Flow (The New Bradfords #1)

Prologue

MAVERICK

In the beginning…

Ididn’t yet know how love would take me, standing on that hill among the peach trees. They were covered in thick green leaves with fallen fruit on the ground. The scent of damp earth surrounded us, fertile and pungent, and the air was thick and wet with heat.

It clung to our skin like a warm washcloth, making my hair stick to my forehead. Still, I wouldn’t be anywhere else. I wouldn’t be down at the creek with my cousins, laughing and playing in the ice-cold water, even if it would be a much-needed relief.

I’d rather be here, with her, gathering fruit for her mother’s famous homemade peach ice cream, catching the occasional breeze, watching her slim hands work.

Dove Rhodes turns to face me, and it’s like staring at the sun. My stomach dips, and I blink away, spots blinding my eyes, language escaping me.

Every year my family visits hers in north Louisiana. Every year since Mom and I joined Aunt Raven and Haddy at an International Princess Girl pageant in Atlanta.

Haddy won, Dove didn’t even place, and our moms all bonded over their shared experiences in the world of competitive beauty.

It was the start of a lifelong friendship bound together by annual visits.

Our family or theirs would make the journey during summer or fall breaks.

We’d spend a week telling stories, sharing meals, making s’mores, lying out under the stars.

It was always family-oriented and friendly, but somehow, this year, everything has changed.

This year is different—at least for me. This year I feel like more is at stake.

Maybe it’s because I’m fifteen now, and I don’t know how many more of these trips I’ll make. Maybe it’s because I’ve finally discovered what I’m good at—playing hockey, and it makes me feel strong and confident, like I can take on anything and win.

Maybe it’s because Dove and I are here alone, which never happens.

We’ve always been surrounded by family. She’s closer friends with my cousins Haddy and Gina, and it’s always been boys versus girls in all the games.

I’ve always wanted this moment, but now, actually being here, it’s like we’re meeting for the first time. She’s so confident. She’s funny and smart and so pretty. I open my mouth to say something, and with one sweet smile, I forget all my words.

“I saw Haddy won International Princess Teen.” She spins around on the ball of her foot to face me, the empty straw basket we’re supposed to fill bouncing on her hip.

Light illuminates her pink cheeks. They’re dusted with the faintest white fuzz, and they rise with her smile, revealing straight white teeth.

“Uh-huh” is my intelligent reply.

“She’s such a pro.” Dove turns away again, pausing at a tree and reaching straight into the thick leaves to pull down a slightly damaged fruit. “I never could get into it.”

“Yeah,” I say, searching my mind for something better than these one-word answers.

I’ve never, ever had a problem talking to people. Folks always say I’m just like my uncle Garrett, the life of the party.

My mom is equally outgoing, always friendly and welcoming to everyone. She likes to remind me we were once a family in need, and the kindness of strangers kept us together. So we should always return the favor.

For whatever reason, all that flies straight out the window when Dove is around. All I seem to be able to do is watch her with my mouth hanging open like a love-struck fool.

If I could remember how to form sentences, I would say I agree with her. Pageants are truly stupid if someone as beautiful as her didn’t even place in that one so long ago.

At the time, she said she didn’t care. She was there supporting a friend of hers, who also didn’t win anything.

Instead, I’m mute.

I follow her through the late-harvest trees, watching as she expertly finds every remaining fruit. All that’s left are the unripe ones or the ones that can’t be used.

When I reach into a tree, I only find leaves. Dove is like one of those master athletes. Peach picking for her is easy, effortless, fun even.

Admiration expands in my chest as I watch her, and I do my best not to let my eyes linger on her hips… or the way her body sways beneath the thin cotton of her dress.

She walks with purpose, the leather strap slung over her slim shoulder. Her pale blonde hair is tied up in a messy bun with a few silky curls dancing down around her cheeks.

“This one has a split down the side,” she tells me, turning it so I can see the bright center barely peeking out. “But no bugs, no ants, so we’ll use it!”

She drops it into the basket and continues up the row.

“You’re really good at this.” That’s better.

I’ve graduated to five words, even if they are pretty obvious words.

“I’d better be. I’ve been doing it a long time.” Hesitating, she puts a hand on her hip before turning to fix me with those blue-green eyes. “Mamma told me her daddy’s spirit lives in these trees.”

She blinks thick lashes at me, and prickly heat races across the back of my neck. She seems to be waiting for my reply, so I swallow air and clear my throat.

