steering wheel. I can tell he’s done talking, his mind busy racing through everything he needs to get done for Trevor—everything he needs to do to save his father’s memory.

By the time we pull into the driveway, the energy is practically peeling off of Cody. He’s short, but pleasant, when he says goodbye, and I watch him rush up to the carriage house to get started.

It’s almost evening when I hear Trevor’s cab pull in, and I rush down to greet him. He’s barely inside the house for five minutes before Cody’s there too, and the two of them are huddled around the kitchen counter sifting through pages of notes. I’m amazed at how much work Cody was able to do in the few hours before Trevor arrived, but what stills me is the sight of the two of them sitting, talking. There’s an instant respect, and it’s beautiful—something that weeks ago I never could have imagined would take shape.

“That’s amazing. You actually know how to take that out and rebuild it,” Trevor says, trying to keep up with Cody’s mechanical talk. Trevor’s out of his element, but there’s genuine interest lighting up his eyes. Within minutes, the two of them are heading outside to Cody’s garage, and Cody’s propping up the hood of the latest special project he’s taken on.

I stay back, wanting them to have this moment. The longer they talk—the longer they connect—the more satisfied I am with my decision. I love Trevor, and I know I do. And I know I care about Cody, probably more than I should. But I also know I care about him enough to not want to mess this up.

I head upstairs and crawl into bed to read until Trevor finally comes up to join me. He’s talking a million miles a minute, as excited as Cody was after their phone conversation, and I’m starting to feed off his adrenaline. He pulls his shirt and jeans off and slides into bed next to me, turning the light off as he does. When he pulls me into him, everything finally feels normal—right. He’s kissing the back of my neck, his fingers stroking my hair out of the way, when he whispers the most important words he could have said.

“Thank you, Charlotte. Thank you for forcing me to listen, and giving me my brother,” he says.

I lose my breath, and I’m hit with a sudden sense of mourning. I squeeze Trevor’s arms tightly against my front and chase sleep, just waiting to see Cody in my dreams—knowing now that’s the only place I can.

Chapter 12: Just…Friends

Trevor spent most of the weekend with Cody at his garage, and I managed to get completely caught up with my drafts and homework. I rush out of the house each morning early—purposely waking before Cody, so I can drive myself and not have to spend time alone with him in his truck. I need this distance, this time to get my head on right.

The first time I did it, Cody asked why I didn’t wait, and I told him that I was behind on drafts and was spending extra time in the art room. He seemed to buy it, because he quit asking, and this morning, I noticed his truck was gone first.

It’s Thursday, and we haven’t had time to talk about the concert. I’m actually thinking about holding my breath, hoping the entire night passes without him remembering so I can survive this. But it seems my calculus grade has other plans for me.

“Ms. Hudson, you need to spend a little more time in the tutoring lab,” Dr. Rush says, slapping down the stapled packet that was our last quiz. It’s covered in red, and the F can be seen across the room. I know it can, because Cody’s on his way toward me, mouthing, “What the hell?”

“Charlie, why didn’t you ask for help?” he says, sitting down in the seat next to me. I can’t tell him the truth…that I didn’t want to be alone with him because every time I am, I start to question things, and my stomach flutters, and my palms sweat, and I imagine kissing him again.