Page 150 of Boots, Bucket Lists & Bad Ideas
Natalie shakes her head. “No, but Jade is the only sister who understands me. Who’s ever understood me or let me tag along. I knew all her secret places on the property, and I would follow her to them.”
My eyes close. I don’t even want to know what she saw us doing.
Necking?
Making out?
Shit.
She laughs. “I didn’t see anything my little eyes couldn’t handle.”
“I bet.” I open my eyes, and that Discman catches my attention.
“But I did see you draw together, and heard you make plans. Sometimes I would hide in the hay loft and listen to all your dreams.”
I sigh. “Dreams aren’t meant to be broken.”
“She was broken, Hart. She kept this for a long time. Even after we all moved to The Hive. But one night after sitting around the campfire alone, she left it next to the logs, and Ifound it.” Her fingernails tap her glass. “I took it. She was still hurting after all those years, and I thought if I took it, she’d move on.”
“Did she?”
Her eyes meet mine. “We both know the answer to that.”
I stare at the Discman I gave her with the mixed CD of songs we listened to together, including the Pointer Sisters.
“But hiding stuff doesn’t help anyone,” Natalie says. “Not books, not portable CD players, not feelings.” She pushes it closer.
I stare at it, thumb slowly brushing over the scratched surface.
She kept it.
A sharp, jagged knot forms in my chest, and when I look at her, she catches my eye for the first time all night.
My knees nearly buckle.
My heart stutters.
Everything in the room goes quiet for a beat. Her eyes on mine, and I swear, time slows down for just a second.
But there’s nothing in her gaze but calm. It’s almost like she’s not looking at me at all. There’s no anger, no challenge, not even the usual pushback.
It’s just steady.
Then she breaks my gaze, and attention is back on her sisters like it had never strayed to me.
“The ball is in your court, Hart.” I’d forgotten Natalie was still sitting with me. “Maybe talk to her before she convinces herself to forget you for good.”
I don’t fucking like how that thought makes me feel.
26: GOD WINKED AT ME
JADE
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THE MUSIC PULSES low in my ribs, thick with bass and bourbon heat.
I feellight.
