THE TWENTY-MINUTE RIDE back from the party included lots of discussion about football, Christian’s bad taste in girls, and whether or not Titan watered down the keg. After the long drive from DC to Black Water, the drama at the game and the party, and the effort it required to walk through a cow field, I’m wiped out.
Cameron nudges me. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty? We’re here.”
“I just closed my eyes for a minute,” I mumble.
“Do you always snore when your eyes are closed?” Christian hops out of the truck.
“I do not snore.” At least I don’t think I do.
“Lighten up. It was a joke,” Christian says. “Your sense of humor needs work.”
I want to tell them that I wasn’t always this serious—intense, stubborn, and independent, definitely. Serious is a recent development.
The porch light is on and another light glows inside.
“Pop always waits up,” Cam says as Christian unlocks the front door.
The house is even prettier than I remember.
As a kid, I thought the sky-blue paint made the house appear as if it were floating in the clouds. With the white shutters and wraparound porch, it was easy to imagine fresh-baked pies cooling in the kitchen. Maybe there would’ve been if Christian and Cameron’s mom hadn’t died in a car accident when they were eight.
Cam holds open the door for me. “Pop. We’re home. We’ve got Peyton with us.”
“I didn’t expect you to lose her.” Hawk is standing in the kitchen doorway, wearing an orange-and-white University of Tennessee shirt that says GO VOLS and jeans that I’m ninety-nine percent sure are genuine Wranglers.
I point at Hawk’s shirt. “What are Vols?”
“It’s short for Volunteers,” he says.
“Is University of Tennessee the big college around here?” I ask.
Christian jumps in. “The biggest. With the best Division One football team in the SEC. That’s where me and Cameron are going next year. We were both recruited last fall, and we already signed our letters of intent.”
“Congratulations. That’s huge.” I follow the Twins into the kitchen.
“Did you meet the boys’ friends?” Hawk asks. “They’re not as bad as they seem after you get to know them.”
Christian opens the fridge. “The guys know they’d better behave themselves around Peyton.”
Hawk nods his approval. “I hope so.”
Not my uncle, too.
I shrug off Dad’s jacket. “I don’t need anyone to issue warnings for me.”
“I’m sure that’s true, but I still expect the boys to look out for you,” my uncle says.
“Because I’m a girl?”
“Yeah.” Christian takes a milk carton out of the fridge.
“Don’t get her started.” Cam snatches the milk from his brother’s hand and drinks straight from the carton.
I wait to see if my uncle shares the Twins’ chauvinistic view.
“Because you’re their cousin,” Hawk says.
Christian and Cameron exchange exasperated looks.
Hawk gestures to the fridge. “I was going to pick up some things at the grocery store, but your mom said you like to cook, so I figured I’d better take you with me. When it comes to cooking, peanut butter and jelly is my specialty.”
Christian snaps to attention. “You cook?”
“More than just the frozen stuff?” Cam is grinning at me like I just told him that he won the lottery.
“Yeah. I can teach you guys if you want.” Based on the Twins’ reactions, I’m guessing they don’t know how.
Christian laughs. “No thanks. Cooking is for chicks.”
I glare at him. “I hope that’s a joke.”
“Why? Girls are better at cooking. It’s a compliment.”
“No. It’s really not.”
Hawk clears his throat. “Boys, why don’t you show Peyton her room?”
“Good idea.” Christian ushers me up the steps, while Cam returns the milk carton to the fridge.
“Wait up,” Cam calls after us.
Hawk shakes his head and lets Cam slip in front of him.
The second-floor hallway hasn’t changed. Mismatched frames hang on the walls, chronicling every important moment in their lives—a wedding photo of Hawk and Aunt Katie, icing smeared all over Hawk’s face while Aunt Katie laughs; my aunt in the hospital, cradling two blue bundles in her arms; the Twins, as toddlers, covered in mud and holding kid-size footballs; and dozens of shots of my cousins on the football field at various ages.
One photo stands out from the rest. A little girl with dark brown pigtails, wearing a red soccer jersey with CUBA in white letters across the front. Her foot balances on top of the ball, and her hands are planted on her hips. Dad kneels beside me in a matching jersey, with his serious soccer expression—a sharp contrast to Mom’s carefree smile as she pokes her head between us.
“That’s you,” Christian says, as if he’s telling me something I don’t know.
“Thanks for clearing up that mystery,” I tease.
“Your dad was real proud of you,” Hawk says. The Twins look away. Thinking about my dead parent probably reminds them of their mom. “He was as good as they come, even though I gave him a rough time when he started dating your mom.”
