Page 72 of Better Late Than Never

“Ah,” I said quietly, taking the ruined heirloom from him. “Thank you for bringin’ it back to me.”

“Sorry again.” Shephard gave me a sympathetic look, clearly thinking the emotions I was sure were all over my face were solely due to the box. Then he turned on his heel and left the room.

“Shoot,” I muttered under my breath, staring down at the pill box in my hands. It felt like the end of an era, somehow. Like this little trinket held some sort of power over me, and now it was gone.

“I’m sorry you’re upset about your grandma’s box,” Adam said quietly, his voice filled with genuine concern. “But if I’m bein’ honest, I ain’t sorry it’s broken.”

“Nice,” I deadpanned.

“I mean it. Now, maybe you’ll learn to let other people share in life’s ups and downs with you, instead of pushin’ folks away so they don’t get close enough to hurt you.”

“We’re talkin’ about a cute little game my grandma played with us kids, Adam,” I said, hating how uncertain my voice sounded, even to my own ears. “It’s not that deep.”

One corner of his mouth kicked up as he backed toward the door. “Uh-huh. Well, lemme know when you’re done tellin’ yourself that.”

20/

adam

take it back now, y’all:

[title]

I stared at her across the fire, watching the light dance across her features. Her hair was shorter. Her nearly black waves had grazed her collarbone, and I could still remember what it felt like when I’d reached out and touched a strand of it, letting it wind through my fingers under the moonlight.

But that was then, and this was now. Everett’s ex and first love, Laney, had come back from Nashville for our high school reunion, and she’d brought a surprise guest with her—her manager, Paisley. Otherwise known as Red, but I was pretty sure I was the only one who would know her by that name.

As Laney strummed her guitar, her melodic voice carried through the night air, singing about love and spinning around in circles in a cornfield. The kind of pop-country love songs that were probably all about my brother. But I couldn’t focus on the lyrics, not with Paisley sitting right across from me, the firelight flickering in her eyes.

I stared at her, willing her to look my way. To acknowledge that she remembered me as well as I remembered her, even if it was only a handful of hours we’d spent together.

But those hours? They were memorable. Unforgettable.

How could she not remember?

She laughed at something Aubree whispered in her ear, and the sound hit me square in the chest. I’d know that laugh anywhere, even after two long years. It’d haunted my dreams, even if I hadn’t realized it was her I’d been dreaming of.

Earlier, when I’d come downstairs and heard her voice as she greeted Momma, my heart had about stopped.

I never thought I’d hear that voice again in general, especially since she hadn’t used the number I’d programmed into her phone that night. But hearing it in my house? Shocked didn’t even begin to cover it. And then she’d laughed, and it was like someone had cut out my heart and slapped me in the face with it.

I’d lingered in the doorway, listening to Momma’s incessant questions and the little tidbits she shared about our family. It was a good five minutes before Momma shook her head, smiling over at me.

“Forgive me for hoggin’ your attention, sugar,” she’d said, wrapping an arm around Paisley and guiding her my way. “Lemme introduce you to my son, Adam.”

I’d felt like a deer caught in the headlights as they headed over, and Paisley’s eyes had widened, just for a second, before she’d schooled her features into a polite smile.

That was it?

I’d looked for signs of recognition, but that subtle flare of her eyes didn’t seem like a big enough reaction. It was something she might’ve done if she were merely surprised to see that she and my momma weren’t alone in the kitchen.

“Adam, this is Paisley, Laney’s manager,” Momma had said.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

She’d stuck out her hand for me to shake, and I’d taken it, holding her gaze like I was afraid she’d disappear if I blinked. “Likewise.”

And that was it.

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