Page 28 of A Bittersweet Summer

Forcing myself to look, I find something dark swimming in Wes’s gaze. He holds me there, teetering on the edge until I want to beg to fall off. I haven’t even looked down to figure out what lies below—but somehow, I don’t care.

Wes shakes his head, one corner of his mouth turning up. “Well, there ya go,” he starts. “Might want to hold on better this time around. I can’t go helping you up every time.”

I clear my throat, wondering if he’s read my thoughts anyway.

“Right.”

Wes gracefully launches himself onto Intrepid’s back, and I find that the cold water does a lot to ease the heat in my blood.

My second trip into the pond is successful, and by the third, I’m feeling confident enough to look over at Wes, who’s laughing as Intrepid splashes him with one hoof.

“You did this a lot growing up?” I ask, the smile now returning to my face.

“As much as we could,” he answers. “Limited only by our parents’ rules and the weather, which both happened to be fairly limiting.”

I chuckle as Wes brings Intrepid up out of the water. He hops off, letting the horse graze. “I’m going to let him snack in peace for a bit while I dry off.”

He plants himself in the grass with a grunt, and I push Deco forward too, sliding off the side this time to join Wes where he sits.

His hands are outstretched behind him, face tilted toward the sun. I look over to the giant Willow hovering over the back corner of the field. Its sleepy limbs hang loose, swaying like windchimes. I can almost hear the song it wants to sing—the stories it wants to tell.

There’s a whole history on this farm I’m unaware of. Not only that, Wesley has an entire history, too. He’s charming when he wants to be—thoughtful.

Chad was like that, too, at first.

This time, when I get closer, I’m careful not to gettooclose. I sit in the grass next to him, keeping a bit more distance.

“When did you start riding and why?” Wes asks as I pick at the grass, pulling up the blades despite knowing I shouldn’t.

“Oh, you know,” I start, turning to look at him.

He keeps his face tipped toward the sky, his shirt clinging to him like his light-brown hair, darkened by the water. I avert my eyes, too aware of the cut to his jaw and the lone freckle that sits just below his left ear.

“No,” he says, “I don’t.”

I look back out at the glittering water of the pond. Trees sway with the breeze against the cloud-dotted sky. “I started riding after my brother got sick,” I confess. It tumbles out of me andfeels so odd considering how much time I’ve spent keeping Gus’s health out of conversation. I haven’t brought it up to my friends—I haven’t brought it up tohimat all, and the guilt from that eats me alive. I’m so afraid of a misstep, doing my best to walk the line betweenmy brother is totally fine and independent,andI’ve watched my dad carry him into the house when he couldn’t walk.

It’s far easier to avoid the topic altogether. It’s yarn sitting at the back of a closet, waiting for a project you keep saying you’ll get to, but then you just don’t.

For some reason, it feels safer here, with Wes. He’s not connected to my life in the same way, and he’s asking. I might as well answer.

“I think I needed to get out,” I start. “My parents weren’t getting along—bills and such. I needed somewhere peaceful—a place for myself.” I pluck at the grass, stopping when I realize I’ve created a bald spot. “It’s part of the reason I wanted this job so badly. It reminds me of the one place I didn’t have to think so hard. It was okay to just exist around the horses. Everything is allowed to just exist out here. The expectations are that the horses would be exactly what they are and nothing else.” A halfhearted smile pulls at the corner of my mouth when my eyes flick to his briefly. “You don’t expect a horse to act like a…” The water ripples just over the surface. “A fish.”

Silence stretches between us, and I pick at more of the grass, only stopping when Wes’s soft voice interrupts. “And why did you stop?” he questions.

“I’m not sure,” I admit, stretching my legs out further. “I don’t think my parents were very focused on what I wanted, so it seemed easier to want less. I used to work for my lessons, but even that started feeling like a burden. I spent a lot of time molding myself to whatever my family needed, and somewheredown the road, I started cutting out the things that weren’t… that. They needed my time more than I needed horses.”

“They needed you to be a fish?” he says, and I let out a breathy chuckle.

“I guess.” He’s staring at me now, as if he’s hanging on my every word. “Gills and all,” I add.

It feels good to get the weight off my chest—good to feel heard without being pitied. I like the feeling so much, I keep talking, and my brow furrows. “You know, I’ve spent a lot of time bouncing between jobs trying to find something that fits. Maybe I reallydidlose myself in all of that.” I turn to look at Wes, who’s still listening. He’s a steady presence, like the willow tree watching over us. “I had a boyfriend—absolute scum, but he had a lot of money.”

Wes fights the smile tugging at his mouth. “I was feeling sorry for you, but now I’m not so sure.”

I chuckle. “No, I didn’t date him because of that. Either way, it wasn’t a very good fit. I feel much more like myself out here than at some golf club charity event.”

Wes looks at me thoughtfully, and I push my lips together. I’ve told him a lot—more than he probably bargained for.