Page 29 of Sterling Fight

“Why?”

“It’s a manual.” When she tilts her head, I clarify by motioning my hand like I’m working a gear shift. “Stick shift.”

“Ugh.” She drops her head back. “Okay, you can drive.” She stomps her feet as she moves toward me with the keys in hand, and I want to pull her in for a hug. I want to press her to me and kiss her head, then move on to her lips, and her throat and that cleavage.

“Judd.”

I snap out of it as Genie dangles the keys in front of me. “Our chariot awaits.”

“Well, you did have that whole princess thing going on yesterday.”

I’d like to promise I’d treat her like a queen, if she’d only give me the chance.

11

[Judd]

By the time we reach my brother’s house, the playfulness of the morning is gone. I can feel myself shutting down. The tightness of my skin. The swell of my throat. The vise-grip sensation around my chest. I almost can’t breathe as I pull into the driveway.

“You okay?” Genie asks. One quick glance over at her, plus her hand on my forearm and most of the panic washes out of me. Like a dam broke free.

“Yeah. I will be.” I exhale

I park beside a pickup truck, one of several in the drive which now looks like a small parking lot.

For the longest time, only four out of seven of us remained in Sterling Falls. Stone, Clay, Vale, and me. A decade ago, Sebastian was in jail, but when he got out less than a handful of years ago, he returned and started his bakery. Around that time, Knox retired from his long-time career in the Navy. And most recently, Ford retired from professional baseball and moved back here with his three little girls.

Other than Sebastian’s wedding eighteen months ago, I haven’t been to the house.

The place looks different than when I was a kid. The white clapboard is freshly painted. The old roof replaced with a green tin one. The front porch is newish. Still, all the improvements in the world cannot erase the ghosts inside.

The haunting memories are the main reason I don’t attend Sunday dinner as often as Stone would like. The insults and abuse at my father’s hands live in my mind as if they occurred only yesterday, and still exist within every crevice of this house. Even though the place has been renovated over the years, from the efforts of Stone who inherited it upon our father’s death, I will always view this house for what it represented.

Hell.

Widowed father. Town drunk. The harm he caused his children was on a sliding scale from verbal assaults to physical punches. Most days, and nights, you didn’t know which slice of the spectrum you’d get.

“Judd?” Genie’s voice pulls me from my thoughts again. Her hand is back on my arm.

Offering her a tight smile, I pop open my door and get out, then make my way to Genie’s side, giving her a hand to help her up from the low seat.

“It’s so picturesque,” she says glancing at the house, unable to see the haunting dings and dents hidden within.

I don’t answer. A new wave of panic hits. I’m introducing Genie to my family.

As if reading my mind, she says, “I hope I make a good impression.” Her gaze has dropped down to her white tennis shoes.

Unable to help myself, I squeeze the back of her neck and run my thumb along the column of her throat. “They’re going to love you.” How could they not? It’s impossible not to love Genie and everything about her.

I’ve never actually experienced it—love—, but I thought I’d come close. Once. A long time ago. Hopefully, I’m not too late to regain that feeling.

I release Genie’s neck and hold out my hand. Genie slaps her palm into mine, but then weaves our fingers together. I love the fit and I tighten my grip as we walk around the side of the house. As we breach the backyard, Genie grabs my bicep with her other hand and squeezes my arm. Like it isn’t enough to hold my hand, but she needs to clasp onto more of me.

Maybe I’m wishful thinking.

“Hi . . . everyone.” I stumble over my greeting and awkwardly wave like I’m still ten instead of forty-two. I had a whole speech prepared in my head, having run over it again and again as Genie and I rode in silence to the house. Now, I’ve got nothing. “Um . . . I’d like you all to meet Genie. My fiancée.”

Spoken like I told Janet Hurley I was Genie’s fiancé, I just sort of blurted it out like I can’t contain the phrase. The idea is almost too big to keep to myself.