1. Prologue #3
We spent the summer before our junior year the same way we had the previous one, lying by the riverbank in each other’s arms and swinging on that old tire swing, sometimes until the early morning hours.
The only exception was that the kisses grew hotter and my fondness for Brady grew into love, but I didn’t tell him.
Holding those words back spared me some of the ever-present guilt I felt for lying constantly to my Aunt Lu.
My Aunt Lu, who had just bought me a silver Mercedes convertible for my sixteenth birthday.
She refused to be outdone by the Jacksons.
This was the same Aunt Lu who told me every day that she loved me more than air and that I was more than a beautiful face.
And I believed her.
Which only made the secrets I was keeping harder to swallow.
Our junior year began, and Brady was getting lots of attention on the field.
He was the most talented wide receiver our school had ever had, and recruiters from all across SEC land were frequenting our games.
It was a waste, though, because his name had been down at the University of Alabama since before he was born. His blood ran crimson.
At least I could go to the games and cheer for him. There was one exception to the rules—and, naturally, it involved sports. It didn’t matter if you were on team Eaton or Jackson. When it came to the school team, you were expected to set aside family loyalties and cheer for victory.
I tried not to be too obvious in my support for Brady. But in my heart? I cheered loudest every time he caught the ball. And when he scored a touchdown, I swelled with pride no one could see.
I also worried the most. Maybe not more than his momma did—but when he got tackled and didn’t get up right away, my breath would hitch until he did.
By homecoming of junior year, Brady had finally had enough of sneaking around. I’d never forget standing at the refreshment table in my pale pink chiffon dress when he marched straight toward me—black suit, pale pink tie, and fire in his eyes.
Without hesitation, he took my hand and pulled me out to the center of the dance floor. I was too stunned to object. I just followed.
He held me close, right there in front of everyone. “I’m sorry, Ellie,” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. “But I’m tired of pretending I don’t love you.”
How could a girl say no to that? I couldn’t, because I loved him, too.
The dance became instantly silent, except for the music, as people realized what had just happened. It was like the world was ending and everyone was standing still to watch it. Brady didn’t care. He pulled me closer and smiled that country boy smile of his.
I rested my head on his chest and closed my eyes, needing his comfort and protection at that moment. I knew we were in for a whole lot of trouble.
When the song ended, he left no doubt that this wasn’t a one-time thing. Brady leaned down, cradled my face in his hands, and kissed me softly.
“I love us enough for the both of us,” he whispered.
I was pretty sure one of our chaperones fainted.
Well, that did it.
His parents and my Aunt Lu were called. We were marched out of the dance and straight to the church to meet with Pastor Norton—like we’d committed some scandalous crime. The way people reacted, you’d think the apocalypse had begun.
His momma was crying. His daddy’s face turned crimson, veins popping, and he unleashed every expletive in his vocabulary.
But I barely heard any of it.
I wasn’t concerned about them. I was only thinking about Aunt Lu. She didn’t yell. She didn’t cry. She stood there—stone quiet, lips pressed together, eyes full of hurt.
And that . . . that killed me.
I felt bad for Pastor Norton. Judging by his pajamas and bedhead, he’d clearly been fast asleep before getting the “emergency” call.
The moment we entered his office, Brady tried to sit beside me. His daddy didn’t let him. He yanked him right out of the chair and placed him next to his momma. It was just like it had always been in this town—the Eatons on the right, the Jacksons on the left.
Pastor Norton started in on us, solemn and exhausted. He quoted commandments, preached about honoring thy parents, and told us how disappointed he was. Then, his gaze shifted between Brady and me.
“I want you to promise me—and your parents—that you won’t see each other again.”
I broke. Tears spilled over, because I couldn’t imagine a life without Brady. I loved him.
Brady shot up from his chair. “I will not,” he declared. “I love her.”
His momma erupted into hysterics. His daddy launched another storm of expletives.
“Look what you’ve done to your momma!” he roared. “Over an Eaton girl, of all things! An Eaton girl with a daddy who died a drunk and a momma who didn’t even want her. How could you, Brady?”
Those words cut deep.
I knew everyone in town knew about my parents—whispers had always followed me like shadows.
But polite people never said anything.
Not out loud.
And that was exactly what set my Aunt Lu off.
