Chapter 7
SEVEN
TWO LOST PEAS IN A MESSED UP POD
SHAUN
Two hours. That’s how long we’ve been sweeping, decorating, and trying to turn this barn from a lost cause into something that might pass for cozy if you squint.
Val thrives in this kind of chaos. Hand-lettered signs. Paper pumpkins spaced just right. Leaves taped with intention. My sign didn’t make it past her quality control. Not even close.
Since our talk earlier, she’s treated avoidance like an Olympic sport. I shift a box, she relocates. I step closer, she drifts away. Like she’s daring me to notice.
Oh, I notice.
It’s almost impressive how much effort she’s putting into pretending I don’t exist.
Almost.
I earned this. Senior year. The library. Ignoring her like nothing happened. I keep telling myself that once I explain—once she hears the reason—maybe she’ll understand.
Maybe.
Right at one, she lifts her brown paper bag and glances my way. A truce, wrapped in wax paper. “Wanna share?” she asks. “It’s gotta be better than whatever Fred’s cooking.”
Relief hits sharp and fast. “Yes. Please.” I grin, letting it linger. “I trust your judgment.”
She arches a brow, eyes flicking over me with a hint of challenge. “You should.”
Progress.
We step into the sun and climb onto the tailgate of Drew’s truck. The metal is still warm, holding the heat of the day against my palms. Dust hangs in the air, thick with hay and dirt, clinging to everything so deeply that even the sandwiches smell like the farm.
Val unwraps hers, shoulders tight, like she’s chewing on something heavier than bread and cheese.
I watch her longer than I should before I speak. “You look like you’re trying to solve world peace.”
She huffs a laugh, short and tired. “I got a few things on my mind.”
“Want to talk about them?”
“Sure.” She twists until her leg is resting on the truck bed and she is fully facing me. “How about you start by telling me why you were such a dick after our almost kiss?”
Well, fuck.
Her eyebrows lift in an I’m waiting look and I push down a laugh that is threatening to explode. I don’t think she would appreciate that. Here we go. Let’s be blunt together. “Because I thought you deserved better than me.”
Her brow creases, confusion mixing with something else. “Why would you think that?”
“You have to understand. You were and still are one of the smartest people I know. You were always headed somewhere big.” I rest my hand on hers. My thumb rubs slow circles over her warm skin. “And I thought I’d weigh you down.”
Her eyes stay locked on mine, unblinking.
“I grew up hearing I only mattered if I could play football,” I go on.
“Nothing else counted. If that was all I had to offer you, it didn’t feel like enough.
Football could’ve taken me somewhere, sure, but it was never guaranteed.
And if I failed . . .” My throat tightens.
“I was scared you’d stay. That you’d give up your dreams for me. ”
Silence hits hard.
Then her expression shifts. Confusion burns into anger.
“That’s . . . impressively dumb,” she snaps.
“You know that, right?” Her glare could crack stone.
“I am fully capable of choosing who I want to be with and how I want the relationship to go. It’s small-minded of you to think I would simply throw away my life for some guy.
Give me a little more credit than that, Shaun. ” She turns her face away from mine.
I catch her jaw gently, turning her back. I need her to see this. To hear it without question. “I know,” I say quietly. “I do now.” My voice drops. “I’m sorry I took that choice from you. I thought I was protecting you.”
Her eyes narrow, searching my face. “And now?”
I lean in just enough to feel her breath against my lips.
She doesn’t pull away.
“Now,” I say, sure even though my chest feels too full, “I know better.” I hold her gaze. “When you walked through that barn door, something lit up in me. Something I thought was gone for good after the doctor told me football was over.”
Her eyes soften, but she doesn’t interrupt.
“I never asked fate for another shot at the game,” I continue. “But I did ask for another shot with you. And I’m not screwing that up.” I take a breath. “I still think you deserve better than me. That part hasn’t magically disappeared. But I finally get that it’s not my call to make.”
The quiet stretches too long. She goes very still, like she’s weighing something fragile. Val always thinks with her whole face, brows pulling together, lips pressing into a line like she’s sorting facts into neat columns.
My pulse kicks up. I brace for the hit.
After a beat that feels like it could split me in half, she says, very softly, very Val, “You know only about five percent of high school relationships survive the transition to college.”
For a second, I can’t tell if that’s a warning or a verdict.
A breath I didn’t realize I was holding slips out. I huff a laugh. “Not surprising.”
“I have a feeling we would have beat the odds,” she whispers and picks at her sandwich.
Hope flares sharp and stupid in my chest.
She turns suddenly, one of her braids smacking me in the face. The glint of her nose ring catches the light. “I’m still annoyed with you.” She tries for mad. The corner of her mouth betrays her.
I grin. “I’d rather you be annoyed with me than nothing at all.”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course you would.”
The anger in them isn’t gone. Just warmer. Softer.
She tosses the crust over the side of the truck and stares out at the field like it might give her answers.
I watch her for a second. I don’t think I’m the only thing giving her stress today. “Anything else on your mind?”
“Just trying to figure out my life before my mom picks me up tonight.” She glances at me through her lashes. “She gave me an ultimatum. Have a plan by eight or she’ll ‘help me make one.’ ”
I wince. “Ouch.”
