Starting From Here (Starting From #3) - Lane Hayes Page 0,84

listen to music, to read, to just…be. Kind of a miraculous trait for a guy who played the drums for a living. The interesting part was that he didn’t expect me to be “on.” I could just be…with him.

Tegan

We cut the trip into two ten-hour legs on the road with a two-day stop in Santa Fe. Dec insisted Santa Fe was like an outdoor cathedral with the bluest skies and filled with endless stars. He forgot to mention that it was at seven thousand feet elevation and therefore fucking freezing in February. We blasted the heat in our rented navy Chevy Trailblazer and took turns manning the tunes in between lengthy discussions about nothing in particular followed by long stretches of quiet.

He was easy company. He’d always been good-natured with a wise-ass sense of humor and a carefree vibe. I hated that he battled depression. I couldn’t imagine him melancholy. It actually hurt to think of him in a dark place. Of the two of us, I was the broody one. Yet I liked to think I made him happy, ’cause his brand of joy was literally contagious.

Dec could talk to anyone about anything; no matter how mundane the topic, he always seemed genuinely interested. The weather in Paris, the stock market, hobbies, sleep, food…food, food. Yeah, he was a little food obsessed for a guy who ate healthfully. Except on the road.

When we stopped at a gas-station-slash-mini-market on the way to Santa Fe, he loaded up on an array of disgusting treats. I glanced at his armful of chips, candy bars, and a case of water, shaking my head.

“What’s with all that crap?”

“Trip treats. You know the drill,” he replied, dumping everything on the counter. “If we break down on an interstate in the middle of nowhere, we won’t be hungry.”

I pulled out my credit card and narrowed my gaze at the yellow bag he added. “No Funyuns. That’s a rule.”

“No, it’s not. The Funyuns stay.” He flashed a bright smile and extended it to the attendant who heartily agreed they were amazing while she swooned over my boyfriend…I mean, Declan. “They’re a classic. Your mom loves ’em too.”

I waited until we were on the road to bring it up again. “What’s with my mom and you and Funyuns?”

Dec kept his gaze forward and his hands on the steering wheel, a mischievous smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“They were our inside joke. I ate dinner at your house one night when we were maybe eight, and our favorite snacks came up. I said I loved Funyuns, and your dad and sisters and you groaned. Rachel said they were repulsive, Maggie said they were gross, and you said they tasted like snail butt. The discussion devolved from there. And while your sisters were grilling you about the last time you ate snail butt, your mom leaned over and said, ‘I like them too.’ From that night on, she’d slip a bag of Funyuns into my backpack every so often. We never talked about it. She’d just wink and gave me a thumbs-up sign.”

“Ha. Sounds like my mom.”

“It’s true what they say about random acts of kindness. Your mom was always good at giving unconditionally.”

I smiled. “That’s true.”

“Want to know something funny? I haven’t actually eaten those things in fifteen years. I don’t know if I really like them anymore.”

I twisted in my seat to stare at him in dismay. “Then why buy them?”

“They remind me of you.”

I opened my mouth and closed it. Twice. “Should I be insulted?”

“No, moron. Good memories, you know?”

My heart did a somersault and triple axel. I pursed my lips to rein in my grin. “Yeah. But…Funyuns?”

Dec chuckled. “Open ’em. Let’s see if they’re still delicious.”

I sighed heavily and ripped the bag open. I handed a couple to Dec, then picked up a single ring, staring at it suspiciously before crunching into it.

“Oh. Yuck.” I rolled down the window, spit the onion ring in my hand, and threw it. There was a decent chance it landed against the SUV, but it was a rental so who cared?

Well, Dec did. “Jesus, T! What are you do—oh. Ew. These aren’t as good as I remembered.”

“Told ya they sucked. You’ve got the real deal. Don’t waste your money on old memories. I’m dumping these.”

“Do not litter!”

“I’m not throwing away the bag. Just the Funyuns.” I tipped the bag over, sending the processed treats flying in the wind.

Two seconds later, Dec pulled the car to the side of