Page 4 of Even if It Hurts

Frustration because, in the span of five minutes, that imposing man had thrown me off in a way nothing and no one ever had, only to leave as if our encounter had never happened.

Istepped into the kitchen of my childhood home, my movements and voice pure hesitation as I tried gauging my mother’s mood now that she’d had some time to think about everything. “Morning.”

With a sigh, she glanced at me from her place in front of the large farmhouse sink, disappointment etched on her timeless face. Lifting her mug, she released another weighted sigh and returned to looking out the window. “Your daddy needs you out in the fields. It’s nearly time for picking season, in case you forgot that too.”

The well-deserved ache that had been residing in my chest since my ceremony a couple days before flared at her subtle dig. “Mom...”

I was sure there was usually more excitement surrounding the return of a college graduate—especially one who now held their master’s degree. But the arguments that had filled the walls of this house and the ensuing, deafening silence were something I’d been anticipating for years. Truthfully, I was surprised this hadn’t happened sooner.

After all...I’d lied to everyone for the better part of six years.

Sort of.

But when you find something that makes you excited for your future after living under the crushing weight of expectations and pretenses, you grab tight and don’t let go.

So, that’s exactly what I’d done.

Grabbed tight and didn’t let go.

Trying to placate my parents and spare myself too much backlash, I’d kept the educational path they’d expected of me and had secretly added on another major that made undergrad grueling, but so worth it. Classes and dreams that had kept me going through those exhausting years until I’d gotten the chance to hyper focus on them in grad school.

Throughout all that time, no one from home ever found out. Then again, my family’s entire world was the farm and business. They hadn’t even realized what degrees I’d graduated with during either of my ceremonies.

If it hadn’t been for one of my professors proudly stating,“She’ll make a fantastic teacher,”I was sure my family still wouldn’t know.

“I’m sorry,” I went on, apologizing for what had to be the hundredth time since everything had come to light. “I just knew?—”

“We wouldn’t approve?” she cut in, turning fully to face me. “We wouldn’t understand?”

“That I wouldn’t be happy otherwise,” I gently corrected.

Anger mixed with her disapproval—a look I had so rarely seen on my mom, and even then, it was usually directed at my younger sister. “I have watched you grow up on this farm. I have listened as you came up with these grand plans for it. And you want me to believe you weren’t happy?”

“They—” I swallowed the reminder that they’d always beentheirplans withmeat the head—never mine—and eased deeper into the kitchen. “I love this farm because of what it represents but it’s always,onlybeen an obligation for me.”

She stared at me as that deafening silence settled between us again.

Just as I was about to either apologize or explain myself again, she said, “Well, that obligation needs you out in the fields. Andyou,” she added when my sister skidded to a stop behind me as if realizing too late what she was walking in on, “if we find out you’re following in Lainey’s footsteps...”

“Mom,” I said with a disappointed huff. “I got other degrees without telling you. I didn’t turn into an addict or come home with a record.”

“Fields,” she demanded with a jerk of her chin. “Both of you.”

“I can see the Huntley headlines now,” my sister said under her breath as we stepped into our boots and started for the back door, “Delinquent Lainey Pearson Single-Handedly Destroys Family Farm.”

I hushed her and swatted at her. A hissed, “Brat,” slipping free when she pinched my side in return.

“Oh,I’mthe brat?” Wren challenged, a tease edging at her voice. “They’re gonna be watching me like a hawk now, thanks to you.”

Guilt twisted through me, and I reached for her arm, pulling her to a stop once we stepped onto the large wraparound porch. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not telling you and for any fallout that bleeds onto you from this. I swear, I didn’t want this to happen, I just?—”

“Hey,” she said with that carefree smile she so easily wore, “ride or die, right? And, really, I feel like I should thank you.” She bent her head closer as a whisper of mischief lit in her eyes. “After this betrayal to the family, anything I do won’t even touch Mom and Dad’s radar.”

I playfully pushed her away, her wild laugh floating behind her as she jogged off the porch and toward the UTV, prompting asmile from me that abruptly faded when I saw the man standing beside the vehicle.

Jackson McCoy.

Tall and steady, with boyishly handsome features and a strong frame from a lifetime of working on a ranch. A man whose calloused hands could effortlessly haul hay or gently hold me.

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