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But it went. It didn’t die.

“Good,” Weston said. “Get her going, and then we’re going to shift gears, all right?” There was so much going on—so many things to focus on—but the truck was moving.

Holy shit. The truck wasmoving.

I just nodded.

“Okay, in a few seconds, you’re going to take your foot off the gas, push the clutch in, and move the car into second gear.”

“That’s a lot of things.” I gulped.

“You’ve got this, Ada. Now take your foot off the gas and push the clutch in.” I did. The truck did something that felt like a hiccup. “Second gear, quick.” I moved the gearshift to second and felt it lock. “Gas, sweetheart. Hit the gas now and let the clutch pedal up.”Sweetheart.I didn’t hate it, but I was trying to pretend I hated how much his voice calmed me down.

I did, and the truck lurched again. “Good, Ada. We’re going to stay slow, okay? No faster than twenty-five miles an hour.” I glanced down at the speedometer, which was currently sitting at ten. I felt like I was going at least fifty.

“Do you have it in you to shift again?” he asked, and I nodded. “All right, once we hit twenty miles an hour, I want you to show me what you can do.”

God, he was so gentle—so comforting. He talked to me the way people talk to plants when they want them to grow.

Don’t fuck this up now, Ada. Show him what you can do.I pushed on the gas lightly—glancing down at the speedometer a few times until it hit twenty.

Here we go.Off the gas.I lifted my foot.Clutch.I pushed it in.Shift.I moved the gearshift up to third.Gas, sweetheart.I heard Weston’s voice in my head, since he was silent next to me.

I shifted into third gear, and the truck was still moving, and the Earth was still turning—as far as I could tell.

“What did I say?” Wes said.

“That I was going to kick so much ass?” I responded.

“And I was right,” he said.

“What do I do now?” I asked. I felt like there was so much to do, and I wasn’t currently doing any of it. Right now, driving the truck felt easy?

“We cruise along at a nice and easy twenty miles an hour. We listen to James Taylor sing about a country road, and eventually, we come to a stop.”

“That’s it?” I asked.

“That’s it. Don’t get ahead of yourself.” Weston started humming along to the music, and I kept driving, trying not to get distracted by the suns—the one in the sky and the one sitting next to me—bathing everything I could see in light.

Chapter 15

Ada

It was my third Friday at Rebel Blue, and things were going remarkably well. Besides another rodent incident—I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing that they were deceased this time—vaulting the ceiling went off without a hitch.

When we removed the surfaces of the walls, we found a few areas with original red brick underneath. I was planning to keep those exposed. It looked like we were going to end up with a lot more color in the house than I’d originally planned, but I loved it. I was sick of people asking me to make things look chic, and clean, and…beige.

Listen, I had nothing against beige. Objectively, beige was great.

But this place deserved more than beige.

Since we were starting to make our way into the putting-things-back-together phase of renovation, my hands were itching to start making things, and since I wasn’t skilled in carpentry and Aggie—who I had a lovely phone conversation with earlier in the week—was on that, I settled for curtains.

My car was still on the fritz, but I was able to order some plain white linen curtains online—a lot of them. And mallets.

I had a plan.

Even though I wouldn’t classify the weather in Meadowlark, Wyoming, as “warm” just yet, wildflowers were starting to pop up around the ranch, and I’d been collecting little bouquets of them throughout the week. Tonight I was going to spend some time doing something with my hands, and my brain.