Page 46 of The Way the Heart Breaks: Jade’s Story

She’s covering the body she’s become self-conscious about. I hate that for her. And okay, maybe a little for me too, because what she hides, I would absolutely kill for. I swear, Tessa got every set of boobs the Ross family had to offer practically overnight.

I rise out of the water and glance toward T. Lane. He’s already looking at me, sunglasses still on, making it impossible to tell if his eyes are smiling too. Either way, he’s unfairly gorgeous.

I reach back and squeeze the water out of my hair as I take my time walking out of the pond, completely unbothered by the feel of the soft muck sucking at my feet, cool mud sliding between my toes, while patches of slimy moss and stray twigs drift against my ankles with every step.

My tank top hits my face, and I laugh as I catch it before it’s in the water. “Gee, thanks for the heads-up.”

“Come on.” She stomps toward the truck.

“Where are you pretty ladies heading off to?” T. Lane asks as I pace him.

“Places to go,” I answer without slowing down.

“Ouch,” he says.

Tessa yells back to Alex. “I’m taking the truck. Catch a ride.”

“Okay, TT.” He calls back.

She hates that nickname, one I haven’t heard in years. Tessa the Terrible, due to her temper that sparks from time to time.

“What’s the hurry?” I ask as I get in.

“You’re ridiculous,” she laughs, throwing the truck into gear.

I turn and look back. T. Lane is no longer looking at the water; he’s looking at me. “Look at them. I think ridiculously naughty would be fun.”

“Gross,” she grumbles as I give him a little wave.

“Jesus, Tessa.” My stomach drops when the truck fishtails toward the edge of the dirt road, tires crunching too close to the ditch and thick blackberry bushes. For one sharp second, all I can think about is the accident. I lunge across the seat, grabbing the wheel hard enough to jerk us straight again, just like I imagine Jasper did. “Focus.”

“Shit, shit, shit,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

In this moment, I revel in the fact that I didn’t freeze; I reacted. “It’s all good.” I nod to the vehicle sitting pretty next to Uncle John's disc. “L-L-I-N-K-S 1. My guy is too sweet to be that showy. Yours is⁠—”

“Oh, hell no, they aren’t Motley Crue for Lord’s sake. It’s not a you-give-me-Tommy-Lee-and-you-get-Vince-Neil kind of situation.”

“You don’t like blonds.” I defend.

“And you know this how?” she asks, pulling out onto Harvest Road.

“Because you said you didn’t. Remember Top Gun? You demanded Maverick because Goose was blond, and so was Alex?”

She’s laughing because I am absolutely right.

And I keep proving my point. “Even before that, you called Han Solo, and I got Luke Skywalker. Not that I’m complaining, but … you set a precedent.”

“Indeed, I did.”

“You have a type.”

“I’ve never even had a boyfriend; how do I have a type?”

“Well, I guess it’s time we put my theory to the test.” I grin.

“Not a chance!”

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