Contents ( 66)
- Cover
- Books by Valerie Fraser Luesse
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication
- Contents
- Map of Florida
- one
- two
- three
- four
- five
- six
- seven
- eight
- nine
- ten
- eleven
- twelve
- thirteen
- fourteen
- fifteen
- sixteen
- seventeen
- eighteen
- nineteen
- twenty
- twenty-one
- twenty-two
- twenty-three
- twenty-four
- twenty-five
- twenty-six
- twenty-seven
- twenty-eight
- twenty-nine
- thirty
- thirty-one
- thirty-two
- thirty-three
- thirty-four
- thirty-five
- thirty-six
- thirty-seven
- thirty-eight
- thirty-nine
- forty
- forty-one
- forty-two
- forty-three
- forty-four
- forty-five
- forty-six
- forty-seven
- forty-eight
- forty-nine
- fifty
- fifty-one
- Epilogue
- Keep Reading for a Preview of Valerie Luesse’s Next Book!
- Prologue
- one
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Back Ads
- Back Cover
“Yes, ma’am,” Peyton said. “This is the first day of a bike trip I’m taking.”
“Where to?”
“Key West.”
“Key West? You got any idea how far that is?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And you’re gonna ride all the way from—where’d you say you came from again?”
“I didn’t, but I started in St. Augustine.”
The woman looked Peyton up and down. “How old are you, honey?”
“Fifteen.”
“I woulda guessed eighteen or nineteen. Your mama know where you are?”
“Yes, ma’am. She’s not thrilled about it, but she let me go. My daddy made this ride when he was my age. I just want to see if I can make it too.”
“And what about your daddy, honey—what does he say about this?”
“Well, he’s not here anymore. I mean . . . he died. Recently.”
The woman laid her hand against her cheek. “Well, now that just breaks my heart. I’m sorry, honey. You need anything at all, just come and get me. I live over the office here. My name’s Jackie, but everybody in Daytona calls me Aunt Jack.”
Peyton smiled at her. “Thanks, Aunt Jack.”
“Here’s your key. And like I said, you let me know if you need help, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “And thank you.”
Leaving the office, Peyton followed the sidewalk to a rectangular pool behind the oceanfront units. It overflowed with little kids in bright-colored inner tubes. Teenagers showed off for each other on the diving board or flirted on the pool deck. He felt a pang of loneliness as he wondered what Lisa was doing right now.
Peyton circled the pool, reading room numbers until he found one that matched the long wooden tag on his key: 105. It was small but cheery, with turquoise walls and a bright yellow bedspread and curtains. And it was air-conditioned. There was even a tiny bathroom.
He pushed his bike inside, unstrapped his saddlebag and duffel, and tossed them on the floor next to the bed. Then he stripped down to his underwear, pulled back the covers, and fell onto the mattress. He had never been so exhausted. Just outside, he could hear the shouts and laughter of a pool full of strangers. But he had no desire to join them. Right now all he wanted was sleep and—if he were very, very lucky—another dream of Lisa.
twenty-two
The moment he rolled onto his back, Peyton knew something was wrong—horribly, painfully wrong. Every muscle in his body seized with pain, especially his neck and shoulders. His hips, thighs, and groin felt like one big bruise. Worst of all was a particularly painful spot on his backside. The slightest pressure on his right hip shot him with a searing pain.
Peyton had played sports all his life. He’d had his share of hard knocks, even a broken bone or two. But this . . . nothing he had ever suffered on a ballfield even came close to the throbbing, burning sensations attacking him now. Determined to stay calm, he took some deep breaths, telling himself to relax. He tried sitting up, but it was as if the pain in his body grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him back on the bed. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. All he could do was hurt. And pray. And wish to goodness he were back at Aunt Gert’s. His eyes stung, the telltale sign that he might actually cry, something he hadn’t done since elementary school—something he hadn’t even done when his father died, though he wasn’t sure why.