Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106774 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“My dad was a sonofabitch.” She bristles, tensing again. “And that’s all I have to say about that.”
I should keep my mouth shut. It’s not my place to say anything more, or to inject myself into her private world, but I can’t help it. I have to say something.
“As much as you’ve annoyed me over the past couple of weeks, you’ve also been impressive,” I say, swallowing through a constriction in my throat. “I hate to think that your strength comes from necessity, especially at such a young age.”
The corner of her mouth lifts. “I’m glad it did. Otherwise, I would’ve been a statistic in one way or another.” She side-eyes me. “Instead, I’m just a heartless bitch.”
I blow out a breath, embarrassed. “I’m really sorry I said that to you. It was wholly unfair.”
She shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Where are we headed?”
I don’t want to change the subject. I want to apologize until she hears it and believes it, because the locker room ordeal now makes perfect sense. Before, I was sorry for being mean. Now I’m sorry for being unknowingly cruel. But as I start to speak again, I remember something my therapist once told me: an apology is for whoever I hurt, not for me.
If I’m truly remorseful for what I said, then I must prioritize what she needs over what I feel like I need.
So I have to let it go for now.
“I thought you might like to see Sugar Creek,” I say, ducking as a strand of thorns whips at me from the side.
“It runs through your property?”
“There’s a joke that the creek touches everyone’s property somehow. But, yeah, it runs just a little way down this path.”
She shifts in her seat. “There was a time not long ago when this would’ve been dangerous.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because I would’ve wanted to drown you in the creek.”
I laugh. “You mean you don’t anymore?”
“Maybe not today,” she says, fighting a grin.
We round a large pine tree, and the water comes into view. It’s a bit wider and deeper here than in most places. A handful of trees have fallen in the vicinity, and by the looks of the rope swing hanging off a limb and the leaf litter covering the picnic table we hauled down here as teenagers, it doesn’t look like Hartley comes back here anymore.
“This is beautiful,” she says, hopping out with her water bottle in hand. “Wow, Gray. Look at this place.”
I shut the engine off and climb out, too. “Do you like it?”
“What’s not to like?”
“We used to hang out here all summer. Mom or Cathy would pack us a picnic basket and a cooler full of lemonade, and we’d bring a little radio that I got one Christmas. We’d swim and shoot the shit. It was a good time.” No, it was the best time.
I let my gaze roam around the land, chastising myself for not truly appreciating life here. Sure, I have great memories with my family, and Brooks and I had a ball, but I had one foot out the door from as far back as I can remember. I was convinced the small-town life wasn’t for me.
But I’ve seen the world now and all it has to offer. And, while I’ve had a lot of experiences—both good and bad—I realize it’s not for me, either. I’ve pondered whether coming back home would make me feel like a failure or inadequate in some way, or if Hartley would have feelings about me coming and going as I see fit. But being here? It’s the most contentment I’ve had in a long fucking time.
Astrid peers off the edge of the embankment into the water. “It sounds magical.”
“They write about this in books. I could suggest some, if you’d like.”
She glares at me playfully before turning back to the water again. “There are little fishes. Look at that.”
“There’s a heron on your right just upstream.”
“I can’t get over this,” she says, looking toward the bird. “Is that a rope swing?”
I nod. “Yeah. This is one of the only places in the area where it’s deep enough for that kind of thing. The water pools here and gets lazy instead of flowing steadily.”
“One of my childhood dreams was to use a rope swing. I saw one on—ah!”
Astrid’s foot catches on an exposed tree root and slips out from beneath her. In slow motion, she falls forward, eyes wide, hair trailing behind her, and water bottle pressed to her chest.
She lands with a thud.
“Are you okay?” I ask, racing to her side and kneeling beside her. “Does anything hurt?”
“I don’t think so.” She groans, turning onto her side and looking up to me with gold-flecked eyes. The crushed plastic water bottle squeaks as she moves off it. “Nothing besides my pride, anyway.”
I brush a lock of hair off her cheek, my knuckles swiping against her smooth skin, and a zing of heat rips through me. It doesn’t stop until it reaches my toes. Her gaze pierces mine as her lips part, and I can’t help but wonder if she felt that, too.