from the hostel. “Seriously. I’m sorry I brought it up. I’ll run inside to make sure they have room before we unload the bags.”
Two steps away, he says, “It was just over a year ago.”
I stop in my tracks, pulled by the sadness in his voice. Sam’s laugh is infectious, one of those belly laughs that can’t possibly be faked. But this? His tone alone could strike the smile from a clown. Unsure what to expect, I turn hesitantly. His eyes are still downcast, his brow pulled tight in a frown, but he must want to talk or he wouldn’t have said anything. Instead of walking to the car, I sit on the curb with my knees tucked to my chest. He frowns harder.
He drags his hands down his face and settles onto the bumper of the car. “It was August twenty-eighth. My mother was driving me back for my third year at FSU. Sunny day. Middle of the day. All it took was one drunk driver. My ankle got banged up and Mom, well…” He rubs his palms on his jeans. “She didn’t make it.”
My hand flies to my mouth. “God, I’m so sorry.” I want to jump up and wrap my arms around him, but I stay where I am. I don’t know him that well, don’t know why he opened up like he did. I’m wary of overstepping my bounds. There’s some sort of connection between us, though, an unknown thing that fuels the electricity when our eyes lock. The same thing that allows me to relax in his presence and allows him to open up to me. I want to go to him; I’m just not sure I should.
Saving me from making a decision, he sits at my side. He unfurls his long legs in front of him and folds his arms. “Sorry,” he says.
The tightness in his face is hard to look at. “Sorry? Why are you apologizing? I’m usually the one that does all the apologizing.” Smile, smile. Please smile.
He laughs despite himself. “Yeah, you do say sorry a lot, Canada.”
“Yeah, sorry,” I say. We both grin, and I exhale.
A kid pushes by us on the street, his skateboard rocking over the uneven road.
“I don’t know why I told you that,” Sam says, his good humor fading. “I don’t talk about it much. Sometimes the not talking is harder, though. Suffocating.” He rubs his temples. “My head’s all fucked-up these days.”
“That’s why you took off traveling, then? To get away for a while?”
He nods. “My dad’s been a mess ever since. I’ve been taking care of him and my sister. She left for college this year, and he’s getting better. He’s not the guy he was, not even close, but he’s getting out of bed on his own now. My uncle pushed me to go and do something for myself, promising he’d watch out for my family. So I took him up on the offer. I had an appointment with a doctor in Toronto.” He flicks his head toward his legs. “Another possible surgery to fix the limp, but it doesn’t look like it’ll help. I booked my flight there, bought a used pack…that no longer has a Canadian flag,”—he nudges me—“and now I’m here, traveling with you.”
He doesn’t even try to blink his tears away, and my heart breaks for him. I may joke about how insane my parents are, but my mother is and always has been my best friend—the only person I trust unconditionally. If I lost her, I don’t think I’d recover.
He leans back and squeezes his eyes shut. With a shake of his head, he sucks a breath and exhales, his shoulders lowering with the movement. “I maybe should’ve had you sign a disclaimer or something before forcing you in the car. You sure you still want to travel with this fucked-up guy across New Zealand?”
Hooking up with the Trifecta of Cool didn’t work out for me, not the way I’d intended. It only took three days until I sprouted my third head. I’m not sure I’ll be any less freakish with Sam, but I trust him when he says he won’t laugh at me. I shrug like I don’t care. “Now that you mention it, Florida, maybe we should call it off. I am, after all, pretty together. Wouldn’t want you spoiling my stellar reputation as a well-rounded, accident-avoiding, normal girl.”
A deep chuckle moves through his chest, and the sound travels up my spine. “Excellent point, Canada. So