13. Thirteen #2
Ellis sighs. “I get that,” she agrees as she looks out over the pond field. “I don’t like starting conversations with my mom died when I was thirteen. So, I think I can relate to that a bit.”
“Did you ever feel like you had to explain that your mom was sick?” I ask and instantly regret it.
“I shouldn’t have asked that,” I say, shaking my head.
“I just meant like, when she was alive, and you were around other people—” I wince, wondering why I can’t seem to stop shoving my foot in my mouth.
“No, no!” Ellis starts, no judgment in her voice.
A piece of gravel kicks up as we walk. “I think I know what you’re saying, and the answer is yes.
In the end, my mom was so thin. Part of me felt like I had to warn people.
Their questions were so loud whether they asked them or not.
I sort of felt like I had to get ahead of it. ”
I nod, lost in thought.
Something about hearing this from Ellis helps assuage some of my guilt. It’s nice to know I’m not alone.
Ellis touches my arm. “Why do you ask?”
I watch Gus plant a kiss on Megan’s temple, lost in their own world as Lennon prattles on about something to do with the Inn.
Griffin and Noah throw out some comments, and Gus calls right back to them.
As I watch him—complete and whole—I wonder why there has always been a part of me that saw my little brother as broken.
It’s the worst kind of realization.
“It’s not my place to tell,” I offer, one corner of my mouth turning up halfheartedly. “But let’s just say I’ve felt those exact things before.”
When we find our way to the barn, Wes is there to greet us. His old ballcap is turned backward, infamous jeans hug every muscle in his legs. The sweatshirt he wears is a change considering the cooler weather. So far, I think I’ve only seen him in t-shirts.
“I thought you said to meet at the trail head?” I toss in his direction.
Wes lifts a shoulder, a laugh line forming on his painfully handsome face. “You were late,” he offers.
I pull the phone from my pocket and check the time. “By one minute!”
“Punctuality is important here at Miller Run Farms,” he says. “I’ll have to deduct that minute from your pay, Miss Summers.”
“I wasn’t getting paid for this anyway!” I argue, stepping closer.
When I’m about a yard from Wes, I catch a glimpse of the glittering in his eyes—the mirth that appears in the little dance we’re doing with our words.
We’ve found ourselves right back at the bonfire—leaving our work dynamic in the dust. “It’s too bad for you, I’m not on the clock tonight. ”
“That is too bad,” he says, his gaze burning into me.
I clear my throat, my stomach doing a strange flutter that sends warmth spreading through my limbs. I’m sure Wes can see it.
“Well,” he starts, shoving his hands in his pockets and leaning back on the heel of his steel-toed boots. “I hope you all are ready for a good time.”
We all look around, following Wes’s lead until we turn the corner at the end of the barn to see four atv’s lined up with two helmets each waiting.
“I had to borrow a few things,” Wesley confesses. “The farm only owned two of these, but Grady and Walton were kind enough to donate some fun equipment for a muddy ride through the trails.”
“Oh, sick!” Noah says, grabbing a helmet off the closest four-wheeler and putting it on. “How do I look?” he asks Lennon, and her lips flatten into a thin line.
“Ridiculous,” she says.
“Exactly your type,” he tosses out, placing the other helmet on her head.
I chuckle, watching Griffin gently pull a helmet off the seat of another four-wheeler for Ellis.
“I guess I’m riding with Gus?” I say without thinking. I find it was an incorrect assumption when I see my brother tilt his head to the side and give me a pointed look.
“Yeah, no,” he says, grabbing Megan’s hand and leading her to the third four-wheeler.
When Wes sidles up next to me, I can feel the warmth of his presence everywhere—burning hot like the flame of a wildfire. “Looks like you’re with me.”
He holds a helmet out to me, yellow with one strip of purple across the side.
I don’t say anything as I take it, the air heavy with whatever weird tension has existed between us since Lennon’s party.
My body buzzes with excitement when I slide the helmet over my head, struggling with the strap at the bottom.
“Here,” Wes says, stepping closer. His fingers brush the bottom of my chin as he fastens the strap.
With the visor up, I get a clear picture of his hazel eyes—the freckle on the left side of his jaw.
When he presses his teeth together, I notice the way his jaw ticks.
“Sorry you’re stuck riding with me,” he says.
“If it helps, I’m a great driver—very capable, and it’s not like we haven’t been this close before. ”
My traitorous thoughts take me back to the way he dragged his lips up the side of my neck, the feel of his hand squeezing my hip gently. I want more of it—more of him unguarded and unfiltered.
