Page 65 of Beneath the Stands (Sugarlake 2)

It won’t be a welcoming committee.

Even worse, we’ll be there the next two months. All of summer break, planning the wedding of Sarah’s dreams before going back to Florida as Mr. and Mrs. Carson. Problem is, there’s only one place in Sugarlake to get married. And besides the high school—which is the glaring reminder of my broken dreams—it’s the one place I’d like to avoid.

I should know by now I rarely get what I want.

Sarah thinks the fact my little sister has an “in” with the preacher’s family just means it’s meant to be. I’m still holding out hope that two months isn’t enough notice. But I know it will be. There’s only so many people clambering to get married in a small town.

“Don’t you want to have it in Florida? Somewhere closer to where you grew up?” I try again.

Sarah sighs, patting my hand with her perfectly shaped, pink nails. “No, Eli. I want it in Tennessee, and I want to meet your family. Let’s at least go and look at the options. Besides, you already talked to Lee about helping with the church, didn’t you?”

I nod, my jaw tensing when I think about how the conversation went. My baby sister was not a fan of finding out I was getting married. Bitched in my ear for a good twenty minutes about having to hear it from Pops instead of from me.

She’s right. I should have been the one to tell her, but I didn’t know how. Every time I tried, an invisible hand smacked over my mouth, stopping the words from passing my lips. Maybe I didn’t speak up because I’m still not sure of it myself. Or maybe it’s because I know that once Lee finds out about something, Becca finds out too.

Not that it matters.

She wouldn’t care anyway. She never did.

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck, trying to ease the tension that’s pulsing behind my ear and piercing my skull. I don’t want to step foot back in Sugarlake. Don’t want to face the ghosts that I left behind, or the ones that left me. But it’s what Sarah wants and I can’t find it in me to say no.

I can’t give her all of me, I don’t even know where my broken pieces lay, but at least I can give her this.

It’s not even close to what she actually deserves.

Sarah’s love is a constant warmth. It slides on top of my skin and blankets me in her comfort, sheltering me from the icy, frozen tundra of the cold, cruel world. Being with her is as easy as breathing. And maybe that’s what love is supposed to feel like. Effortless. Steady. Calm.

But she doesn’t consume me.

Thank fucking God.

Still, her presence in my life kept me out of my own head when there was nothing but bad memories and painful heartbreak there to greet me. Connor was the one to take me out, and Sarah was the one who brought me home. Somewhere in the middle of all that, we ended up together.

I proposed once I found out Coach Andrews is retiring at the end of next year, and that I’m up for head coach. This is the next logical step in my life. I’ll have the career. The home. The wife. Everything Ma always wanted for me. All the things I didn’t give her while I had the chance. Hopefully, I can appease her in death.

Maybe then the nightmares will stop.

Pops is the one who picks us up, and I’m shocked when I first see him. Granted, it’s been years, but the difference from what I remember is striking. He looks worn down, almost emaciated in appearance. Deep grooves line his once handsome face, and purple bags sink into his dull blue eyes. This is not the man who raised me.

I can’t say I really blame him. When Ma died, he lost the other half of his soul—the match to his flame. There’s no getting over that. There’s just surviving.

My chest grows tight with each mile, every bump in the road flipping my stomach. Coming home is rife with things I’d rather leave buried, and I can’t help the sinking feeling in my gut as we get closer to town, warning me there’s a shovel with my name on it, waiting to dig.

Nostalgia hits me like a train, but it’s not the gorgeous rise and fall of the smoky mountain range in the distance, or the smell of the yellow birch trees that get me. It’s standing outside of my childhood home.

I can’t believe I’m here.

Sarah gushes to Pops about the charm of the place—her favorite word, apparently—but I’m glued to my spot in the middle of the driveway, trying to ignore the absence of Ma’s presence in everything I see. The blue shutters lining the front windows are faded and worn. The garden that sprouted tulips, Ma’s favorite, are now overflowing with weeds.

A sickness fills my stomach, tossing around the whiskey I drank on the plane ride here.

Hands creep from behind me, wrapping around my chest while I stare at the basketball hoop still affixed to the sidewalk lining our drive. Sarah lays her head against my shoulder blade, speaking into the fabric of my shirt, the heat from her breath soaking through to my skin.

It isn’t enough to take away the sudden chill.

“You okay?” she asks.

I turn, pasting a smile on my face as I grab her hand, linking our fingers and swinging them between us.

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