“Ask me anything.” And for the first time in my life, I mean it. I want her to know me because I’m finally proud of who I am.
“What were you like as a little boy?”
Her question stops me cold, like a needle dragged off a vinyl record. When I don’t jump to answer, I see her smile falter out of the corner of my eye. I want to be so open with her. I just don’t want to relive my life before her. I swallow and prepare to answer her as honestly as I can. “Hmm, well, nothing like I am now.”
“That’s vague and uninformative.”
“I know. Okay . . . I . . .” I push a long breath from puffed cheeks. “My mom and dad fought a lot. And made up a lot. They drank and stuff. Mostly I just tried to stay out of the way.” She lifts her hand to her mouth. From my side vision, it looks like she’s chewing on her fingernail. I reach for her hand and bring it to my lips. “They weren’t great. Neither was my house. A trailer in a shitty trailer park—the only trailer park in South Point. But it’s why I’m so focused on now and what we’re building. It’s a long way from that kid who hid from his parents’ drunken bullshit.” I take a quick glance at her, hoping I’ve steered the conversation to something I want to talk about. A tear trails down her cheek. “Ever . . . don’t cry. I’m good now.” I kiss the back of her hand again and catch her swiping her cheek with her other hand.
Squeezing my hand in hers, she quietly asks, “So when did you meet Taya?”
My brows shoot into the hair dipping across my forehead. A half laugh, half exhale escapes my lips. “We’re really going to cover allthe topics right now.” I don’t say it as a question but as a foregone conclusion. “Okay.” I blow another breath out. She doesn’t retract her question or offer to change the subject. And she has been so transparent with me about her own life, I want to match that energy, even if it means ripping a bandage off an old wound. She deserves to know me. If I really want this thing to go the distance—and I do—I’ve got to let her.I can make her happy. We can make a life together.
“I . . . When I was fifteen. I worked for her dad. On their ranch.”
“Did you . . . Were you . . . Did you date the whole time?” She stumbles over her question, and I hate it.
I bring her hand to my lips again, rubbing the soft skin against them, wondering how best to answer her. I want to answer her, and I can’t be afraid to tell her the truth. With that thought, Ever’s words she once said slam into my brain:It seems to me it’s the shortest route to getting to the point of a thing.I audibly exhale and snug our joined hands into my lap. I’m gripping her hand too tight, but I don’t loosen my hold. “We never really dated. No one knew we even knew each other.”
“You didn’t go to the same school?”
“I missed a lot of school growing up. Either because my parents didn’t get me there or I couldn’t get to the bus on time. When I got old enough to get myself to the bus on time, I also started realizing that being independent meant less time in that house, around them. Then we had a global pandemic, and remote learning became a thing. We all, my family, took advantage of that. I never went back to school and stayed remote through graduation. As soon as I could, I wanted to work and make my own money. At fifteen, Bennick said he liked my initiative and hired me full time.”
“Bennick?”
“Taya’s dad. Rusty Bennick. He’s like the unofficial mayor of South Point. He even agreed to pay me cash so my parents didn’t have to sign anything, since I was only fifteen. I thought he was a nice guy.”
“He’s not?”
“Taya’s family was kinda fucked up like mine, just with more money. Her mom died when Taya was sixteen. Accidental overdose. She took medication for depression and anxiety, and I think she combined a lethal dose of pills and alcohol one day and OD’d.”
“Oh my God, that’s awful.”
“Yeah, after that, Taya just . . . She and I got closer. But we had to hide it from her dad. After her mom . . . He got even more protective, more controlling. So no one knew we were friends, especially her dad. She said it was best if he thought I was just a hired hand.”
“That didn’t bother you?”
I feel her staring at my profile, but I keep my eyes on the road. The weight on my chest makes it hard to breathe. The foothills of home roll in the near distance, so I focus on them like a beacon. “Besides a Little League groundskeeper and my mom’s father, the few times I saw him, no one ever gave a shit about me until Taya.” I see her lips part, hear her sharp intake of breath. I release her hand and rub the spot on my chest.
She leaves her hand on my leg and curls her fingers into the thin fabric of my joggers.
“So no, I guess it didn’t bother me. I didn’t know any different. That she gave a shit was enough.”
“Julie . . .”
“It’s fine.” I make myself grab her hand again and rub circles on the back with my thumb, the repetitive motion on the smooth skin soothing me. “I’m fine now. Good. Great even.” I swing a quick smile her way and meet her eyes for a second to hopefully reassure her. We’re into the foothills now—officially in Cavern County. I let go of her hand to slide the sunroof open. The air is cool, but the smell is home. “What is it you said to me? ‘I would’ve never met you. And I wouldn’t take that back.’ So, it’s all good, Ever. Really. Don’t be sad for me, okay?” I grab her hand again and squeeze.
Her head nods. She leans over and plants a soft kiss near the corner of my mouth, and her smell wafts around me in the swirling air. Ever and home. I close my eyes for an instant and inhale deeply.
Chapter 21
Everly
“Thanks for telling me all that, Julie.” He doesn’t answer me, just squeezes my hand again. “Is there anything you want to ask me? I’ll answer anything.”
“I know, sweet girl. You’re so willing, and I love that about you.”
“So ask me.” I trace circles on his knuckles with my free hand.