“I don’t mind riding with you,” I say, “Though I’m not sure everyone knows how to drive these.”
“Then I don’t mind giving a quick lesson.”
When I finally find myself swinging my leg over the four-wheeler, mindful of the cooler Wes has strapped to the back, my heart thunders in my chest.
When I sit, my thighs brush against the backs of his, sending a jolt of awareness through my bloodstream. The rumble of the machine does nothing to calm my rapidly beating heart. I wipe my hands on my jeans, keeping them at the sides of my thighs.
Wes tips backward, leaning until his back brushes my chest. “You’re going to have to hold onto me,” he says over the noise.
Slowly, I wrap my arms around him, feeling the sturdy muscles beneath his sweatshirt. He feels warm—that scent he wore at Lennon’s party clinging to his skin and clothes.
“You ready?” he shouts, and then we are off.
Mud kicks up in every direction as we speed down the lane, followed by my friends. Wes makes a sharp left turn once we get back into the treeline, following the trail until we circle back to the right to head deeper into the forest.
The wind picks up, the sound drowning out every thought in my head as I cling to him. When he slows down to drive over a small fallen log, my grip tightens.
“It’ll be more fun when we are out in the field!” Wes shouts.
My fingers clutch at the fabric of his sweatshirt as I yell over the rumble. “It’s fun now!” I say, hearing Ellis laugh somewhere behind us.
“Oh yeah?” Wes says as if in challenge.
A laugh rips out of me, my body buzzing with the thrill. “Yeah!”
With that, Wes presses the gas, jolting us forward until we are speeding through the trees. Mud decorates my jeans and shirt—possibly my hair—as we race the others.
When Noah and Lennon cut us off, another laugh bubbles out of me.
“There’s no way I’m getting beat by an English Professor!” Wes shouts, cutting to the right down a different trail.
“There, there,” I yell, patting him on the chest. “Your ego may be ruined, but you’ll live, Boss Man Miller.”
“I said no nicknames!” Wes turns to the left, and I’m starting to second-guess whether we are on the trail at all.
“You love my nicknames!” I defend, screeching in delight when the ride becomes bumpier.
We make it out onto a different trail, the rev of an engine fast approaching. “You’re right,” Wes says, and I can feel the vibration of his voice in my limbs as I hold on. “I do.”
With that, he takes off, breaking in front of Gus and Meghan, and quickly finding his way through the trees. Lennon and Noah race down the side of the field, and Wes is quick to catch up, saluting as we pass them.
The whole hour is spent racing and laughing—trying our best to go over obstacles on the trail, and cheat the system. When Wes told them the basic makeup of the trails, he didn’t mention the many shortcuts we took to win.
I’m pretty sure we have been cheating, but I can’t bring myself to care.
When we finally stop, all parked in a circle somewhere in a field behind the forested trails, Wes unhooks the cooler from the back of our four-wheeler as I take off my helmet and run my fingers through my hair. Mud cakes the ends, so I quickly give up.
“Drinks anyone?” Wes asks, pulling out an assortment of soda and beer.
I swing my leg over the seat of the four-wheeler and sit sideways, looking out at the round bales of hay dotting the field we rode around.
“Is this your property, still?” I ask, turning to grab a lemon-lime soda from the cooler.
“Yeah,” Wes answers. “Walton usually gets his grandkids to turn this into hay for me. They live about a mile down the road. I pay them, of course, but it tends to save me some money. They don’t charge much since I let them take half of whatever they can harvest.”
“Sounds like a good deal,” Gus adds from his spot in the grass next to Megan.
“When I was younger,” Megan says, “My grandparents owned a farm, and we used to climb the round bales for fun.”
Noah hops off the four-wheeler, gauging the distance to the nearest bale. “I bet I could make it to the top with a running start.”
“I’ll race you!” Griffin says, planting himself next to Noah.
Gus smiles, planting a kiss on Megan’s forehead before joining in the fun.
When they take off, Ellis and Lennon joke about how ridiculous their boyfriends are, and I look to Wes.
“No racing for you?” I question, and he laughs.
“I’ve done it plenty,” he says, pointing his beer bottle to where Gus is now scrambling up the side, as Griffin shoves Noah back. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to make them look bad again. I already beat everyone getting back here.”
“Because you cheated!” Lennon says, her cheeks reddened with the night air.
The sun sets lower on the horizon, threatening a darkening sky.
“We should probably go back,” Wes says, gathering up the cooler and strapping it to the back.
When we all pack up and make our way through the trails back to the entrance by the barn, Wes hops down and offers everyone a tour of the lesson barn.