Page 10 of Always Mine

When we pass the green Wilton County mile marker sign, though, I realize that this is in fact happening, and I hold my breath, knowing what sign will show next.

We pass the open field that looks the same as it always does, filled with an array of wildflowers, and that old barn, half burnt down from an accident in the late forties that no one has bothered to tear down. It ‘holds too much history,’ apparently.

My lungs are burning, but I still don’t inhale. I feel frozen, eyes glued out the window as every nerve in my body becomes hyperaware of what’s next. The old, sun-faded wooden sign comes into view and I read the words like I would an obituary—completely sullen.

Welcome to Hixley, established 1925.

Temples pounding, I finally inhale deeply, flooding my lungs with much-needed oxygen as I try to become one with the seat. Maybe if I try hard enough, I can actually disappear.

We turn onto our dirt road a few minutes later, and I’ve never been more grateful in my life to live on the outskirts. I doubt I could handle driving through town and risk seeing anyone right now. I need a shower, some food, and a breather before I can even think about it.

When Dad parks the truck, I hop out quickly, thankful to have my feet back on solid ground. I look out past the house, taking in the stables, and my lip lifts despite my inner struggles.

“Been a long time since you rode, huh?” My dad’s heavy hand rests on my shoulder, and I take comfort in his touch, needing more support than I realized.

“Too long,” I agree, looking down at my sling with annoyance.

“It’ll heal,” he tells me before dropping his hand. “You’ll be riding again before you know it.” He winks, then walks to the back of the truck. “If you even know how to anymore, that is.”

I snort, following behind him to grab the bags—well,bagin my case because I can only pick up one. My stupid arm is hurting my ego big time “Riding a horse is like riding a bike. You’ll see. I bet I can outride you.”

I’m talking shit, no way I could ever do that. Even if I’d never left, I still couldn’t beat him. He’s got way too many years on me and a load more experience.

His loud laugh rings out, and he taps my chest once before grabbing the rest of my bags and heading up the path to our house. “I see you’re more cocky now, too. We’ll see. Be prepared to show me your skills, I’m holding you to it.”

Please don’t,I think, looking around as I walk. Everything looks the same, but there are some things that are slightly different. It’s home, butnot, at the same time. If that even makes sense.

The smell of spiced apples hits my nose when I step through the door. I close my eyes, feeling like an excited kid all over again. To me, this scent means the holidays are coming, and that was always my favorite growing up. The Fall Festival, Halloween, Thanksgiving, chili cook-off, Christmas, the light show. So many things that our town does during this time of year that we’ve always loved.

My eyes snap open, and my knees threaten to give out as I realize what the hell I just did. Not even in my hometown thirty minutes and I’m already turningmeintowe.

Get a grip, Pax.

“You okay?” Ma asks, leaning against the stair rail. “Want me to put your bag in your room?”

I manage a smile and shake my head. “It smells good, I didn’t realize how much I missed that.” I give her a half-truth, deciding to keep the other part of my thoughts to myself.

“It’s always been your favorite.” She motions to the old pumpkin wax burner sitting on the table by the door. “Can you believe that thing still works? It must be older than you are.”

It’s not the prettiest thing, glued back together and repainted from years of wear, but she refuses to get a new one. My mind wanders again, and as if it was happening before my eyes, I can see two seven-year-old boys scrambling to piece that thing back together with Elmer’s glue and scotch tape. It obviously didn’t work, but at the time, it was the best Wyatt and I could do.

“You’ve had it for as long as I can remember.” I turn back to her, pushing the memories from my mind, feeling exhausted. “Do you mind if I take a shower and a nap? I hate to run off since we just got here, but I need to decompress.”

I need to hide.

“Of course.” She shifts to the side, letting me pass. “Do you need help?”

I press a kiss to her cheek before heading up the stairs. “I’m good, I promise. I’ll be back down in a few hours.”

“Lily and Bryan will be home from school soon. I’ll tell them to keep it down while you’re resting. I can’t make any promises, though.”

The way I’m feeling right now, I’ll probably sleep like the dead. “That’s fine. Thanks, Ma.”

The upstairs looks the same as it always has with family pictures and old artwork decorating the walls. I cringe at some, trying to pretend the gangly kid with the bowl haircut is not me. Why in the world was that ever a style? It’s awful.

When I get to the end of the hall, I push open my bedroom door, eyes widening as I take in the nostalgia. My parents really didn’t change much in here, with the exception of the flower-printed bed print that I’d never have agreed to. I toss my bag on the desk by the window, looking over the football awards on the shelf as I carefully remove my sling, feeling a little bitter at the whole thing. What if my shoulder doesn’t heal right? Will all these trophies, all the years of training and conditioning be for nothing?

My mood sours even worse than it already was, and I rear back, throwing the piece of fabric as hard as I can across the room. It smacks the wall with a loudthwack, successfully knocking a few things from the shelf.

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