I didn’t remember John or Patricia taking a lot of photos around the farm, and this one had been taken without our knowledge, capturing a moment of utter simplicity that only made it all the more perfect.
“You’re so pretty,” I breathed, drinking in the sight of young Della with white blonde hair, blue ribbon tangled in whatever breeze had danced in her strands, and the yellow daisy top and skirt she favoured. Knobby knees and white sneakers and the most gorgeous heart-warming smile as she hung on the moss-covered gate, staring at me as if I held her every wish and promise.
And then there was me: lanky and awkward, still a teen with an aura of aloneness beneath the vicious veil of protectiveness for the little girl beside him. I had my hand on Della’s shoulder, laughing at something she said, my entire body turned to face her as if I had to be wherever she was to survive.
Hay covered us, pink cheeks, and sweaty heat. Everything about the photo said summer fun without a care in the world but also throbbed with love.
So much fucking love between two kids who not only adored but needed each other past common-sense.
My anger vanished as I wrapped my arms around Della, hugging her back to my front and resting my chin on her head. She smelled of earth and travel and sleepless nights but she was still the girl I’d known for two decades. “I love you as much as I did then. Even more.”
Twisting in my arms, she reached up and kissed me.
I expected my usual reaction.
The undeniable desire to give in to her, to grant permission, to take the kiss she gave me and deepen it into something more.
But familiarity gave way to a different kind of reaction.
I couldn’t help it.
I reared back just as our lips connected.
And my heart that loved her as a woman threaded with a heart that had once loved her as a child. A heart that knew its boundaries. Knew its boundaries so well, it scrambled behind them and trembled in disgust.
It happened in a split second, but Della froze. She gasped, stumbling back as if I’d slapped her. “Ren…”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t.” Her hands balled. “Nothing has changed. Just because we’re back here—”
“I know.” Raking fingers through my hair, I coughed around the sudden tightness in my chest. “It-it just happened. I didn’t mean to pull away. I—” I dropped my hand. “I’m sorry, Little Ribbon.”
Even her nickname in this place sounded blasphemous for all the knowledge I now had of her. The knowing of every dip and curve of her body—the same body I’d washed and healed.
Fuck.
My heart raced as more nausea filled me.
I’d raised her, for God’s sake.
I’d lied to every person in this town and told them she was my sister.
Stepping onto the Wilson’s estate, I’d been waiting for some sort of homecoming, some sort of nudge of welcome. But I hadn’t expected to be bombarded by every emotion I hadn’t dealt with before Della kissed me and ran away. Every emotion from a teenage boy struggling to keep his thoughts in check and honour intact.
My boots thudded as I took another step away from her.
And it broke something between us.
I hadn’t meant to do it.
Even now, I wanted nothing more than to move toward her, kiss her deep, and assure her that nothing had happened.
But something had happened, and I didn’t know how to fix it.
Della shook her head as if denying what I’d just done.
I raised my hands, wishing I could ignore the memories, the strict unbreakable laws I’d erected in this place.
But then Cassie’s voice sliced through our agony. “Ren? Della?”
I spun to face the door where Cassie stood on the threshold holding an armful of clothes. Her hostess routine and sweet welcome was immediately blackened as she tasted tension on the air, assessing the complications throbbing between me and Della.
“Um…I brought you some clothes.” Stepping gingerly into the room, she placed them on the bottom of the bed that had once been mine. The same bed where I’d woken up with my fist in Della’s hair and her mouth on mine. The same bed where I’d dreamed of a girl I wanted more than anything, gotten hard thinking about, and never dared admit it was the thirteen-year-old asleep in the dark beside me.
Shit.
“Everything okay?” Cassie asked as she made her way back to the door.
If she didn’t know something was going on before, she sure as fuck did now.
Sucking in a heavy breath, I growled. “Fine, sorry. Long trip.” Marching toward her, I grabbed the door and began to close it. “We’ll have a quick shower and be with you soon, okay?”
I shut it before she could reply.
I’d been an asshole to a woman whose mother had just died all because I couldn’t control my thoughts from past and present.
By the time I turned to face Della—to try to fix what I’d broken—the bathroom door slammed and the lock clicked into place.
I barely made it to my old bed before my legs gave out, and I collapsed onto it.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
REN
2020
THE FUNERAL WAS crowded with almost everyone from the small town paying their respects to a well-liked, wonderful woman.
As we stood beside the Wilsons on the church steps while they welcomed people to the service, Della and I stayed stiff and hurting, unsure how to breach the sudden gap that had appeared between us.
I was achingly aware of her.
She was flinchingly aware of me.
Our connection had switched from steadfast to fragile.
I wanted to grab and hold her. I needed to talk to her away from prying ears.
We had no time to clear the air and standing at the entrance to a religious service to say goodbye wasn’t the time or place—not because Patricia was the one we ought to be honouring, but because the town insisted on giving us its own welcome.
Person after person smiled and said hello as they trailed into the church.
Exclamations of how big we’d grown, how pretty Della was, how tall I’d become. Along with questions of where we’d been, what we’d been doing, and if we were back for good.
Della’s old teacher hugged her, then looked at me with strange curiosity, acting as if she knew why Della kept flicking me nervous glances.
Other so-called friends narrowed their eyes as if they knew a secret, and some girls from Della’s grade seemed to find answers to their questions in Della’s obvious tension.
I didn’t like any of it.
I didn’t like being noticed, and I didn’t like being judged. And I definitely didn’t like being estranged from Della at the worst possible time when we both needed each other.
Once the larger part of the crowd had entered, I inched closer to her, brushing her hand with mine.
Our skin sparked; the electricity between us crackling.
But she stepped out of my reach as one of Cassie’s friends who’d offered to hop into my bed with no strings attached smiled at me and pressed a fake kiss to my cheek before heading inside.
Out here, away from our old room where so many memories clung to the curtains and the photo that immortalised two children who didn’t know any better no longer condemned, I was clear-headed and disgusted with the way I’d acted.
I needed Della to understand I hadn’t meant to pull away, and things were still exactly the same as before. Not letting me touch her made me almost suicidal with the need to drag her away from nosy townsfolk and demand she talk to me, to accept my apology.
But then the service started, and it no longer felt right to be hurting over a relationship I still had when the relationship I’d shared with Patricia was gone forever.
The Wilsons, Della, and I headed somberly into the church.
Halfway down the aisle, Della tripped on the carpet runner, stumbling in Cassie’s borrowed heels.
I caught her.
The touch was purely instinctual to protect her from falling—cupping her elbow, lashing my arm around her, pulling her close.
I steadied her, fighting the urge to kiss her, all while standing in the aisle surrounded by busybodies.
Had I just revealed I was more than just an overly attentive brother? Would people know we were more?
My worries were answered as knowing eyes brushed over us, making my heart fist and lungs burn.
Of course, people noticed.