Page 7 of Deviant
We just made it back safely. I’m about to crash. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love u Halle girl
Aunt A brings in my backpack. “I figured you’d need this.” She hands it over.
I dig out my phone charger, plugging it into the lamp on the nightstand and plugging my phone in.
“Thanks, Aunt A. I really am glad to see you guys.”
She sits down next to me and ruffles my hair. “I know, honey. We’re glad to see you too. I know you don’t want to work on the farm, but I really think this will be good for you … more than you know.”
Maybe it’s the sleep creeping in, but I don’t argue. “You could be right, Aunt A. At this point, we’re gonna find out either way.”
She laughs lightly. “You’re fucking right about that. However, before I forget, I’m sure you planned to catch up on sleep tomorrow, which is fine …” She pauses, and I wait for the caveat. “But, you have to go to the annual summer bonfire tomorrow night. Tierney is looking forward to seeing you then and will talk about what you’ll be doing. Okay?”
I mumble an “Okay,” fighting to keep my eyes open.
“Good. Now, get some rest.” She pulls me in, kissing my forehead. “Welcome home,” she says softly before getting up to leave me alone.
I try not to overthink her words, but they consume my thoughts as I strip down to my boxers and climb into bed, turning off all the lights.
I stare at the ceiling until my eyes adjust. The room smells like her laundry detergent and old wood.
Welcome home.
RHETT
It’s the annual Thornwood summer kick-off bonfire.
Half of Cedarbrook is here, sprawled across the yard by the main house in lawn chairs and truck beds. Coolers are nestled in the grass, and kids are shrieking as they chase fireflies near the tree line.
Molly is tucked against my side, her hand resting on my chest. She smells like vanilla, and is dressed in a yellow sundress that probably took her an hour to pick out. She’s pretty—objectively pretty. The kind of pretty that looks good in photos and makes sense on paper. I know I should want to slide my hand higher on her waist, pull her closer, and lean down to kiss her neck the way Cash is always saying I should.
But I don’t want to.
Three months of dating the sweetest girl in Cedarbrook, and I still can’t make myself care enough to do more than go through the motions.
It’s not like I don’t like girls. I do. I watch porn like any other guy, and I’ve had girlfriends before Molly—even slept with a few of them. Got a decent body count for twenty-three, if I’m being honest. But every time, it feels like I’m just doing what I’m supposed to do—what everyone expects. Like I’m followinga script everyone else got that makes sense to them but just seems…boring, to me.
Cash never has this problem. He moves through girls like they’re revolving doors—easy and confident, genuinely excited about every new conquest. And Dawson’s got that swagger that makes most girls hang on his every word. Even Tommy Peterson, who’s dumber than a bag of rocks, seems to actually enjoy this whole dance.
But me? I’m twenty-three years old and every interaction with Molly feels forced. Like I’m checking boxes on a list. Date the right girl. Kiss her at the right moments. Say the right things. It all just feels like work.
“You okay?” she asks, tilting her head up to look at me.
“Yeah, just tired,” I lie, forcing a smile.
She frowns slightly, that little crease forming between her eyebrows. “You’re always tired lately.”
She deserves better than this. Better than a boyfriend who tenses up every time she touches him, who makes excuses to avoid being alone with her, who kisses her with only half interest.
Before I can dig myself deeper into this hole, Cash appears with two beers, shoving one into my free hand hard enough that it sloshes. “Loosen the fuck up, big brother. You look like someone died.”
Molly laughs. “I keep telling him the same thing.”
Cash winks at her, shameless. “See? Even your girl knows you need to relax.” He takes a long pull from his beer, then scans the crowd with that restless energy he always carries. “Dawson’s over by the trucks, talking horses with the Martin girl. Probably trying to get into her pants. Good luck to him, that girl’s pussy is tighter than Fort Knox.”
“Cash,” I mutter, glancing at Molly. Heat crawls up my neck, even though she doesn’t seem bothered.
A shit-eating grin spreads across his face. “What? It’s true. Remember when Tommy tried last summer? Poor bastard struck out so hard he didn’t come to The Bar for a month.” He shakes his head, laughing. “Had to go three towns over just to show his face at a bar again.”
