Page 4 of Then You Happened
She opens her mouth and then closes it as my heart breaks in two. Her eyes tell me she’s sorry, but the subtle shake of her head tells me she isn’t going to stand up for me.
I look one last time around the home I grew up in. The big oak tree out front that used to be perfect for climbing. The granny flat out back they expected me to live in. The rolling green lawn I used to spend hours staging photography sessions on but that now seems so small. A house filled with an overabundance of rules and loyalty but still loaded with love and warmth.
Unlike it is right now.
My father lifts his eyebrows as if to ask me if I’ve made my choice.
Swallowing over the emotion clogging my throat, I take a moment in the stifling silence of our house and nod. “I’m sorry you’re being this way.” I bite back the sob restricting my throat. “I’m sorry you’re making me choose. I’m sorry you refuse to love me when I don’t follow your rules.”
“This isn’t about love, Tate.”
“Yes, it is.” I think of the baby I already love even though I’ve never seen him or her.
“You’re making a mistake that I won’t be able to fix,” he says.
“I’m no longer yours to fix.” Tears course down my cheeks as I take a few steps to the door before looking over my shoulder at them. The people who used to be my whole world and who are now telling me love comes with conditions. “Bye.”
It’s all but a whisper.
The screen door shutting behind me is ten times louder.
But it feels like a sonic boom in my heart and head.
It feels as if I just made the worst mistake and best decision all at once.
And when I cross the driveway and climb into the truck beside Fletcher, I can’t look at him. I can barely breathe let alone think, so I say the one thing I can, “Drive.”
1
JACK
Six years later
It’s pretty enough.
That’s my first thought when I sit on the initial stretch of gravel driveway and stare at the expanse of ranch in front of me. The split rail fence stretches farther than I can see on both sides of me. The main house has a worn brick exterior, pitched roofline, and a covered verandah that wraps around its front. The pastures are green, and the stables large enough, but where the house looks worn, they feel more neglected than they look.
Drive the car, Sutton. Walk the walk, and talk the talk. Fulfill the promise you made, and then get the hell out of Dodge with a clear conscience and maybe a few months of vacation before you have to step into shoes you never expected to fill.
I glance up at the entrance, take in the sign hanging from the wood arch that says Knox Ranch, and notice the broken hinge of the opened gate in front of me. There are two cameras with frayed electrical cords and cracked lenses positioned on either side of the structure that tell me they’ve definitely seen better days.
It seems this place has too.
Easing off the brakes, I head toward the house with my chuckle of disbelief riding on the breeze as it blows in the rolled down window.
Beyond the split rail is a field of long, golden, prairie grass that runs into trees billowing at its edges. There are just a few horses milling inside the fences, but there aren’t any ranch hands working, no other trucks taking up space in the driveway, no one sitting in the shade to take a respite from the heat.
I take my time unfolding myself out of my truck and ambling up the walkway while I wait to feel something.
Anything.
But there’s nothing more than impatience, resentment, and a sense of duty to fulfill a promise I never should have made.
“Who’re you?”
I hear her voice before I see her. Contempt paints its edges in a way that matches how I feel most days lately.
It should be my warning to walk away. That keeping my word isn’t worth the damn trouble. That my hunch about what type of person she is, is dead on.