“She wants me back in school next semester. Something practical.” She picks at one of her cuticles. “I don’t even know what that means anymore. Or what I want.”
I turn toward her without thinking. Our knees barely brush. The contact snaps my attention sharp and sudden, like my body clocked it before my brain did.
Don’t push too far, Shaun.
“Well,” I say, keeping my tone light even as my pulse kicks up, “you’ve got about six hours to invent your destiny. No pressure.”
She snorts, finally looking at me fully. “Wow. Comforting.”
For a moment, the tension eases. The sun does its job. So does the sound of her laugh.
She looks past me toward the cornfields. The stalks stand tall and still, reaching skyward like they’re asking for more than they’ve been given.
“I just want to be happy with whatever I do. I want it to matter.” She glances back at me. “Only fifty-seven percent of people under twenty-five are satisfied with their jobs. I want to be in that fifty-seven. That shouldn’t be impossible, right?”
I watch her when she says it. The hope. The doubt. The way she waits, like my answer might tip the balance.
“Yeah,” I say. “You’d think.”
She shifts, and our knees touch again. Neither of us moves away.
She keeps talking, softer now. “I don’t get why we’re supposed to decide the rest of our lives before we’ve even lived. Why can’t we just exist for a while before we lock ourselves into something permanent?”
It hits close. Too close. I glance at my hands, then back at her. The world loves neat boxes. Pick a lane. Stay useful. Break quietly if you don’t fit.
Val’s eyes look lost, and I hate it. I hate seeing the girl who used to walk into every room like she owned it look unsure.
I reach out and hook my fingers gently under her jaw, guiding her to face me. I don’t let go. Her pulse flutters under my thumb.
“I’m sorry you feel unsure,” I say, firmly. “But you’re forgetting one major thing.”
She lifts a brow. “Oh, really? And what’s that?”
“You’re Valerie fucking Andrews.”
My thumb brushes her bottom lip before I drop my hand. Her cheeks pink.
“You don’t get stuck. You don’t settle. You decide what you want, and then you bulldoze your way toward it.” I hold her eyes. “You’ll figure it out. But you’re allowed to take your time figuring it out.”
Her throat works. Her eyes gloss over, but her shoulders ease.
I clear mine. “And if it makes you feel better, you’re not the only one trying to figure it out.”
A small smile. Real this time. “Seems like we both have to.”
“Yep.” I take a bite of my sandwich and glance sideways at her. Our shoulders brush. I don’t pull back. “Aren’t we a pair?”
She laughs under her breath, and the sound settles warm in my chest, like something easing open.
She reaches into her bag and pulls out her phone and earbuds. “How about we forget the heavy stuff and zone out for a while?” She holds them out, smirking.
I take them and slip one earbud into her ear, brushing her hair back as I do. My fingers linger at her cheek a second longer than necessary.
Her breath stutters as she swallows hard.
Color floods her freckles. Her eyes lift to mine—uncertain, charged—and something pulls tight low in my chest. Not fear. Anticipation.
I slide the other bud into my ear. Our shoulders touch. Neither of us move away.
“All right,” I murmur. “What’ve you got for me?”
She grins and hits play.
Bikini Kill crashes in, but the music barely registers. All I notice is her. How close she sits. How her knee presses into mine. How her head tips and settles against my shoulder like it’s always known the way.
She exhales, relaxed, breath warm through my shirt. Her weight fits just right.
Easy. Natural. Beautiful.
For the first time in months, my arm stops screaming for attention. The ache fades until it’s nothing more than a distant echo.
Right here, with her leaning into me, the voice in my head finally shuts up.
We stay like this, song after song, and all I do is stare at the way the sunlight catches in Val’s hair, turning it into spun copper. Her dangling legs swing, and she’s lost in her head while the music hums through our ears.
“Maybe you could be a DJ,” I mumble.
She smiles and tilts her face up toward me, her chin resting on my shoulder. “That’s like me telling you that you could be a professional human pillow.” She settles in closer, just to make her point.
I grin. “Honestly? If it’s you doing the snuggling, I’d apply.”
Her cheeks flush pink. “You know that line was cheesy, right?” Her eyes sparkle, daring me to walk it back.
I don’t. I trace the freckles across her cheeks with my gaze. They stand out more when she blushes. I file that away for later. “It’s only cheesy if it’s not true.”
The color deepens.
Score.
I toss the last crust of my sandwich into the grass. “So,” I say, casual on the surface, nerves buzzing underneath, “if we can’t figure out what to do with our lives . . .”
She looks over, one brow lifting. “Yeah?”
“Want to do something to take our minds off it?” My gaze drops to her lips before I can stop it.
She taps the earbud in her ear. “Isn’t that what this is?”
I shake my head. “You’re still spiraling in there. I can tell.”
She snorts. “Get out of my head.” Her gaze lingers on me now, curious and amused. “And what exactly are you suggesting?”
She bites her lower lip. My chest tightens. I want to tug it free. Kiss the spot where her teeth press in.
My mouth goes dry.
Fuck it. I’m tired of waiting.
If she laughs, I deserve it.
I push back onto my hands, forcing my shoulders loose while my pulse pounds in my ears. “Wanna make out?”