1. Prologue #4
The first time I saw Amber Capshaw, something inside me tensed. Her family had moved to Kaysville for one reason only: to let Brady’s momma mold her into the next Miss Alabama. Miss America, even.
She’d already snagged the Junior Miss crown and half a dozen smaller pageant titles. Her parents believed she had what it took to go all the way.
I’d give her this—Amber Capshaw was beautiful. Tall and slender. Raven-black hair. Violet eyes. Flawless skin. She had this air about her that screamed, “Someone please put a sash on me.” And the way she walked? Like she was balancing a crown on her head.
Amber Capshaw started spending more and more time at the Jackson mansion. And just as often, Brady’s parents insisted he stay home.
I tried not to be jealous. Brady kept reassuring me—said she couldn’t hold a candle to me, that he hated the whole charade just as much as I did. But I knew. I knew she had her sights set on Brady. And his parents were more than happy to aid and abet her.
Senior year started, and Amber was everywhere . Brady made a point of being affectionate with me at school—hand-holding, kisses on the cheek—but it didn’t deter her. Not one bit.
Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t had that squeaky voice and the IQ of a rock. No wonder Brady’s momma needed to coach her—I could only imagine the answers she’d give in front of judges.
One of Aunt Lu’s favorite sayings echoed in my head: “You can fix ugly, and you can fix dumb. But you can’t fix stupid.” Never had it fit more perfectly.
Brady had a stellar football season, and there was no doubt that on signing day, he’d choose his beloved team. Alabama was practically salivating.
I was still on track to be valedictorian.
For a brief moment, life felt . . . perfect.
Then December came. And the unthinkable happened—at least in my world.
Brady’s daddy was diagnosed with lung cancer. Not a shock exactly—he smoked a pack a day, from what Brady said. But still, the news hit hard.
Brady was gutted. And I was gutted for him. I didn’t like the man, and he didn’t like me. But I would never wish that kind of pain on anyone.
I would never forget how Brady told me. He drove me out to old Tate Farm, parked in the middle of a barren cornfield. He brought blankets and hot chocolate.
We curled up in the bed of his truck, wrapped in each other and in silence. Then he broke. He began to cry. I’d never seen Brady cry before.
I held him as tight as I could. “I love you,” I whispered. “I promise it’ll be okay.”
He clutched me even tighter. “I love you, Ellie.”
Under the circumstances, I wanted to get Brady something for Christmas that said, “I love you, and I’ll always be there for you.” I wanted to ask my aunt for her opinion because she was an amazing gift giver, but that would be like pouring alcohol into an open wound.
Eventually, I came up with something that conveyed what I felt. I couldn’t wait to give it to him. We had planned on meeting at the old tire swing late Christmas night after we spent the day with our families, but I had a surprise Christmas evening when our doorbell rang, and it was Brady.
He had never been to our home. He knew the rules. But maybe because it was Christmas, or maybe because his daddy was sick, or maybe because she knew what was coming, Aunt Lu let him stay.
I was so thrilled he was there, I didn’t notice at first—he wasn’t acting like himself.
I took his hand and led him to the drawing room, where the fireplace crackled and the twelve-foot Christmas tree sparkled in soft, golden light.
Beneath it sat the present I’d wrapped for him.
I picked it up and sat cross-legged in front of the fire.
He sat beside me. And before I could say a word, he pulled me into him. The gift smashed between us.
Then he kissed me like he never had before.
It was like a man kissing a woman, not a boy kissing a girl.
His fingers threaded into my hair, and his lips found mine with a kind of desperation—like he needed the taste of me to steady himself. It wasn’t tentative. It was slow and deep and unflinching.
His breath was warm and uneven.
Mine stuttered into silence.
I melted into him, heart pounding beneath my Christmas dress as his hand found the small of my back and held me like I might vanish.
While he tasted and explored, I silently begged for the moment to never end.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against mine, his breath as ragged as mine.
“Wow. Merry Christmas,” I stuttered. That kiss was present enough for me.
He leaned away just enough and smiled that country boy smile I loved so much.
But it was then I noticed something was off. His smile didn’t touch his eyes like it always had.
“What’s wrong, Brady?”
He tugged on a strand of my hair. “Ellie…” My name sounded fragile on his lips.
I didn’t like it. Something wasn’t right.
“Brady?” The knot forming in my stomach tightened.
He took a deep breath, his baby blues lowering, avoiding my gaze. “We can’t be together anymore,” he blurted.
I shook my head, hoping I’d misunderstood, but I knew I hadn’t.
I backed up, and he scooted closer. Tears welled up in both of our eyes.
“Please, Ellie, listen to me.”
I stiffened. “My name is Ella,” I replied bitingly, each word coated in grief.
“Okay . . . Ella.” His voice cracked. “I’m so sorry. But being with you is tearing my family apart. And with my daddy so sick . . . I . . . I have to do this for them. Can you please understand?”
I stared at him, speechless.
I loved him.
I’d broken my aunt’s heart and her rules for him.
He was the one who chased me. The one who had pulled me onto that dance floor, shouted it to the world that we were together.
And now—he was ending it?
I couldn’t make sense of it.
Tears blurred my vision, hot and relentless.
He reached out, tried to wipe them away. But I pulled back. I didn’t want his touch. Not now.
He stood up slowly, like he couldn’t carry the weight of what he’d done.
Before he left, he looked down at me. “I love you, Miss Ellie.”
I stared at him, hollow.
Then he said it—the line that used to make my heart flutter.
“Don’t worry, Ellie. You don’t have to say it back. I love us enough for the both of us.”
In anger, I threw his gift at him—his stupid, smashed gift. He caught it with his wide receiver hands. He turned silently, but before he left, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a tiny, wrapped box and placed it on the sofa table before he walked out of my life forever.
As soon as he walked out the door, I fell apart. My aunt wasted no time in coming to me. She sat on the floor, held me, and stroked my hair. I kept waiting for her to say I told you so, but she never did.
“I’m so sorry, Aunt Lu,” I repeated over and over, wishing I could turn back time. Wishing for the pain to go away.
“Shhh, sweet girl,” she whispered, holding me tighter.
Until that night, I had never understood how my aunt could hate the Jacksons so much. But in the quiet, I realized something. She hated them so much because she had loved Isaac and her friend, Elizabeth. And that night, as I lay curled in her arms, I understood her perfectly.