One thing I’d learned in my short life of being a secret boyfriend—you came when your girl called. When she called you in tears, you booked ass.
Practice ended not fifteen minutes ago, and I was already at the ranch, having begged an upperclassman for a ride. It would be my luck that today was the one day Rosalyn had to stay late at Chase’s daycare, needing to help him rehearse for tomorrow’s parent recital. I didn’t begrudge my brother his moment of attention; I did, however, hate the curious look in Pete Langley’s eyes when we pulled past Coach’s gate. The senior was notorious for talking shit, but he’d been my only option for a ride. Hopefully, the twenty bucks I slipped him would shut those flapping lips.
I squinted against the abrupt light change inside the barn and called out, “Sunshine?”
Oakley stood in her stall, chomping happily on hay, but there was no sign of Peyton. I scratched my head and grabbed my phone, checking to make sure she’d said to meet her here, and that’s when I heard it. A broken sob.
Blood turned to ice in my veins, but I followed the sound, past every stall and Coach’s ridiculously huge riding lawn mower, right through the back door. She was there, lying on the picnic table that had changed everything. It’d been seven weeks since the weekend she’d read my notebook and snuck into the doghouse. Seven weeks of perfection. Being with Peyton, earning her smiles, it gave me the peace I’d never had before. Being inside her made me feel invincible.
But, for some reason, I’d yet to tell her I loved her.
I didn’t know why. She told me every chance she got, so it wasn’t like I didn’t have the opportunity. But something about those innocent eyes filled with hope, trust, and more love than I’d ever seen directed at me before always held me back. I was afraid to tip the scales.
Peyton’s quiet, constant affection had healed every broken memory, every doubt, every fear that I was like my parents. Those insecurities vanished when I was with her. She deserved to know that.
Maybe today would be the day. Maybe knowing would fix whatever hurt her now.
Leaning down, I picked up her curled body and sat down on the bench with her in my arms. The smooth surface of the pond rippled, reflecting a distorted image of the cloudy sky.
“Tell me what’s wrong.”
I pressed a kiss against her hair and, like always, it smelled like sunflowers. Peyton’s body shook with silent tremors and I tightened my hold around her. “I can’t fix it unless you tell me what’s wrong. You’re obviously upset. You called and told me to get down here, and now I’m here. Tell me what’s going on. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Together.”
Tears splashed my neck as she buried her face in the crook near my shoulder. She mumbled something, half words, half wails, but I couldn’t make out anything that sounded like English. I pressed my back into the table, stroking her hair away from her wet cheeks so I could look into her red-rimmed eyes. My heart thudded in agony. “I’m sorry, baby, but I couldn’t understand that. What’s wrong?”
Fear and desperation flooded her gaze and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Whatever it was, it was bad, but I was here now. I would walk through fire if she asked me to.
Then Peyton’s mouth formed two short words: “I’m late.”
I kept waiting for more.
Late for what, I wanted to ask. School was almost out for the year, her job was here at the ranch. I had no clue what she could possibly be late for…
Then, it clicked. And my body turned to stone.
“Justin? Did you hear me?”
Peyton climbed up my body and straddled my hips, grabbing my face so she could stare into my eyes. My arms fell loose around her. “Say something.”
I couldn’t. Speaking would’ve required brain power that I didn’t possess at that moment. Every synapse I had misfired at the word “late.”
The faint scent of charred wood wafted through the air, and I imagined it was the scent of every dream or plan either of us had for our lives going up in smoke.
Was this how my father felt when he heard those words? Sixteen years old and soon to be a father? A malicious laugh echoed inside my head. Be careful what you wish for. I’d vowed to never become like him, and look at that, I succeeded—I was worse. Hell, I beat him by a whole year.
“Tell me what you’re thinking.”
Peyton grabbed my shoulders and shook them. I felt the bench beneath me, her soft weight on my lap, and the sun beating down on my head. But I wasn’t at the ranch, not really. I was back in my childhood home, overhearing a conversation I never should have.