Page 99 of Undeniable

I swore I didn’t take another breath until I turned down Kirby Street.

It was nearly dark. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon as I passed fields and fields of nothing.

Until I found the correct field and took a sharp left.

The utter relief I felt at seeing the beat-up orange truck parked exactly where I hoped I’d find it was overwhelming. But it was short-lived when I pulled up next to it, only to find the cab empty.

My car was barely in park before I shoved open the door and rounded the front.

Then I saw him. In my panic, I hadn’t noticed him sitting on the tailgate, his legs dangling off the side and his head bowed. His blond hair was disheveled like he’d been running his fingers through it over and over again.

Every part of him radiated defeat.

Slowly, I made my way to him through the tall grass. There was no way he hadn’t heard my car or my steps crunching against the earth, but he hadn’t acknowledged my presence either.

I finally got a good look at him and was struck by the sadness in his expression. He stared distantly at the ground, at a patch of white, yellow and orange wildflowers growing near the base of the tree. Another step closer and I could tell his eyes were rimmed with red.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen James cry, if I’d ever seen him cry. When I gave him my necklace, when he’d come back to find me in bed with Brendon, those were the only times he even seemed to come close. Except for two weeks ago in my kitchen when he’d poured his heart out to me.

I stopped at the end of the tailgate, and for a second, I only observed him. There were a million thoughts running through my head of things to say, yet none of them felt right. He looked so much like the nineteen-year-old boy I’d once found myself wrapped up in. The boy I would’ve done anything for and loved with my entire naive heart.

It struck me then how reminiscent the entire circumstance was of those times—sitting in the same field, in the same truck.

Lost in my thoughts, it wasn’t until I looked down once more that I noticed the small orange flower he spun between his fingers.

“I should be more surprised that you found me.”

He didn’t look up when he spoke, and his voice didn’t give away what was happening in his head.

“It helps that I knew exactly where to look.”

Finally, his ice-blue eyes flashed to mine, and I got the first glimpse of unrestricted sadness. It was pure anguish staring back at me, along with all the questions he didn’t voice.

I cleared my throat, attempting to dislodge some of the emotion, and tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear.

“This is where I came… after,” I explained.

And his expression shifted. Unshed tears filled his eyes, and his brow furrowed. Something in the air around us changed, too.

“I should’ve been there.” He forced the words through gritted teeth. He let go of the flower and straightened, scrubbing a hand over his mouth and looking away from me.

Eager to fix it, I took a step forward. “I… I wanted you there.”

He shook his head, and his heavy shoulders rose as he took a deep breath. Still looking in the opposite direction from me, he said, “I want to know what happened.”

When I didn’t respond immediately, he clarified, “I need to know what happened. As much as you can tell me.”

The last person I’d told the story to was Shelby. And I’d told her only days after it happened. I didn’t know if I could tell it without my emotions getting the best of me.

Even with my eyes downcast, my attention fixed on the truck’s dull, silver bumper, I could still feel James’s eyes sweep back and settle on me.

With all the strength I could muster, I took a deep breath. I wanted him to know—he deserved to know—and unfortunately, I was the only one who could tell him.

“I left for school in the middle of July, and by the time I got back here for my birthday, I still hadn’t had my period. I told myself that it was probably stress from starting college and playing volleyball. But I think I knew… somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that I could’ve been pregnant.”

“How…?” His question was quiet, probably because he was hesitant to interrupt.

Still staring at the truck, I said, “We didn’t use a condom.”

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