Page 66 of Kneeling for Them

“So, where are we going?”I ask.

“Wherever you want.”

I shake my head.“I’m too tired and cranky to make any decisions right now.”

He nods and puts the car in gear.“Gotcha.”

I don’t ask where he’s taking us as he navigates the city streets, but soon we’re out of San Esteban entirely, moving along the freeway toward the suburb of Fair Heights.Kingston’s hand is warm on my knee, a comfort.With every mile we travel away from San Esteban, my muscles loosen and relax.

Finally, he takes what seems to be a random exit.

There is literally nothing here, just a long stretch of dark road with no street lamps.

“Um, Kingston?”

“Yeah, baby girl?”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

He takes a turn down a pitted dirt road and has to change gears as we start climbing a hill.I grip the armrest, anxious because I can barely see the sides of the road.Is that a steep drop?I can’t tell—there are no lights out here save for the car’s headlights.

“It’s okay, Ella, it’s safe,” he says, reaching over to squeeze my hand.

Finally, he slows down and maneuvers the car into an angle so that we’re overlooking the small town of Fair Heights.It isn’t a majestic view or anything, but it’s quiet out here, and Kingston looks out his window and points up to the stars.

“Less light pollution,” he says.“Looking at the stars helps me think.”

“What is this place?”I ask.

“Just an empty piece of land.My friends and I used to come here, when I was a teenager.”

“You grew up around here?”

“I was born and raised in Fair Heights, yeah.”

I look at him.“This isyourempty piece of land, isn’t it?”

He chuckles and holds up his hands.“You got me.I saw it was for sale a few years ago and bought it for nostalgia.”

It must be nice to just buy acreage because of a few memories, but I can’t be bitter about it.He has money, I don’t, and that’s just the way it goes sometimes.

“It’s nice,” I say.“Very dark, though.”

“Very private,” he says, his voice deepening.

I pretend like I don’t understand his meaning and casually nod at the view.

“You said you were cranky,” he says.“Any particular reason for that?”

“Too many to list,” I say.

Leaning back in his seat, he says, “I’ve got time.”

I don’t want to tell him that not getting good texts from him was a big part of the reason.How needy am I?

“Come here and sit in my lap.”He pushes his seat back as far as it’ll go.