Page 71 of Strike Zone

“You’re like a dog digging for a bone. You’re not going to let this go, are you?” He shakes his head. “Of course not. Fine. When I was a little girl my mom signed me up for beauty pageants. It was a big thing where we lived. I had fun in the beginning. It was a way for me to feel connected to my mom. I loved singing on the big stage back then. I even won a few times.”

I watch the trees blur as we drive down the highway thinking back to how proud my mom was of me as she watched me perform.

“You mean I’m in the presence of royalty?” He gasps.

“Yes. Bow and worship me,” I joke back.

“Gladly,” he murmurs, his voice deep and rough. He clears his throat and asks, “What does this have to do with you not singing now?”

“Word got around that I had this talent. Soon I was asked to perform at my parents’ dinner parties or social gatherings. I started to feel like a trained monkey. I was probably around the same age as Lennon. I told my mom I was finished with pageants and stopped singing altogether. That’s when I started spending more time with my dad.”

“I’m sorry, birdie. I won’t ask again.” He pats my leg and I desperately want him to keep it there.

We drive for miles in silence. The radio plays quietly in the background. His thumbs drum on the steering wheel. When one of his favorite songs comes on, he turns up the volume. The music is so loud his voice blends into the background.

He grins at me. That’s when I realize he turned up the volume for me, not him. You’re safe with me. He says the words without having to open his mouth. A small wave of emotion hits me and I have to blink it away.

When the chorus starts, I decide to join in. I’m on a road trip with my best friend. If I can’t let it all go in front of Wyatt, then who? There isn’t anyone. He is the only person I feel okay being myself completely around without fear of judgment.

My voice is soft at first, but soon I’m belting out the lyrics along with the radio. His grip tightens on the steering wheel and his whole body tenses making me pause and turn the volume down on the dash.

“Don’t stop.” He looks at me with sincerity. He covers his hand over mine, forcing me to turn the volume back up. “Please.” His plea makes me want to sing to him, only him, every day for the rest of my life. I let these thoughts settle over me. I’ll analyze them later.

Time on the road passes quickly. Before I know it we are turning on to the dirt road that leads to the Rivers’ farm. I try to take in the land with new eyes. There are green pastures and rolling hills for as far as the eye can see.

With the right resources and vision, they can turn this place into anything they want. They can use the land closest to the road to build a storefront. It's easy access for anyone driving by to stop and grab some of Willow’s pies or home grown vegetables.

The front porch is empty as we arrive, unlike last time. I guess my novelty has worn off. I’m not sure if I should be offended or find comfort in that.

“They are all working or they would be here,” Wyatt says, putting the truck in park.

“I didn’t say anything.” I hop out of the truck.

“Didn’t have to.”

“I’m not that obvious.”

He grabs my hand and I freeze mid-step on the porch. He’s standing one step below me. In this position we’re eye level. “You’re right. You aren’t that obvious. But I know you. Your eyes were darting around in a panic. If you’d let me add you to the group chat, you’d already know what everyone is doing right now.”

“Don't. I will still kill you,” I say.

“Nah, you like me too much to do that.”

“You’re right. I do,” I admit. It’s a scary admission but the truth usually is. He blushes under my stare. I really wish he would kiss me or say something. I need reassurance that he’s feeling the same way about me that I am about him. He’s going to have to make the next move. I’m not brave enough to do it this time.

“Come on. Let me show you our room.” He steps in front of me and opens the front door.

Did he say our room?

“Our room?” I ask out loud as I trail him upstairs.

“It’s not exactly a big house, birdie. Colt and Mason moved to one of the old cabins on the property a few years ago. Before that we all shared a room. Ford sleeps in the old guest room and Lenny has Willow’s old room.”

“I see.” We walk into the bedroom that used to house three boys. It’s clearly been redecorated since then. The walls are white shiplap. There is a queen bed in the middle of the room with a black metal frame and beautiful white linens. Two side tables anchor the bed on either side and a long dresser sits on the opposite wall. It’s simple and classic.

“What’s wrong? You don’t want to share a room with me?”

That’s not it at all. I do. I mean, I don’t care. It’s fine.

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