"Knowing you, it was something incredibly badass, like challenging the institution or exposing wrongdoing."
How I wish that were true. At least I could've left in a blaze of glory, instead of with my chin tucked to my chest.
"Jezebel, remember?" I point back at myself. "The church leader's son took an interest in me. It was the first time a boy ever looked my way. I was flattered, even if I thought he was a bit of a loser. Supposedly we were all sinners and thereby created equal, but there was still a hierarchy, and he was near the top of it. We were allowed supervised dates, very old-school style with meals at his family table and such. One day we found ourselves alone. I'll spare you the details." Wyatt nods encouragingly, having no problem hearing about this part of my past. "He felt so guilty about what we'd done that he confessed to his father, who went ballistic. He'd said the devil had entered me, and I tempted his son the way Eve tempted Adam. He declared me a threat to the entire church, and my mom and I were instructed to leave immediately."
"And you came here?"
This is where the truth gets muddy, and I need it to stay that way. "We bounced around a little, and eventually settled here. Travis was just a baby. My mom was waiting for me to turn eighteen so she could leave me and try to go back. And you know how that ended up."
Wyatt blows out a heavy breath. "I don't know if I've ever heard anything so crazy."
I offer a half smile. "Are you sure? Growing up a Hayden and you don't have any better dirt than that?" I'm trying to lighten the mood, but Wyatt's eyes darken at my question. He has secrets, things he can never tell me.
I do too.
23
Wyatt
"I'm havinga hard time deciding on the color of the furniture." Jo leans over, offering me a look at her phone. She toggles back and forth between whitewash and teak.
I wrap an arm around her shoulder and pull her in closer for a better look. Her chair scrapes the concrete sidewalk in front of Marigolds. Her shoulder is soft and round, inviting me to place a kiss there. So I do. She smiles at me before looking back down at the choices on the screen.
"I'd stay away from white," I advise. "Think of the dirt and dust, especially from a bunch of kids."
Jo looks up at me, squinting against the bright sun. "They're not toddlers."
I shrug one shoulder. "Teenagers, toddlers, what's the difference?"
She breathes a laugh. I like when she makes that sound.
With one finger, Jo swipes at the screen and the furniture website disappears. "I should stop putting the cart before the horse."
"How so?"
Jo takes her iced coffee from the table and captures the straw between her lips. "The main house isn't even done yet."
"But they're working on it, right?" I don't know why I ask. I'm there all the time, I know what the progress is.
"I guess I'm just being pessimistic. If I assume something will go wrong, I won't be upset when it actually does."
I tip my coffee to my lips, but it's empty, so I take Jo's and try not to grimace. I'm not a fan of caramel. "I think you should let yourself get excited. It's safe. Your pockets are deep these days, you can handle anything that comes at you."
Jo opens her mouth, but across the street someone yells.
"That's not my baby! I want nothing to do with it. I told you we should've used a condom."
My body tenses. Ricky has his cupped hands held to his mouth, and his dopey brother Chris doubles over, laughing. The pregnant woman Ricky yelled at presses a protective hand to her stomach and she is trying like hell to get away from them, but it doesn't look easy. Her stomach is large, her gait awkward, and those motherfuckers howl with laughter like deranged coyotes.
Jo's hands are on me, her urgent voice pressing into me. "Wyatt, don't."
I look down at Jo and realize we're standing. I don't remember getting up from my chair, but it must've made a sound when I did it because the assholes across the street are looking at me. Ricky stares at me, resentful and entitled. It was the exact same look his cousin wore, the very same look Wes couldn't stand. I don't think he understands how lucky he is that it's me who witnessed what he just did, and not my oldest brother. Wes would bury both of these people in a shallow grave without a second thought.
I step off the sidewalk and walk over the asphalt street. Behind me, Jo mutters a string of expletives.
This is my town, and I won't have some low-life assholes yelling at women. "Do you boys think her husband would appreciate you yelling at his pregnant wife?"
"Doesn't matter," Chris says, his voice thick and lazy. "He ain't here."
