He’s going to kill me. Nope, scratch that. They are going to kill me. I slam the steering wheel of my car, knowing damn well my life as I know it has changed. Familiar sights come into view as I pull into my hometown.
Two years away at college—the one I rode into on a full scholarship for softball. That dream is now crushed. It started going downhill when I tore my ACL on a slide into home plate. It kept on spiraling out of control the night I wasn’t in so much damn pain and Braxton and I enjoyed each other way too much. I’m a smart girl and know better, but love does some crazy shit to the brain.
I should know by now…between my mom, dad, aunts, and uncles. I have more cousins than I can count and have witnessed more public displays of affection than anyone should ever have to bear. Yet, I’m driving home benched from the team because I’m recovering from an injury. Even worse—I’m knocked up.
I shudder at the thought, sinking further into myself and the driver’s seat. I know I won’t be scorned. I’m pregnant, and it’s a blessing beyond words. The thing is I still feel like a kid at heart; it’s the way my dad and mom always made me feel. I’m their girl, and I’m about to disappoint the hell out of them.
My story isn’t your ordinary one. It’s far beyond that. My daddy has always been my hero from the moment I can remember. It didn’t matter if it was tutus, mac and cheese, or sprinkles, he was by my side. He even played my childish password game. He was and will always be my person. Then Milly walked into our lives, making everything complete.
My dad is going to go ape shit crazy. He’ll more than likely chase down Braxton five hours away before he even has a chance to make it here. Milly, my stepmom and the one I call “Mom,” might be my only saving grace. Lord knows she’ll be pissed as hell because I’m so young, but once she sees Dad losing his ever-loving mind, I know she’ll be on my side.
This is all sorts of screwed up. I can only hope the cupboard is full of sprinkles and Mac is off the tractor long enough to save my ass. My little brother and I are like twins, even though we were born years apart. We covered up each other’s crimes with just a slight nod of the chin. Hell, he’s my best friend, and doesn’t even know the secret I’m coming home with. He’ll know it the minute he sees me. It’s always been that way since he took his first step. I swear that boy tattled on me ever since.
The Shop passes my view and I know I’m close to home, the place where my roots are embedded in the soil. My soul soared here in hot pink boots, tutus, and cleats. I was allowed to be the person I was meant to be, with the best people supporting me.
And before I know it, I’m pulling up the familiar lane to my home. Mom’s red Ford sits out front, shiny as can be. I swear it's more of her life source than my dad. And good hell, I’m not sure if it’s the hormones or memories, but I swear I can smell bacon. Once I kill the engine to my GMC truck, my dad appears.
Salt and pepper dabble his temples and his hair on the top is thinning a bit, but you could never tell with his John Deere ball cap on top of his head. It only takes seconds for Mom to appear by his side. She’s always been there since the day she entered my and my dad’s lives. She loves my dad, me, and Mac like no other person can. She gave us her whole heart the moment we all collided.
I’m home. All of my problems vanish into thin air because I’m where my roots are and my soul thrives. It may be scary when my dad gets pissed off as hell, slamming shit and cussing. Those briefest seconds of disappointment that dance in his kind and caring eyes will gut me to the core. But at the end of the day, I know his arms, warmth, and soul will love the hell out of me. I can only hope I survive it all.
Mindlessly, I run my palms over my flat belly before climbing out of my truck. I still limp on my leg even though most of the pain has vanished. I find myself nursing the injury. Phantom pain or some shit like that. This one injury was a stepping stone down a very nasty, slippery slope. Softball was ripped from me, and even though everyone told me I’d play again I didn’t see it that way. Then I slipped up big time with Braxton, and now here I am. I know it’s not the end of the game, but my damn mind sure likes to make it feel that way.
“My girl!” Dad creeps down the stairs, nursing his own knee. He had surgery on it about a year ago. Working from sunup to sundown has taken a toll on his body. “Never thought you’d make it here.”
“Hey, Dad.” I throw my arms open and hope like hell he doesn’t pick on the crack in my voice.
When the slight wrinkles at the corners of his smile dip down, I know he already knows something is off with me.
2
“Your brother will be in anytime. He’s been planting corn around the clock.” Mom sets down an ice-cold lemonade in front of me.
The thought of a tart beverage turns my stomach, but my sandpaper dry throat begs to differ. I take a long gulp, capturing an ice cube in my mouth and letting it melt away. Dad starts in, asking about my grades for the semester then bending down to look at my knee. It seems to pass his approval as he stands up, scrubbing his face and tilting his hat sideways on his head.
“Damn. I knew my girl would kill the schoolwork, and your knee looks damn good. Everything else okay?”
Shit, he knows. Dad always had a damn sense when something was off. Didn’t matter if I tucked a piece of bubblegum in my pocket or snuck out in high school. I gulp down my fear, not wanting to lie to my dad, but still answer the best I can without revealing the complete truth.
I grab his hand. The once young and smooth-skinned is now weathered, but it always grounds me. “I’ll b
e just fine, Dad, just fine.”
That’s the truth. It may hurt and slice me wide open, but in the end, it will all work out. Dad nods and goes to Mom’s side as they prepare dinner, giving me a bit of peace. I grab my phone, checking for a text from Braxton—and there’s nothing. He knows what’s going on this trip home, and still has no decency to respond. I understand he has a baseball tournament this weekend. I know it’s a massive one that could put our college on the map, but he knew my destination, and I thought he cared. As the seconds flash by into minutes, I’m beginning to realize what my future with Braxton holds.
Me: I made it home.
I wait until Mom and Dad have the table set and are wasting time waiting for everyone to arrive. My phone doesn’t even show he’s read it. But it doesn’t stop me. My fingers are on automatic, firing away.
Me: I’m about to tell my parents. I wish you could be here.
Nothing. Minutes pass by and I can’t handle it.
Me: I hope the game is worth it.
With that, I tuck my phone down in my pocket and try to ignore it. The thought of checking it burns a hot hole into my flesh, so I grab it and power it down. He knew where I was going and how exhausting and stressful it would be. I’m a damn athlete too, and know damn well how long the bus ride is. He could’ve at least sent a text before he exited the bus. Nope. I’m really starting to see Braxton’s true colors, and he’s not the masterpiece I once thought he was. It’s far worse than any finger-painting art I created back in the day.
“Mac will be here any minute,” Mom chirps, carrying a large bowl to the table.