“Addison,” I call out, just before she reaches her parents’ car. Her shoulders stiffen when she stops, her back still to me. “I want to talk to you.”
When she turns around, I’m expecting her to give me some smart-ass comment that denies my request. But her eyes…her eyes arepleading. They’re glassy, the whites turning red. My chest caves in at the sight.
“I want to say more than just sorry. Can we go for a drive? Or I’ll be combining later, you could come?”
She’s ridden with me in the combine before, but it’s her busy season with Dakota Flight, so it sorta conflicts.
“Will you be out late? I’m pretty busy with work today. We have a big group coming in tonight.”
“I’ll be out late; it’s supposed to rain tomorrow. It’ll be midnight, at least.”
“Okay. Sure.”
“Text me when you’re ready?”
She nods, her smile is soft and guarded.
* * *
It’s 9:30 p.m. and the combine headlights cast out into the endless dark field, the soft hum of country music drowning out some of the engine.
Addison had just dropped into the buddy seat beside me, her legs crossed and tucked up under her. She doesn’t have any makeup on and her hair’s damp from a shower. She’s in gray sweatpants and a zip-up sweatshirt to match. A sweatshirt that takes me back to a night in Cole’s field at just sixteen years old.
Three Years Ago
There’s a bonfire raging in the middle of a field, sparks shooting up every few minutes, making everyone jump and take half a step back.
Cole’s got a speaker blaring from the cab of his truck and the group of seniors is passing around a handle of Jack like it’s communion.
I didn’t think Cole’s older brother would be here with his friends or I probably wouldn’t have come. They can get out of hand—case in point, they just went on a beer run even though there’s still plenty here.
Addison is standing off to the side, talking to a couple girls. She looks comfortable, like she doesn’t mind being here, but I give it an hour before she’s ready to go home.
Within a few minutes, she’s standing back beside me, away from the lit cigarettes and loud laughter.
She pulls her sleeves down over her wrists and wraps her arms around herself.
“You cold?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
She nods. “Do you still have that extra sweatshirt in your truck?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
Of course I do. I keep it behind the seat for her because I know she never wants to carry a sweatshirt around. And ifshe’s anxious, she doesn’t want one anyway. She wants to be cold.
It’s gray and not even my size. It used to smell like the detergent my mom uses, but now it just smells like Addison. I’ve never washed it because it’s always just beenhers.
“I’ll grab it,” I tell her, already turning from her.
When I bring it over, she sighs with athanksbefore putting it over her head. She pulls out her tucked hair and fixes the sleeves.
I just nod and stuff my hands in my pockets to keep myself from getting too close.
She goes to say something but gets distracted when headlights shine on us from behind and we look over our shoulders to see who it is. Cole’s older brother is back but with a truck bed full of more friends than he left with. The music blares from the windows and they’re yelling the words to a Kenny Chesney song.
“Got more beer!” someone shouts, and I watch Addison roll her eyes and rub the back of her neck, taking a deep breath.
They all hop out and cross over to the bonfire, a case of beer in each one of their hands.
