Page 30 of Within These County Lines

Later, as I pull into Whitley’s driveway, the sharp crack of shattering glass cuts through the air. Thirty yards away, brown shards explode from the top of a tree stump. Whitley stands in the grass, rifle raised, wearing a bikini top and jean shorts. The sun glints off her back muscles, highlighting the peeling skin of a fresh sunburn. She fires another round, then swings the gun onto her shoulder and turns to face me.

“Took you long enough,” she says.

“It’s been a rough week,” I say. “Do you want my help or not?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Well, it shows, cranky. You can give all your attitude to Murray since he’s still here. He’s using the bathroom.”

“He is? I thought you were going to make him leave before I got here.”

“I tried, but I think it just made him stay longer.”

“Great.” I run my hand through my hair.

Suddenly, the front door squeaks open. Murray saunters outside with a yawn, halfway through tying the drawstring on his shorts.

I’ve spent ninety percent of my weekends over the past three years with Murray, so whenever my life exists within the remaining ten percent, something always feels like it’s missing. But that ten percent is going to be one hundred percent of the time now, so I need to learn how to make it seem whole.

I no longer wake up and ask, What are we going to do today? but What am I going to do today? And most of the time, I don’t have a freaking clue.

My whole personality, my world, revolved around Murray. I wasn’t just Stetson. I was Stetson + Murray, just like I carved into the Ardor Tree. I never thought it was a problem until he was gone and I was left standing on one side of the life we used to share like a seesaw, suddenly aware of how uneven everything had become.

“What are you shooting at?” Murray asks Whitley.

“I’m practicing for coyote hunting with Stetson,” she says, nodding at me. “I told you I couldn’t hang out that long because he didn’t want to see you.”

I sigh, then give her a look. She shrugs.

“I don’t know how else to say it,” Whitley explains. “Y’all’s relationship is too complicated for me.”

I huff.

“I’m leaving,” Murray says. “Don’t worry. I have football practice at Penango College this afternoon anyway.” He reaches back inside the house, grabs his duffel bag, and slings it over his shoulder.

I should let him go. Let him keep walking. Let this moment pass without another word after how he treated me at the Bean. But then he moves by me and his scent hits, dry leaves and honey.

The pull on my heart is instant.

I hate it.

“Hey, Murray,” I say before I can stop myself.

He ignores me. I stare at his hands. His knuckles are red and calloused. The sight makes me clench my fists.

He pauses at the end of the driveway. “Did you ask Stetson if he got my messages?” he asks Whitley.

Whitley looks at me, narrowing her eyes. “Yeahhh,” she says slowly. “He said he didn’t get any texts from you all week and that you ignored him at the Bean.”

“He never showed up to the Bean.” Murray scratches his head. “Could you ask him again? I know he’s still waiting to hear on the money for Tennessee. But I just found out I can get us discount housing near Penango College since I’m on the football team. He could live with me there. It could still be something different for him. We . . . we could work on things. I just need to send in our info soon.”

Whitley curls her lip. “I’m pretty sure he told you he doesn’t want to do that. But why don’t you ask him yourself?” She gestures at me.

“I tried! He’s lying about the messages. I sent him an email too in case he blocked my phone number.”

My arms cross tightly over my chest. “I’m not lying,” I say. “And I didn’t block you.”

Whitley groans. “I did not wake up this morning wanting to be y’all’s therapist.”

Murray sighs. “Ask him.”