He paused, the door nearly shut, and met my eyes in response.
“It’s good seeing you again.”
The barely visible tension in his shoulders seemed to dissipate instantly. “You too, Park.”
Then he shut the door, leaving me alone.
I stared at it, listening as his boots faded back into the living room. A door shut, and I assumed he had left.
Slowly spinning around, I heaved a breath. The minimal decor of the room had a cute farmhouse feel, like he’d let Lettie and his mother, Charlotte, pick out the decorations and bedding.
The rug under the bed had hints of brown and green, pulling in warmth from the dark oak bed frame. There was a single plant on the dresser, but upon closer inspection, I found it was artificial. I rubbed a plastic leaf between my thumb and forefinger before trailing a finger along the wooden top of the dresser, making my way to the window.
I nudged the curtain aside, finding dust pluming into the air like a cloud behind Beckham’s receding truck.
I really was alone in Beckham Bronson’s house, then.
My gaze traced over the rolling fields that stretched for miles before admiring the looming mountains in the distance. Puffs of fluffy white clouds cast shadows over the land, their shapes indecipherable.
The sight stole my breath.
For all the memories Bell Buckle held for me, there were always enough good ones to outweigh the bad. For the longest time, I didn’t know where my place was. Ilived in my horse trailer with its attached living quarters for years, not knowing where I truly belonged, but feeling content all the same.
Leaving Bell Buckle had felt like the start of an exciting adventure. I’d never left home much before then, since my parents didn’t like—and couldn’t afford—to travel. Getting out of this town was the start of me truly finding myself. But now that I was back, staring at the landscape and reminiscing on all those times I saw that same mountain behind a smiling Beckham—standing tall while his brothers teased me and Lettie, watching over us as we cried and laughed and lived—I realized maybe I didn’t have to go looking for my place after all.
I’d had a good life, despite the hardships.
My best moments were thanks to Beckham. When I’d come to his house crying over a fight my parents had gotten into, or when I’d sneak him into our house to watch a movie on his phone while my parents were passed out, he was the reason a smile always found its way onto my face after a storm—no matter how severe.
My palm rested on my stomach and I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. I held it before blowing it out, then gazed out the window with a new outlook.
No matter what happened in the coming months, between my life and my baby, I knew without a doubt that everything would be okay.
It always was when Beckham was around.
4
PARKER
SIXTEEN YEARS OLD
“Where the fuck is your ring?”
The thunder did little to drown out my father’s shouts. He’d come home an hour ago, and for the duration of that hour, he’d been yelling. At my mother. At the dog. At the beer for going warm on his way home from the liquor store—his routine pit stop after spending all morning at the bar. Outlaw’s Watering Hole was more a home to him than this shack was. Although “shack” was giving the single-wide with holes in the roof and a decaying foundation a little too much credit. A shed would be warmer than this place. Probably quieter, too.
“I had to pawn it so I could pay the gas bill!” my mom shouted back.
They were always screaming.
As much as I hated my dad going out drinking and spending money we didn’t have, at least when he wasgone, the house was silent. My mom didn’t talk to me much, unless it was to complain about the bills piling up or other adult responsibilities a parent should never put on their child.
The gas bill she’d pawned her only piece of jewelry for was from four months ago.
They turned the gas off yesterday.
“It ain’t even fuckin’ cold in here, Tris,” my father shot back, the fridge opening and closing for the sixth time, like he couldn’t quit checking to see if the beer had chilled yet.
It probably hadn’t. I think the power was turned off, too.
