Page 54 of Surviving the Break
“What’s it going to take?” he whispered.
I faltered. His question went deeper than the current moment. Iknewwhat had to be done, no matter how much I dreaded the doing of it. I lowered his legs and dropped my head between my shoulder blades. I was fast on my way to destroying us.
He raised my eyes to his with a soft touch under my chin, and we spoke to each other without words. My jittery eyes said I was lost and hopeless, and his flinty stare told me I was anything but. I puffed my cheeks out, cupping his face in my palms. I fought through the panic and said, “I need to go home.”
ISTOODon the curb outside of baggage claim with my duffle thrown over my shoulder waiting for my ride. My flight into Louisville International was smooth. I’d gathered that from the relaxed faces around me because I personally suffered turbulence to my core.
I filled my lungs with air, then released with measure, repeating the process several times to relieve the terror that consumed me the moment my feet met the Kentucky pavement. I’d not only be facing Hayden, but my best friend Ryan and my parents, whom I loved more than anything and left abandoned. How was I any better than Hayden? I’d left my own set of broken hearts in my wake.
After a moment, the rumble of good old Betty Sue—Ryan’s blue 1954 Chevy pickup truck—infiltrated my worrying. More rust than blue, nowadays. My granddad had passed it down to his dad, and his dad passed it down to him. Ryan’s dad was the farmhand who we’d sold the farm to.
The grinding sound of metal on metal that the engine emitted shot straight from spine to brain, and I winced at the puff of smoke that backfired out of the tailpipe once he threw the truck into park. “I get copies of the quarterly reports. The farm is making a pretty penny in profits. You can afford to upgrade.” I dropped my bag to the floor and smiled as he came around the truck. “Ompf.” Ryan slammed into me, picking me up off my feet. “Put me down before people get the wrong idea, you idiot.” I laughed.
“And what idea would that be? That I looove you?” he dragged out, then kissed me smack on the lips, laughing as I wiped it off in irritation.
Easygoing, happy on a bad day, and disgustingly playful and optimistic on a good one. That about summed up Ryan Tucker. Black-bearded with a man bun, he was also easy on the eyes. “More like that my wig’s a little loose for knowing a fool like you,” I said, grabbing my bag and swinging it into the cargo bed.
“Well, would you look at that,” he said, scandalized. “Someone still remembers their backwoods slang. Here I thought you’d gone all city on us country folk.”
I squeezed his shoulder. “I missed you, Ry.”
His expression dimmed. “Then why haven’t I heard from you ‘til now?”
“I couldn’t look back. I’m sorry,” I said. He gripped my forearm and then nudged his chin toward the truck. I dropped my arm, and we got in and pulled off without another word.
I rolled my window down and stuck my head out as we rode down the backroads. Inhaling the smell of fresh-cut grass and manure through the biting afternoon air and smiling sentimentally at the acres of open land, where cattle grazed behind timber-planked fences, and horses roamed.
“Do Sharon and Bill know you’re here?” Ryan asked.
My parents. “No. I wanted to surprise them.”
“You mean you wanted to reserve your ability to back out at the last minute.” He laughed his loud and obnoxious laugh.
I grunted. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“There’s plenty of room for you over at the farm. You can use the cottage house on the other side of the property, if you’d like.” He looked over at me. “Things are slow this time of year. Won’t be nobody to get in your way too much.”
“That’d be great. Thanks.” I remained quiet the rest of the ride, and Ryan left me to my brooding.
My dad’s business base was in Louisville, the largest city in Kentucky. They lived about a thirty-minute drive from there in a town called Wardskeep. The Ville was the best decision for the business, but Mom and Dad were countryfolk through and through; they didn’t want to escape their roots. The farm was less than an hour drive south from them, in Paddington, Kentucky.
Hayden and I had also lived in Paddington.
“How much do you know?” I asked.
“We live in a small town, Max.”
Ryan pulled up in front of my parents’ farmhouse. “Call me if you need a ride.”
I got out and retrieved my duffle, tapping the roof of the truck. A “goodbye” and a “you’re good to go” all in one. I was sure my parents had heard us coming from a mile away. I slipped my free hand into my jeans, watching Betty Sue grow smaller and smaller in the distance.
“Well, hell’s bells. Son, is that you?” my dad asked from the doorway.
My heart skipped a beat and the gravel crunched under my boots as I faced him. “In the flesh,” I said, unable to contain my joy. We met in the middle of the drive and embraced.
“My boy’s home.” He clapped my back, and his voice trembled.
“Oh, Dad. I’ve missed you too.” We rocked from side to side for what felt like a lifetime but not nearly long enough.
