Broken Beautiful Hearts(27)

Cam tries again. “We never said—”

“I’m not finished. And number two: you both have to swear that you aren’t going to tell anyone the truth about how I injured my knee—not your coach, not your girlfriends, not even your priest. I want to focus on rehabbing my knee, not answering questions about my ex.”

“No worries there,” Christian says. “We don’t have girlfriends and there aren’t any priests in Black Water. Only pastors.”

“You’re missing the point.” I try a less subtle approach. “If you tell anyone what happened, I’ll slip Ex-Lax into your lunch on game day.”

Cameron’s jaw drops. “That is wrong on so many levels.”

Christian laughs. “She’s not serious.”

“Try me.” I don’t know if the Twins are trustworthy. I want to believe they are, but the situation with Reed proves that my instincts aren’t as reliable as I thought.

“Your secret is safe with us,” Cam says.

“We’ll take it to the grave.” Christian hops out and waits for me to lower myself down.

“If anyone asks, I fell down the stairs.” Technically, it’s true. “Don’t offer up any details,” I say as we cross the field. I need to keep the story simple. The more complicated it gets, the easier it will be for my cousins to make a mistake.

“Don’t worry. We’ve got this,” Christian says.

“If Christian doesn’t screw up,” Cam adds.

“I’m not the one who forgot to switch his tie at homecoming last year. That’s how April caught us.”

I get the feeling he’s talking about switching more than ties. “Please tell me you didn’t … Forget it. I don’t want the details.”

“You sure? It’s a pretty good story.” Christian grins.

“So is there anything I should know?” I walk between them, my head in line with their shoulders.

“Don’t believe anything Titan tells you. He’s a show-off and a pro at getting into girls’…” Christian hesitates, trying to edit his side of the conversation.

“Pants?” I finish for him.

“Yeah. Those.”

The bonfire near a red barn is right out of a children’s book. This one is a little shabby, and there’s a keg sitting on top of a barrel beside actual haystacks. Fifteen or twenty people lounge around the fire, sitting on lawn chairs or blankets. The girls are clad in leather jackets or cute down coats. Some of them are wearing cowboy boots, but they look comfortable in them, like they’re wearing sneakers.

My dark-wash jeans, layered tees, and Dad’s leather jacket blend in well enough.

“It’s about time.” A good-looking guy the size of an NFL player walks toward us. His hulking frame makes the Twins seem average-size. He’s wearing a Warriors letterman jacket over an untucked flannel shirt, jeans, and a baseball cap with an orange T on it. The scruff along his jawline adds to his white farm-boy vibe.

“I thought you bailed.” The huge guy hooks his thumb around Cameron’s, and they do a weird handshake.

“Our cousin just got into town.” Cam nods in my direction. “This is Peyton.”

The guy grins and sweeps his eyes over me. “Did your dad name you after Peyton Manning?”

It’s a question people ask all the time. “No. My parents just liked the name.” It was as close to the name of legendary soccer player Pelé as my mom would allow—a piece of information I’m not sharing with anyone in Football Country, USA.

The guy leans closer. “I’m Titan. This is my place, so let me know if you want anything, and I’ll make it happen.”

“Back off.” Christian steps in front of me and jabs Titan in the shoulder. “She’s our goddamned cousin.”

“Just being friendly. Relax.” Titan tugs on his baseball cap. “You didn’t tell us she was hot.”

Christian charges at him and Titan jumps back, hands raised. “Come on, man. I’m screwing around.”

I grab Christian’s shirt and yank him toward me. Then I smile at Titan. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I need a beer,” Christian grumbles.

As we walk to the barn, I take in the surroundings. Country music blares from a Bluetooth speaker perched on a bale of hay. Another dozen people hang out near the keg—girls flirting with other guys wearing quilted flannel coats or letterman jackets with jeans. Heads turn in our direction and people whisper.

I study the dented silver keg and try to ignore them. I’m not usually self-conscious, but the RoboCop brace changes things. It makes me feel different, even though the attention I’m attracting probably has more to do with the fact that I’m new in town than my knee brace.

“What’s up, Darius?” Christian nods at a lanky guy wearing a University of Kentucky Wildcats Basketball cap.

Darius hands Christian and Cameron plastic cups and fills one for me. His tall brown frame towers over all of us. “You two played your asses off tonight.”

Christian chugs the beer. “Don’t we always?”

“That’s what I like about you, Christian. You’re a humble guy,” Darius says as he hands me a cup.

“Thanks.”