“I’m scared.” I shutter my eyes, and he presses soft kisses over my dampened eyelashes. “Of what’s happening with my mom, of the way I had to toss my life plans aside to come back here, of you…”
“Of me?” He grabs either side of my face and tilts my head up, silently pleading for me to look at him. Then he holds my gaze with a worried expression etched into the space between his brows. A single tear—tiny while also big enough to drown us both—sits tucked against the corner of his eye.
“We were kids, and now we’re different. You’re…” I raise my hands like I’m weighing things out, seeking the right word.
A fuckboy, a playboy, a douchebag…
A grown man, a sweet guy, more handsome than ever before…
“Not the same boy I loved. I don’t know you.”
“Deep down, I’m the same boy. I still ride broncs, and love my family, and my favorite color is blue. And Blair, I’m still totally fucking crazy about you.”
“I’m not the same person I used to be.”
“Well, I personally think you’re an even better version, based on what I know so far. And I’dloveto know more.”
“What do you want to know?” My wrists link behind his neck, pulling his chest into mine.
“Literally everything. The good, the bad, the random thoughts consuming your brain. I want it all. I want anything you’re willing to tell me.”
I can’t help it. My lips capture his again.
“That’s a lot,” I mumble against his mouth.
“I have nothing but time.” One more kiss, laced with relief, before he continues. “Are you in the mood for ice cream? I heard Lickety Split opened up shop for the summer at the start of the month.”
“I should head home to be with Mom.”
“Okay, sure, yeah.” No hiding the defeat in his eyes, and I realize my words came out wrong.
“Not because I don’t want to spend time with you. I just…”
“Have responsibilities that you’retotallyfine managing on your own—I know. Let’s get you home.”
I tug him into me for one last languid kiss, walking him backward to the truck. And when we climb inside, I take the middle seat, letting the heat of our touching thighs warm my bones. For the entire hour’s drive to Wells Canyon, he clutches my hand with a grip tightened by fear.
Fear of losing each other. Fear that this moment is for today only.
—
It started with confusion when I walked in the door; Mom couldn’t understand why I was home from school. Doctors had told us to go along with whatever she believed to be true, so we told her summer break had just started, and she relaxed. Then she got annoyed with my dad for insisting she sit down and let him barbecue. But the straw that broke the camel’s back was my sister, Whit, showing up and loudly exclaiming that she had Mom’s new medic-alert bracelet.
I intercepted my nephew, Jonas, by the front door and told him I needed help with my computer, forcing him to follow me to my bedroom. To my fake surprise, my laptop was working perfectly fine. Jonas side-eyed me, opening his mouth to call me out for lying, when something smashed in the kitchen. Then Mom screamed at Whit for being a bitch, and Dad raised his voice in a way that made the entire house fall still.
Despite the commotion ending a few moments ago, Jonas’s hand is still hovering over the doorknob. “Are they okay out there?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Stay here for a second, okay, bud?”
He nods, stepping back from the door to let me brush past. And when I shut it softly behind me, leaving the ten-year-old as far away as possible from the adult bullshit he doesn’t deserve to be part of, I take a deep breath.
“Are you guys okay?” I fake a cheery voice, finding Whit sitting on a kitchen stool with her knees to her chest, wiping silent tears. I step up next to her and rub my hand over her back. “I told Jonas to stay in my room for a minute.”
Dad looks up from where he’s knelt on the floor, picking up large chunks of glass. “Mom went to bed. She just…”
“Got confused and scared.” I kneel across from him and pick up pieces of what seems to have been a salad bowl. “We know, Dad. If you want to go talk to her, I got this.”
He stands with a groan and shuffles down the hall, stopping by my room to say hi to Jonas. In silence, I pick up the remainder of the glass, then wipe up the microscopic pieces with a damp paper towel. Before long, I’m settling in next to Whit with a glass of malbec from Mom’s extensive collection. My sister slowly sips hers, furiously wiping the dampness from around her eyes, when we hear Jonas come strolling down the hallway. He flings his lanky body onto the couch, and even though he’s wearing headphones, it’s loud enough that wecan hear the soundtrack to whatever game he’s playing on his handheld device.
