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Chapter 19
Brie
Ipretendtolookat something out Rockwell’s car window on our way to his family farm so I can steal another glance at him. I don’t want to make my concern obvious, but I’m worried about him. He’s got a death grip on his steering wheel, and his lips are pressed so tightly they’re disappearing.
After last night, there’s a weird tension between us. I’m disappointed he didn’t come to the dance. Crushed, really. My list failed me. If I couldn’t check off number three, I couldn’t expect to get to the last one, our happy ending. I didn’t want to fool myself, but my smarting heart says otherwise. Rockwell apologized several times when he came to pick me up. I suspect he’s responsible for the salted chocolate caramels left on my doorstep last night too. The sticky note with my name on it was a dead giveaway. He probably didn’t think I’d remember his love for sticky notes, and admittingly, the chocolates did help . . . a little.
He even said I didn’t have to come today if I didn’t want to, but how could I say no? From the moment I saw him today, his confident expression was missing. He said something about his dad calling last night but didn’t go into details. He didn’t have to. I could see the effect of the conversation in his eyes. Whatever happened, I’m sure it was more important than a silly dance with me. Either way, I can’t let him face the farm on his own.
I only wish I knew what was consuming his thoughts. I want nothing more than to go back to Tuesday night when we were holding hands on my couch and so happy. My worry for him grows until I have to say something.
“The snow-dusted trees and fields are beautiful, aren’t they?”
“Hmm?” He looks at me with raised brows. “Sorry, I missed what you said.”
“Oh, nothing.” We fall back into an awkward silence. I fix my gaze on the road for a few minutes, remembering a time when I struggled to talk about something hard and Rockwell wouldn’t let it go. After a semester of high grades my senior year, I was devastated to learn that the most intimidating teacher in the school gave me my first B. I was too paralyzed to do anything about it. Rockwell’s encouragement persuaded me to discuss the possibility of retaking my final with the teacher. Despite my initial refusal, Rockwell dragged me in there. He did all the talking while I cowered behind him, my hands shaking. I got a migraine afterward from the stress, but I retook my final and passed the class with an A.
I can’t let him keep fighting his own battles. I turn in my seat. “I can tell something’s bothering you. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Nah, I’m fine.” His rigid posture says otherwise.
He’s scared. He would never say it, but I can sense it. “It’s okay to not be fine. It’s been a really long time.”
Rockwell arches his back and shifts in his seat. When he settles, his mouth relaxes along with his shoulders. “I don’t know how you can be worried about me after I bailed on you last night.”
“I already told you it’s fine. I had a great time with Travis.”
Rockwell swerves on the road. “What?”
I grip the side of my seat. Woah. Was that an accident or is Rockwell . . . jealous? I attempt a small experiment. “Oh, yeah,” I say slowly. “He’s a great dancer.”
Rockwell’s frown deepens and his eyes narrow. “We can’t be talking about the same guy.”
Yep, he’s totally jealous. This is unexpected. I want to push again, but if I keep it up, we won’t make it to the farm safely. “Actually, he was a really bad dancer.”
Rockwell’s jaw relaxes.
I try to hide my smile. “I can see why you two are friends though. He’s got a great sense of humor. I didn’t notice that about him before.”
Rockwell steals a glance at me. “Heisa good friend. I hope he remembered that and behaved. Did you have a good night then?”
I nod. I forced myself to enjoy the dance after I received his text. It hadn’t been easy with all the doubting and overthinking. I try to think of something I can share that doesn’t involve my complicated emotions. “A strange guy outside of the reception hall put his face up to the window and smacked the glass as we were passing by. It freaked me out. A few of us went outside to see if we needed to call the police but couldn’t find him.”
Rockwell scratches his head. “That’s . . . disturbing.”
“I know.”
After a second, Rockwell clears his throat. “He sounds like a peeper. I bet he’s running around somewhere with his foot stuck in a flowerpot.”
I smack his arm. “You can’t compare the two scenarios. Besides, I wasn’t peeping that time. I was checking on you!”
“Maybe this guy was checking on you.”
“Not likely. He was probably drunk and dangerous.”
Rockwell chuckles and shakes his head. It’s good to hear him sounding normal again. We fall into another silence, but this time it’s more comfortable. Rockwell breaks it when he says, “Thanks for understanding about me and the farm. I never wanted to come back. I wanted to write off this whole town and put it behind me forever.”
I love this town—the scenery, the people, the memories. It’s hard for me to completely understand how he could group it with what happened to his family. I want to understand though. If he’ll let me. “Has it been so bad to be back here?”
