What if she rode off a cliff?
Then came the hate.
She’s dumb enough that she probably would ride off a fucking cliff.
Thank God, I was tired of seeing her on my feed.
She’s not even pretty.
Her horse looks sick.
The influx of concern and disgust usually meant some other influencer or decent-sized account had posted about me, and naturally, people flocked to investigate. I’d turned my notifications off for a while after deciding to quit posting, but when the questions finally slowed, I’d turned them back on because I kept missing when old friends from my travels would message me. Every now and then, this would happen.
I’d debated deleting the app, but some small part of me still felt attached to the Parker I was when I found joy in social media. But with more popularity came more criticism, and I had to think about how all of that affected me and my baby. The stress of it all, keeping up with comments and messages, was too much.
Unable to help myself, I’d scrolled nearly to the bottom when my eyes snagged on a particularly weird comment.
You’re so cute on such a big animal. Where do you ride those things?
I clicked the notification, curious if it belonged to some perverted man, or maybe a woman with a weird sense of complimenting people. But rather than my latest post popping up, it was one from two years ago—me sitting on Tex in a pond. I was wearing a light blue bikini top and denim shorts, my hair loose around my shoulders with my straw cowboy hat blocking out the sun.
I remembered that summer like it was yesterday, andhow I’d stood in the center of that pond, remembering all the times Beckham had been with me in the one on his parents’ property. It’d been a sick, painful rush of déjà vu. But when my friend had turned the camera on me, I’d smiled. Even in the photo, it was obvious that it didn’t really reach my eyes.
I didn’t think it had in years.
The nostalgia of the photo had me locking my phone and shoving it back in my purse. Then I unlocked my truck and slid in behind the wheel. I straightened my dark blue dress that flowed down to my ankles, right above my low black cowgirl boots. I shimmied out of my sherpa-lined denim jacket and set it on the passenger seat. Despite the chill in the air, I felt clammy.
Being back in Bell Buckle was a lot. Maybe too much.
But I knew one thing for certain.
Seeing people from my past lifted a weight off my shoulders. The community of Bell Buckle was always close-knit and willing to help one another, and the job opportunity at Wyatt’s was proof that the town still held that charm.
And for the first time since I found out the news, I felt like I had a strong chance of being the best mom I could be.
8
BECKHAM
The moment I shifted my truck into park in my driveway, my phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. And again. I grabbed it off the passenger seat, watching as multiple texts filtered in, one after another. I scrolled to the bottom, holding my thumb on the screen so it’d stop moving as I tried to read the first text from Wyatt.
Wyatt: Incoming
Immediately after his text, our family group chat began to blow up.
Lettie: When were you going to tell us Parker was in town?
Lennon: You guys can’t say I’m the closed-off one now
Lettie: That’s Reed
Reed: Don’t bring me into this
Callan: Wait, Parker is in town?
Brandy: You already brought yourself into this, Reed *fist emoji*
Oakley: Who’s Parker?