No matter what I’d done, she would never let my name be dragged through the mud.
She stood up with beauty queen poise and steel-spined confidence, eyes locked on Mr. Jackson. The man who broke her heart all those years ago.
“Well,” she said, voice cool and lethal, “maybe you’d like to tell Brady about your shotgun wedding—and how premature babies weigh nine pounds.”
Mrs. Jackson gasped. I honestly thought she might faint.
Mr. Jackson stood, face drained of color.
For a moment, no one breathed.
He stared back at Aunt Lu as if he didn’t know what to say—or how to fight someone who didn’t flinch.
Pastor Norton cleared his throat, awkward and outmatched. “Please . . . everyone take a seat.”
In the middle of the chaos, Brady and I couldn’t stop looking at each other.
“I’m sorry,” he mouthed.
“Me, too,” I mouthed back.
Pastor Norton turned toward me, his gaze stern.
“You’ve been quiet through all of this. What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?” Like it was all my fault. Like I’d lured Brady into some kind of trap.
I’d always suspected Pastor Norton leaned toward the left side of his congregation—looked like I wasn’t wrong.
His tone lit a fire inside me.
I sat up tall, wiped the tears off my cheeks, and spoke as clearly as I could. “I’m sorry for lying to my aunt.”
I gazed straight at her. “I love you, Aunt Lu.”
She offered me a half smile. The kind that said I wasn’t forgiven—but I was still loved.
I turned toward Brady, my voice stronger now. “But I love Brady, too. And we haven’t done anything to be ashamed of.”
The adults stirred, ready to speak—but I didn’t let them.
Brady beamed at me, pure happiness lighting up his face. I’d finally said the words he’d been waiting to hear.
“We’ve been taught in church our entire lives to love one another. To forgive. To treat others the way we’d want to be treated. So why does being an Eaton or a Jackson change that?”
Brady and I turned toward Pastor Norton, waiting.
He rubbed his reddened face, looked down for a long moment—then said quietly, “It doesn’t.”
Well, that was that. The Pastor had nothing else to say, and we all went our separate ways that night. Oh, don’t get me wrong, we were both in loads of trouble. We were each grounded for a month, but at least now we could sit together during lunch at school and hold hands in the halls.
And . . . we each got a new set of rules.
Neither of us were ever allowed in each other’s homes, and there were strict curfews in place.
That was okay with me. I was just so happy I didn’t have to lie to my aunt—or my friends anymore, for that matter.
And best of all, I was happy that everyone knew I was Brady Jackson’s girl.
The town was in a tailspin. No one knew how to react. Eatons and Jacksons hadn’t mixed in over thirty years, and to most folks—especially our parents—it was downright unsettling.
Aunt Lu didn’t yell, but she worried. I could see it. She warned me daily about the ways of Jackson men. I tried to explain that Brady was different. She would just shake her head and say, “Apples don’t fall far from the tree, Ella Lu.”
Brady’s parents were a real treat. When stern talks didn’t work, they called in the cavalry—his brothers and their pageant winner wives. When that failed, they started importing girls like it was prom season at the Miss America house.
Years ago, his momma had been a pageant consultant, hopping around the state and even the country. Now, she’d declared, it was time to groom the next generation.
Imagine that.
I wasn’t too worried—Brady was as attentive and loving as ever. I don’t know if a girl’s ever had a more devoted boyfriend than I did.
We sailed through the rest of junior year and even got to attend prom together. We’d both been nominated for junior court, but I had to politely rescind my nomination, just like I had for sophomore year. The crown wasn’t allowed.
It was the least I could do for Aunt Lu.
I was still holding firm to rules one and two, even if it meant not going to college with Brady. But we believed our relationship could survive the distance. Brady would always smile and say, “It’s okay, Ellie—we’ll just be a house divided.”
We’d daydream about our wedding and those cheesy license plate covers that said House Divided with Auburn and Alabama mascots facing off.
Brady withdrew his court nomination, too. To say his parents were livid—that doesn’t even begin to cover it. They said I was ruining his life.
I told him not to do it, begged him not to cause more waves. But he wouldn’t hear of it. “If you can’t be my princess,” he said, “Then no one will be.”
Summer came, and the tide began to change. Have you ever met someone and just known—in your gut—that they were going to upend your world . . . and not in a good way?