Page 102 of Almost Rotten

Tentatively, I roll over, and when I’m met with Mercer’s disapproving stare, I fight back a wince.

“Hi,” I offer him, trying my best to keep my emotions in check.

I hurt him. I’mstillhurting him, given how far down the rabbit hole I’ve allowed myself to go with Ty. There’s so much I’ve done wrong. So much Mercer and Noah don’t know.

In response, he pulls me closer, only stopping when I’m locked against his chest.

“You’re not leaving.”

“I’m not,” I promise. “I’m just going for a walk with Noah.”

He lifts his head, craning his neck, as if he’s searching for Noah. As if he needs his confirmation.

Maybe he does. Maybe I’ve broken his trust so thoroughly that he doesn’t believe me and never will again.

“Mercer,” I say, my voice cracking and my cheeks heating with shame. “I promise I’m not leaving.”

With resigned defeat, I plant a kiss against his sternum, then tilt my head and search his face.

When he avoids eye contact, the weather-worn edges of my heart erode a little more.

“Come on, honey,” Noah says, breaking our silent standoff. He sidles up and reaches out for me. “Go back to sleep, Merce. She’s not going anywhere.”

Chapter forty-four

Sawyer

Ituck my legs under my body and settle in. I don’t know where we’re going or how long it’ll take to get there, but the windows are rolled all the way down, and the cool breeze sends the best kind of shivers through me.

In this moment, with this man, I’m safe.

“Too much air?” Noah asks, accelerating down a two-lane road lined with enormous trees.

The leaves are brilliant and bold: crimson red, honey gold, fiery orange, and earthy brown. It’s like taking the scenic route through a piece of art.

The scent of bonfire and burning leaves wafts into the cab.

Another chill rolls through me, causing me to grip the sleeves of Noah’s flannel.

“It’s perfect,” I holler over the wind.

Despite my response, Noah rolls up his window halfway.

I shoot him a puzzled look.

He offers me a second’s glance, then quickly focuses on the road again. Chuckling, he says, “I could barely hear you over the wind, honey. Couldn’t stand the idea of missing a single word out of that pretty little mouth.”

Warmth blooms all over, no doubt flushing my cheeks and chest, as I side-eye him, taking in his profile.

He’s so striking. Rugged, with an easy confidence. His skin is tan from working outdoors all season, his jawline sharp beneath the stubble of his short beard.

“Where are we going?” I ask, playing with the sleeves of the flannel I stole from him earlier.

With a smirk, he says, “A little spot I know.”

I shift his way, both brows raised. “You expect me to just trust that?”

He breaks into a genuine, expressive grin that wrinkles the skin around his eyes. “I expect you to just trustme.”