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We spent the ten-minute drive to the river talking about the reunion. Not ours, but the one at Charlotte Oaks High. Laney told me about a conversation she’d had with her childhood nemesis, a brunette by the name of Kitty Carpenter, who’d incessantly teased her during what Laney called her “middle school awkward phase,” one that I personally hadn’t found to be all that awkward. Not that I’d ever actually admitted that to her, now that I thought about it.
In high school, Kitty’s taunting quickly deviated from being about Laney’s physical appearance, because she’d blossomed into a beautiful teenager who had the eye of every guy in school. That was until they caught the warning in my own eyes, then they backed away. And not slowly, neither.
No, by then, Kitty decided that making fun of Laney for being the only girl in a group of guys made more sense to her. The rest of us didn’t get it, though. Who cared that Laney would rather spend her time with her boyfriend and his friends who respected her and enjoyed her company than with a bunch of mean girls like her?
“Then she said she understood why so many teenagers liked my music, bless her heart,” Laney seethed. Her hand tightened in mine, a little like she wanted to talk with her hands, but I was too busy clinging to it to let her. “She said my sound is like the Britney Spears of country music, but come on. Britney’s had so many different sounds throughout the years, she might as well be six different people. I may not like the brand my label has created around me and my music, but at least I’m consistent.”
I chuckled as I turned toward the dirt parking lot near the dock we spent countless hours hanging out at when we were younger. “Well, maybe she meant it in a good way. Was there ever a version of Britney that would make that a compliment?”
Laney glared at me. “She didn’t mean it as a compliment.”
“Yeah, I s’pose not. Well, I’d have probably watched more of your music videos if you were the version of Britney in that tiny little outfit with the snake around her neck. Think your label would back somethin’ like that?”
She yanked her hand out of mine and used it to thwack me in the chest. “Everett Wilson, hush your mouth.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
16
EVERETT
I parked the truck and rushed around the front to get her door, intending to offer her my hand and help her climb down. Instead, I found myself sweeping her small frame into my arms and bumping the door closed with my hip. She laughed and wrapped her arms around my neck, letting me carry her to dock, the hem of her little black dress tucked securely between her knees and my forearm so she didn’t give the deer a show.
Remembering the near-death—for the deer—experience when she first rolled into town, a wide smile broke out across my face.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, studying me in the light of the full moon and the headlights I’d left pointed toward the dock.
“I was thinkin’ about you almost killin’ that deer the other day, and then almost killin’ me in those cute little shorts you were wearin’.”
She tucked her chin, seeming to wrestle with whether to laugh or scowl or blush. In the end, a faint laugh won out. “I was distracted.”
“Oh, yeah? By what?”
“By you.”
I lowered her sparkling boots to the dock with a soft plunk and helped her sit. Then I sat beside her, and we both got our feet bare to hang over the edge. It was too far from the water to dip our toes in—not that Laney would, she had this thing about creatures that lurked in the river at night. But after losing a shoe once or twice, we knew better than to dangle while wearing any, and I’d bet hers cost a fortune.
“What do you mean you were distracted by me?” I asked.
“I saw you on the road behind me in my rearview mirror. I’d know that tow truck anywhere.”
“Ah, shoot. And here I thought you were so into that Shania Twain song y’all had cranked that you weren’t watchin’ the road.”
She laughed in earnest now, throwing her head back with the force of it. “Yeah, well ‘Man, I Feel Like a Woman’ is a really great song.”
A comfortable silence overtook us as we stared out at the water. But I didn’t let it last too long; we had too much to figure out and not much time to do it. Her car would be ready soon, as promised, and I needed to know where we’d go from here. And then there was the matter of her and … Riley.
“Laney,” I started, reaching over to take her hand again, “what does all this mean? Not to sound needy or anythin’, but … well, shoot. I guess I am a little needy when it comes to you.”
She slid me a teasing look. “Yeah, you always were a softie.”
“Hey, now, I’m still tough. Marine, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah. I know.”
She did know. She knew all about the stuff I went through when I was in the service. The intense training that brought me to my knees—literally, a couple of times. The long stretches I’d go without seeing anyone I loved outside the brothers I’d made in my unit. The sleepless nights on combat deployments when even though it wasn’t my turn to stay awake and watch for enemy combatants, I was still too wound up to rest my eyes, fearing the worst. And when the worst did come, I’d lost friends who were more like brothers, and it’d been the first taste of grief I’d had in my privileged life.
Being a Marine was the most physically and mentally challenging thing I’d ever gone through, and some part of me figured the strength I’d built up during those four years had been the only reason I’d kept it together after we’d ended things.