“Why were you so hard on him?” Mom has told me bits and pieces of the story, but I want to hear Hawk’s version.
“Your dad and I were in the same Recon unit in the Marine Corps, and he was a friend—those were two reasons right there. A man doesn’t want his little sister falling for a Devil Dog who gets dropped into dangerous situations for a living. I wanted her to settle down with someone who would come home every night. But I brought your dad with me for Thanksgiving, and they fell hard for each other.”
“Were you okay with that?” I asked.
Hawk laughed. “Hell no. I kicked your dad’s butt when we left. He probably let me because he knew he had it coming. But it didn’t stop him from calling and visiting your mom every chance he got. Then I had Sissy to deal with. After a while, I got used to it.”
“And you stayed friends?”
“Only because your dad was such a good guy. He had a lot of honor. He respected your mom, and me. The day he asked your mom to marry him, he asked me first to make sure I was okay with it. He said that if he had a sister like your mom, he wouldn’t have trusted a guy like him, either. Then he promised to take care of her.”
“Great story, Pop. Can we show Peyton her room now?” Christian asks.
“The boys decorated it,” Hawk says proudly.
“Thanks for telling me the story.”
Hawk nods. “If you ever have questions or you want to know what happened—”
“I don’t.” Stories about my parents are one thing, but I don’t want to hear the details about how my father died.
“Here it is,” Cam says, stepping aside so I can open the bedroom door.
Suddenly, I’m worried. Visions of pink ruffles and fairy-tale princesses fill my head. I’m not sure if I can sleep in a pink room. I open the door, prepared to see a bed covered in rainbows, or something equally childish.
Don’t be a brat.
When I see it, my first thought is that I must’ve walked into the wrong room. There isn’t a shred of pink or a stuffed animal anywhere. The white furniture is accented with a sky-blue comforter and a cloud-shaped rug with a cute Japanese cartoon-style face. Above the desk on a pinboard, colored pushpins hold a Black Water High School Warriors decal, a picture of the Twins with their faces squished against a window, and an old photo of Mom and me.
“So do you like it or what?” Cam asks.
The surprising thing is that I do like everything in here. It doesn’t resemble my room at home, but it has a cool vibe, unlike the princess nightmare I pictured.
“It’s really nice.” I take in the details. “You two picked out all this stuff?”
Christian rolls back on his heels and Cam studies the rug.
“Grace helped,” Cam says finally. “But we drove her to Walmart.”
“You don’t like it.” Christian sounds deflated.
“Actually, I do. A lot.” I spread out the stack of notebooks and binders on the desk, nothing too cute or flashy, just the basics. Grace even threw in a decent mix of magazines—entertainment, sports, fashion, and a copy of Southern Living.
Hopefully, it has an article that covers how to deal with Southern high school divas.
Hawk and my cousins stand near the door, waiting for the final verdict.
“It’s all great.” I look around one more time.
“Why don’t we let Peyton get some rest? She looks tired.” Hawk steers the Twins to the door.
“I am pretty wrecked.” I sit on the edge of the bed.
A muffled whimper and scratching sounds come from underneath it, and I fly off the mattress and stumble toward the dresser. “There’s something under there.”
What the hell is it? A huge rat? A raccoon?
Do they have wolverines in Tennessee?
“Relax.” Christian bends down and picks up one side of the bed. “It’s just Dutch. He gets stuck.”
Reddish-brown paws poke out from beneath the bed skirt, and a moment later, the bloodhound’s square head and floppy ears follow. Dutch crawls out on his belly. I’m not surprised he got stuck. The dog is a lot bigger than I remember.
I lean against the dresser and exhale. “I forgot about him.”
Dutch turns his head toward me like he’s moving in slow motion. The dog’s droopy eyes and long ears make him look like a canine version of Eeyore from Winnie-the-Pooh.
Cam scratches the bloodhound’s head as the dog lumbers into the hall. “You hurt his feelings.”
Hawk puts a hand on each boy’s shoulder and pushes them out of my room. “Let me know if you need anything.” He pulls the door closed behind him.
For the first time since I arrived in Black Water, I’m alone. As much as I hate answering questions about what happened to my knee, and walking around in a brace, when I’m alone, the bad memories have room to stretch out.
Losing Tess is what hurts the most.
I’m not sure which is worse—the possibility that she and I will never be friends again, or the chance that I won’t be the same when I get back on the soccer field.
It doesn’t matter. Choosing one loss or the other isn’t an option.
I’m stuck with both.