“His… huh?” Wow, Maverick. Just wow.

“I know.” She returns to the tree, feeling around again. A sharp pull, and another peach goes into her basket. “You know the story, right?”

My brow furrows, and I shake my head no.

Dove leans close, and the air squeezes from my lungs. I swallow the spit gathering in the back of my throat and inhale her beachy-peach scent. Dove always smells so good. I anticipate this visit every year, and every year, I go home with her scent haunting my memory.

Her eyes hold mine, and the blood rushes from my head to my groin. Her pillow lips tighten, and I wonder what it would be like to kiss her… then I pray to all that’s holy I don’t pop an inappropriate boner like I seem to do all the time these days.

“He took his life right here in this very spot,” she whispers.

Boner gone, my eyes widen. “Why did he do that?”

She straightens, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders. “My grandmother was gone. I guess he didn’t want to go on living without her.”

My stomach pits at the thought. “What happened to her?”

“Car accident. She went out for a walk one night and never came back.” Dove’s expression is solemn. “The driver said he never saw her, said she just came out of nowhere.”

“Dang,” I hiss, and she slides her hand into mine.

My entire arm electrifies. The world around us seems to still. The birds quiet, the bugs stop humming. It’s only our breath, holding hands as we consider this terrible story of loss and heartache. Of a man who loved a woman so much, he couldn’t imagine his life without her in it.

My mind travels back through my own family’s history. “My grandfather didn’t live long after my grandmother died either.”

“I know.” She nods. “I heard our moms talking about it once.”

“He had CTE, so it’s not exactly the same…”

“It’s fate.” Dove releases my hand, pulling the strap over her head and placing the basket on the ground. Then she grabs me again. “Want to see something?”

I blink at her, confused. “Sure…”

“Come on!” She takes off running through the trees, holding my hand again.

I’m still trying to understand what she meant. What was fate? Our families sharing a tragic history? The two of us being here together? The two of us, period?

But she’s jogging now, dragging me with her.

Her thin, flower-printed dress swishes around her legs as she weaves through tree after tree, taking sharp turns. I do my best not to get hit in the face by the low branches.

“Where are we going?” I grab a limb before it smacks me in the forehead.

Our hands break apart, but she keeps going. I pull up quick when I round a tree to find her completely stopped.

She turns, holding both my arms again in a way I really like. It’s like she’s sharing something special with me, holding me close, pulling me emphatically into her world.

“Ready?” I nod, and she reaches up, placing her palm flat over my eyes. “Here, now turn…”

I allow her to rotate my body, feeling the warmth of her breath against my face. “What is it?”

“One… two… three!” She takes her hand away, and steps up beside me, facing the same direction as I am. “Just look at it.”

My heart thunders in my chest from the running and the touching and her sweet-fruity scent and my teenage desire, but now, looking over the rolling hills covered in glittering trees with the golden sun dropping steadily into the horizon, it’s like something out of a dream.

“Well?” Her face turns to mine, and I shake my head, trying to find words to match the pastoral sight before me.

“It’s… beautiful.”

She takes a deep breath, and exhales a light laugh. Then she stops my heart by stepping closer and putting her hand in the crook of my elbow, resting her head against my shoulder.

“I love these trees.” Her voice is quiet reverence. “They’re not just my family’s legacy. They’re our history, our story. They’re holy.”

I’m feeling a little bolder, a little inside the gates with her body so close to mine, her head on my shoulder.

“You’re like the Lorax,” I say, and her head pops up at once.

“Did you just call me an orange troll?”

“No!” I cough, feeling my face flame hot. “I only meant… you speak for the trees.”

A moment passes, and I’m not sure if I regret what I said. It felt right in the moment. I’d just watched that movie a week ago, before our family made the journey from south Alabama to north Louisiana for this visit.

Now I feel even dumber. A bead of sweat trickles down the line in my back as I wait for her to decide if she’s angry. The thick air is suffocating, then she smiles.

“Maybe I am.”

She puts her hand over mine, and I quickly flip it so our palms meet, our fingers lace. As she starts to walk, leading me slowly down the same hill, I realize I’d follow her anywhere.

“If I could find someone who loved all this as much as I do…” Her voice has a wistful tone—that abruptly changes to loud teasing. “Well, I guess I’d just settle right down and marry him on the spot!”