But if we’re going to have a future together, I don’t want her to feel like she missed out on anything, either.
“I want to have a relationship with my parents again,” she tells me. “I’m going to intern with Mrs. Gates. Take my classes online. I want to be here.”
“Are you sure?”
“The only thing I’m not sure about is how hard it will be to watch you go.”
Pain stretches across my chest, and I almost wince. It’s almost harder. Knowing she’ll be here. I’ll be able to picture everything. The places she’s eating. The storms when I check the weather. Her path to the funeral home every day.
“But you have to leave,” she tells me softly. “Dartmouth is your dream. You’ve earned it. You deserve it.”
I don’t want to leave. “Clay, things change…”
“If you don’t go, you’ll always wonder.” She inches in, hovering her lips over mine and staring at my mouth. “I mean, you can stay, and we can get married since we’re eighteen, but then what?”
I laugh, but then her words hit me, and I stop. It didn’t occur to me before she said it, but the words sound so right. I’m going to marry her.
I see her chin tremble. “And if you come back…”
But I press my finger over her lips. “I’m coming home.” And I take her face in my hands. “This doesn’t end.”
“I love you,” she breathes out.
And I kiss her, letting her feel my heart so she never doubts it.
I’m going to marry her.
Four Years Later
I’M GONNA BE sick.
I hover over the sink, seeing Macon through the window. He paces around the garage, working on my Bronco, and it seems like maybe I should wait to talk to him. He’s already fixing my car for free. I’d hate to ask for more.
A slap lands on my ass, and I yelp, spinning around. Dex squeals, Cheetos crumbs all over his mouth, and then he runs away.
“Dex!” I growl as he disappears out of the Jaeger’s kitchen.
No manners, and why should he? I’ve only spent more time with him the last four years than his aunt. He’s absorbed nothing that I’ve tried to teach him.
I dust his crumbs off my jeans and blow out a breath, smoothing down my hair. I’m more nervous to speak to Macon than I am to Liv.
I take a couple of more deep breaths, and swipe the corners of my mouth, tidying up my lipstick, and head into the garage.
“Turn it up,” Macon calls out.
Army sits on the stool at the work table and reaches over, turning up the radio. Some Type O Negative song plays, and I hover at the doorway for a minute before I force myself down the steps.
“I’m not done yet,” Macon says to me.
He bends over the hood, twisting a wrench, and I stand on the other side, shifting on my feet.
Can I speak to you in private?
No, don’t say that. Adding occasion to this will just piss him off.
So Liv and I…like since we’re moving into the old lighthouse…I was like…wondering if…
Ugh. Why am I stuttering? After four years, I’m no more comfortable around this man than I ever was. Direct works best, but I feel like if I open my mouth and don’t prepare myself, I’ll puke.
I open my mouth and then close it, my skin vibrating, and a light sweat dampening it.
“Are you okay?” I hear someone ask.
I look up, seeing Macon frozen under the hood and watching me.
“Um, yeah. Why?”
He starts working again. “You look like you have something to say.”
I swallow a few times to wet my throat, but I realize I’m wringing my fingers, and I stop immediately.
“I…um…” I can’t catch my breath.
He stops again and looks up, and I sense that Army has stopped what he’s doing, as well, watching.
Just say it. Jesus.
I suck in a breath. “I would like to marry your sister.”
He stands there, and he doesn’t even look like he has a heartbeat as he stares at me.
My stomach roils, and I cough to stop myself from throwing up.
I mean, is he surprised? Liv and I have been together since high school. We’ve weathered separation, doubt, a few fights, uncertain futures, and where our careers would take us. She even left Dartmouth for a week and came home because we couldn’t stand to be apart anymore.
Until I convinced her to go back, that is.
We just bought the lighthouse, and now we’re renovating it. He knows we’re in this forever.
“And you want me to what?” he asks. “Ask her if she likes you, but just don’t tell her you like her unless I know she likes you first or something?”
Such an asshole. “I’m asking for your blessing.”
“My permission, you mean?” he corrects, amusement lighting up his expression.
I clench my jaw, my stomach all right now, but my anger rises to take its place.