Broken Beautiful Hearts(32)
“I’ve had enough of her for a lifetime.” I follow my cousins to the truck. Without houses or signs to use as landmarks, I have no idea where we parked.
Cam climbs in first and leans across the seat to offer me a hand.
“I’ve got it.” I struggle to haul myself up.
Christian slides in next to me and shakes his head. “It wouldn’t kill you to accept some help once in a while.”
I’m not so sure.
CHAPTER 13
Tennessee Dreaming
THE TWENTY-MINUTE RIDE back from the party included lots of discussion about football, Christian’s bad taste in girls, and whether or not Titan watered down the keg. After the long drive from DC to Black Water, the drama at the game and the party, and the effort it required to walk through a cow field, I’m wiped out.
Cameron nudges me. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty? We’re here.”
“I just closed my eyes for a minute,” I mumble.
“Do you always snore when your eyes are closed?” Christian hops out of the truck.
“I do not snore.” At least I don’t think I do.
“Lighten up. It was a joke,” Christian says. “Your sense of humor needs work.”
I want to tell them that I wasn’t always this serious—intense, stubborn, and independent, definitely. Serious is a recent development.
The porch light is on and another light glows inside.
“Pop always waits up,” Cam says as Christian unlocks the front door.
The house is even prettier than I remember.
As a kid, I thought the sky-blue paint made the house appear as if it were floating in the clouds. With the white shutters and wraparound porch, it was easy to imagine fresh-baked pies cooling in the kitchen. Maybe there would’ve been if Christian and Cameron’s mom hadn’t died in a car accident when they were eight.
Cam holds open the door for me. “Pop. We’re home. We’ve got Peyton with us.”
“I didn’t expect you to lose her.” Hawk is standing in the kitchen doorway, wearing an orange-and-white University of Tennessee shirt that says GO VOLS and jeans that I’m ninety-nine percent sure are genuine Wranglers.
I point at Hawk’s shirt. “What are Vols?”
“It’s short for Volunteers,” he says.
“Is University of Tennessee the big college around here?” I ask.
Christian jumps in. “The biggest. With the best Division One football team in the SEC. That’s where me and Cameron are going next year. We were both recruited last fall, and we already signed our letters of intent.”
“Congratulations. That’s huge.” I follow the Twins into the kitchen.
“Did you meet the boys’ friends?” Hawk asks. “They’re not as bad as they seem after you get to know them.”
Christian opens the fridge. “The guys know they’d better behave themselves around Peyton.”
Hawk nods his approval. “I hope so.”
Not my uncle, too.
I shrug off Dad’s jacket. “I don’t need anyone to issue warnings for me.”
“I’m sure that’s true, but I still expect the boys to look out for you,” my uncle says.
“Because I’m a girl?”
“Yeah.” Christian takes a milk carton out of the fridge.
“Don’t get her started.” Cam snatches the milk from his brother’s hand and drinks straight from the carton.
I wait to see if my uncle shares the Twins’ chauvinistic view.
“Because you’re their cousin,” Hawk says.
Christian and Cameron exchange exasperated looks.
Hawk gestures to the fridge. “I was going to pick up some things at the grocery store, but your mom said you like to cook, so I figured I’d better take you with me. When it comes to cooking, peanut butter and jelly is my specialty.”
Christian snaps to attention. “You cook?”
“More than just the frozen stuff?” Cam is grinning at me like I just told him that he won the lottery.
“Yeah. I can teach you guys if you want.” Based on the Twins’ reactions, I’m guessing they don’t know how.
Christian laughs. “No thanks. Cooking is for chicks.”
I glare at him. “I hope that’s a joke.”
“Why? Girls are better at cooking. It’s a compliment.”
“No. It’s really not.”
Hawk clears his throat. “Boys, why don’t you show Peyton her room?”
“Good idea.” Christian ushers me up the steps, while Cam returns the milk carton to the fridge.
“Wait up,” Cam calls after us.
Hawk shakes his head and lets Cam slip in front of him.
The second-floor hallway hasn’t changed. Mismatched frames hang on the walls, chronicling every important moment in their lives—a wedding photo of Hawk and Aunt Katie, icing smeared all over Hawk’s face while Aunt Katie laughs; my aunt in the hospital, cradling two blue bundles in her arms; the Twins, as toddlers, covered in mud and holding kid-size footballs; and dozens of shots of my cousins on the football field at various ages.
One photo stands out from the rest. A little girl with dark brown pigtails, wearing a red soccer jersey with CUBA in white letters across the front. Her foot balances on top of the ball, and her hands are planted on her hips. Dad kneels beside me in a matching jersey, with his serious soccer expression—a sharp contrast to Mom’s carefree smile as she pokes her head between us.