“Are you sure about this?”
“Absolutely.” He eases up on the accelerator, the truck slowing its roll so I can actually make out stalks of corn and not a yellow blur. “I wasn’t kidding when I said he was a mess this weekend.”
My skin feeling like it’s too small for my body, I grab at my collar. “Why?”
“I’m not sure. Just that it has to do with you.”
If I wasn’t strapped in with a seat belt, I’d sag against the door. Instead, I rest my head on the glass and watch the country out of the windshield. “I really think we should scrap this, Peck.”
“Hell fucking no,” he laughs.
“This isn’t funny.”
“Look,” he says, re-gripping the steering wheel, “I don’t think y’all are gonna get married and have babies. I mean, if you do, great. Fine. I don’t really give a shit. Molly McCarter will have my babies someday. But you seem to like him in a way most women don’t.”
“I don’t like him at all.”
“Mm-hmm . . .” he says, taking us around another corner on two wheels. “I think what’s different is that you came into town not knowing anyone. Like, you don’t know the gossip or the history or who’s fucking who and who’s getting fat, you know?”
“Oh my God,” I snort. “That’s terrible!”
“Yeah, small towns. It’s true. Anyway,” he continues on, “you just slugged your way in here and saw things for what they are. Not what they were or what they were supposed to be.”
“First off, don’t think I didn’t get that jab you webbed in there for me . . .”
He grins, lifting his shoulders in a lazy shrug.
“Second,” I continue, “are you saying Walker is not what he was? Does he have some crazy past?” Squirming now, blood racing, I demand answers. “Tell me, Peck. You wouldn’t bring me around like this if he’s a weirdo, right? Oh my God. I can’t trust you, can I?”
He finds my near-panic hysterical and laughs like he’s watching a comedy. “No, Slugger. He doesn’t have a crazy past. He does, however, have a past, like we all do,” he adds to stall my objection. “In a small town, that shades what people think of you and how they treat you and interact with you. Like, whatever you were deemed in third grade is what people expect.”
Letting that marinate, I relax back into the seat. It’s true—people do expect you to be a certain way. It’s partially what I’m fighting in my own life when I look at it.
As a Landry, I’m expected to toe the family line. I’ve never been able to just spew what I’m thinking, lest it hurt someone’s political career. I have to watch who I’m seen with in case a photographer is around. My parents, although pleasantly accepting of my pseudo-rebellion, would, without a doubt, prefer me in expensive heels and a pretty dress and leading a charity event to end childhood hunger.
“I get that,” I concede. “But what was Walker ‘supposed’ to be?”
A small white house with the cutest front porch comes into view. There’s an old-fashioned laundry line stretching behind, parallel to a small garden. A garage sits next to it, the doors open and an SUV and a car parked in front.
“Walker was supposed to be a college football star, even though I’m not sure he ever really liked the sport. He was just naturally good at it, I guess. He even got a scholarship for it,” he tells me. “He dated a girl all through high school and everyone thought they’d have a shitload of babies to toughen up the Linton football program by now.”
“What happened?”
Peck forces a swallow as he pulls into the driveway behind a dark purple Dodge Charger. “Life. Life happened.”
“That’s not an answer,” I say hurriedly as he grabs for the door handle. “You can’t give me that.”
“Well, he didn’t take the scholarship for starters.”
“Why?” I ask, wondering why anyone would pass up free college tuition. I’ve heard people talk about how expensive it is and how families go broke, wrapping themselves up in debt for decades, just to pay for it. “Why wouldn’t he take it?”
“His dad was sick, something they never really figured out before he died. I think Walker was the only one who knew. Lance and Blaire were gone by then, off doing their thing. Machlan was tearing shit up with Cross, being Machlan, and Walker stumbled into the news, I think.” Peck’s gaze settles into the distance. “He was really close with his dad. Thick as thieves. Walker was devastated. I only know that because he got drunk one night and kind of broke down about it. Otherwise, he would’ve held it in. It’s what he does.”
My shoulders fall as I think back on the picture Camilla posted of Dad and I imagine what it would be like to find out he was sick. To imagine he only has days, weeks, or months left. To have to watch him suffer and know the end is coming.