Page 142 of Drive

“So are you,” I said sincerely. “I’m so proud of you. I don’t think I ever told you that.”

“Of me? You’re the one who madeRolling Stone,” he said proudly. “I read it, Stella. I bought a thousand copies. I sent them to Paige.”

“You did?” I said as my heart threatened to leap out of my chest.

“I figured you could mail them to your family. Is a thousand enough?” He laughed again, the sound enough to finish me.

“Damn you, life,” I whispered.

“Stella, I have to go. My phone’s dying. And I’m not sure about this backup cell that looks like it came straight off the set ofJurassic Park. Can I . . . can I call you sometime? I mean, I know it’s probably going to piss him off, but Stella—”

“Yes. Please, yes,” I said low so he couldn’t hear the shake in my voice. “Call me anytime. I mean that. Happy birthday to you, too.”

“Okay, well,” he lingered.

“Reid,” I said, my voice cracking with my truth. “I love you.”

Silence. His ragged breath was the only indication that he was still there.

“Reid?”

“You never said it,” he whispered. “You never actually said the words to me.”

“But you knew,” I said as I began to bleed, yet again, for the man who stared at me from outside the window and the man I spoke to on the phone. “You always knew.”

“I hoped I was right, butnow?Still?” he asked.

“Now.Still.”

“Say it again, Stella. Say it again and I’ll leap across these continents back to you.”

I glanced out at Nate, who was watching me carefully through the window. “Reid—”

“That’s enough, Stella. I promise. I’m going to go wrestle a fucking tiger or some shit,” he said, “now that I’m invincible.” I felt his smile over the phone.

“Reid?”

“Yes, Grenade?” It was another blow to the chest, but I could still feel his smile.

“Tell me that life magically starts to happen.”

“One minute past desperation, baby. I promise. I’m living proof. Believeme, Stella.”

“Okay.”

“I love you,” he whispered before he hung up.

Nate walked through the door, and I took a deep breath.

I pulled over to a rest stop at the state line, focused on the storm clouds in the distance. I turned my key and let the windows down to air out the cabin. I stretched my legs, the wind whipping through my hair, the boom of thunder in the distance.

I would go to my grave thinking closure was bullshit. I knew better. There was only letting go. And I knew better than anyone that letting go was more of a feat than making peace with a goodbye, which is all closure was. I could never make peace with goodbye. Goodbyes hurt, but letting go feltamazing. And somewhere between the hotel I left twenty-four hours ago and the road I traveled now, I felt a large part of me had already let go. The sting of that phone call was enough to send me on a soul-searching journey, but all it had done was bring me to the same conclusion. Even in hindsight, with all of your mistakes disappearing in the distance, the things you got right are there alongside them.

I’d made the mistake of only looking for the hurt.

Because why do we have to be perfect?

Give me a human with ovaries that makes all the right decisions when it comes to the opposite sex and I’ll give you the most uneventful love story ever. Perfection is boring. It makes life boring, and love even more so. With me, it didn’t end up being only about the destination; it was about my ride. It was always the ride that made it so much sweeter, and at times bittersweet, like on days like yesterday. I grieved like the wound was new, but that’s me being me, Stella doing Stella. That’s how I was built.