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“You knew?”
“I did.”
Big brother intuition. “How did you react?”
“How else? I hugged him while he cried and told him I loved him.” His words drift into silence, and part of me wants to prod for more. How did the rest of his family react? Their dad? But I leave it be. Because the other part of me is so moved at his tenderness. A tenderness I honestly didn’t think he possessed. That anyone in his family possessed.
And, for a moment, I imagine them here on this rock, hugging and crying and so much love pouring between the two of them, and my eyes burn with tears. Stephen didn’t have an ally like that in his family when he was younger. I wish he had. I wish that for everyone. And it’s then I also realize that this warm and tender man might not know what happened to Meaghan after all. Or what his family did to her, rather. Those two men couldn’t inhabit the same body—the one okay with ruining a life, and the one doing everything he can to make the other better.
At least, I hope they couldn’t.
“That was right before Dad’s stroke,” he laments. “Preston was almost fourteen.”
“I’m sorry about your father,” I say.
He doesn’t reply. We just sit in sad silence for a while, the sun gliding farther to the west. And as we watch a flock of birds dive down into the tall grass, I can’t help but wonder what his relationship was like with his dad. Were they close? His golden child because he would be carrying on his legacy?
And Preston…
What if Harris didn’t respond well to his coming out, got upset over it even? Jake would have been caught in the middle. Then Harris had a stroke. Preston probably blamed himself for it. Would explain his attachment to a homestead he seems so miserable at. His guilt prevents him from leaving.
My butt starts to hurt so I pull my legs into my chest and rock to get the feeling back. Debate asking Jake more questions to see if my guesses are right, but I don’t. I can tell he’s in a dark place again.
When did I get so soft?
Since Jake Mitchell was the subject of my article and not some random person I don’t know. I’m more lenient with him. Give him a wider berth. I’ve passed on several opportunities to put him on the spot, but have bridled myself.
Something about his suffering turns me all mushy inside.
Stephen’s voice wafts through: Keep those walls up, heifer!
I’m fine. I’ve got this.
Jake sits up and runs his hands through his golden-tipped hair. A slow smile spreads across his face at the remembrance of something else. He’s back from his trip to the dark place. “Then when I was older, I started coming here for other reasons.”
This sounds interesting…
He turns his attention to the tree beside us, the one flush against the rock with etchings of names of it and nods in its direction, so I’ll look along with him.
I oblige.
It reads: J & S forever. Below that: Jake and Karly. Slanted sideways beside that: Jake and Gretchen.
“You brought all your girlfriends here,” I say, my interest piqued. I turn back to him, lips quirked. “Now, Jake,” I tease, batting my eyelashes. “You know we’re not going steady, right? We’re not an item.”
“An item?” He laughs. “What are you, like sixty?”
“Shut up,” I counter, pushing against his shoulder. He rocks sideways. “Tell me about them.” This feels less intrusive than the dad and brother questions.
Obstinate, he looks back over the field. “Can’t,” he says simply, still smiling that goofy smile. “You told me to shut up.”
I groan. Insufferable.
But I love that now the darkness has lifted again, the light in him has more room to shine. “Please?” I say, reverting to the childish game he’s insisted on playing.
“Not good enough, sorry.”
I’m not telling him I’m sorry for saying shut up, so I heap some sugar on it. “Pretty please?” I even make a point to lean into him when I say it.
