The Darkest Legacy (Darkest Min - Alexandra Bracken Page 0,40
long as I had it, I had some control over our destination.
I was so sure he’d fight me, make all the right arguments about how he’d rested and I was exhausted, but he simply nodded. Believing me.
“Why did you stop singing?” he asked.
“I was only doing it to keep myself…to keep my mind off other things,” I said. “And I haven’t recognized any of these last few songs.”
Roman looked almost relieved. “Me neither.”
All right. I’d bite. This was at least keeping me awake and alert. “What do you normally listen to? Or do you just not really listen to music?”
He pressed a fist to his mouth, considering. “It’s…Priyanka tells me I have the taste of an old man. I like the classics. Older music. There’s a word for it I can’t think of?”
“Classics like orchestra music, or standards?”
“Standards!” he said, his expression brightening. “Sinatra, Billie Holiday, Nina Simone…Listening to them helped me learn English. They were the only records in the house where we grew up. I like them, too, because they’re simple.”
My brow creased. “In what way?”
“The voices, they’re deep and complex, right?” he said slowly. “But the songs are usually uncomplicated in what they’re saying—that they love someone, that they miss someone, that they don’t want to have to say good-bye. It makes me wish all of life could be that way.”
Roman suddenly sat up straighter, taking in a sharp breath. I turned back toward the road, searching for whatever he’d seen move in the darkness beyond the headlights.
“What?” I asked. “What is it?”
“I know this one!” he said, turning up the volume on the radio.
It took me a moment.
“You do not,” I said in disbelief.
He held up his finger, waiting for the chorus, wholly focused on the dashboard. Then he opened his mouth to sing.
Even with the rasp of his dry throat, it was a beautiful, rich voice—the sound was as pure and bold as a bell, and completely at odds with his usual quiet way of speaking. For a moment I was so stunned by it, I missed what he was actually singing.
“Come on, Eileen, I swear what it means,” he sang, trying to keep his voice down so as not to wake Priyanka. “In this moment you need everything / You are the best / Oh, I swear you’re the best / Stop your hurting / Come on, Eileen—see?”
I let out a shocked laugh. He was so pleased with himself, I almost couldn’t say it. “Those are not the lyrics. What do you think the song is about?”
Roman’s expression turned serious. “She’s discouraged and he’s trying to cheer her up. Bolster her courage.”
“He’s trying to convince her to hook up with him,” I explained. “He’s basically badgering her.”
“No.” He looked almost scandalized. “Really?”
“Really,” I confirmed.
Roman angled his head toward the radio, listening to the next verse. Then he leaned forward and turned the radio off.
After a minute, he explained, “I like my version better.”
“You know,” I said, “I think I like your version better, too.”
Roman shrugged and turned back to the road, and I did the same. Silence settled between us again, but as the miles faded in the rearview mirror, so did the easiness of that moment. A cold, creeping realization spread over me.
Dammit.
I’d just…slipped. The conversation had felt genuine, and I was so tired I’d lowered my defenses. I wanted to believe that I’d opened up as a way to convince him that I’d fallen for their game, but that would have been lying to myself.
There was only one thing I needed to remember.
All of this was impossible, and none of it would ever be real.
A FEW HOURS SHY OF morning, we spotted a motel sign in the distance, its VACANCY light on. For dozens of miles it had been nothing more than a faraway spark, and now the sign turned the sky violet with its glow. The sight of it tangled my thoughts, knotting them with unwelcome memories of other motels, in other empty places.
“Phone lines,” I said, pointing them out. A feeling of triumph bloomed in me as I added, “At least I’ll finally be able to make my call.”
The only questions were what they’d try to do to stop me, and what they’d do when they realized they couldn’t.
As if on cue, Roman asked, “Can you pull over here a second?”
I slowed the truck, but didn’t pull off onto the rough shoulder.
Roman stared out at the motel, brows lowering in thought. “I was just thinking…maybe we should approach on foot.