Chapter 6
Addison
Small group is every Tuesday night, and normally I look forward to it. But tonight? I have zero desire to go.
Things with Brantley and I haven’t been right since the rodeo on Saturday. The tension is still bubbling between us. Sunday, when I asked about the club, he said, “Don’t worry, the girls weren’t even hot.”
Like that was supposed to be funny.
It wasn’t.
I told him that, and he gave me a hard time. Said I needed to learn to laugh more. So, yeah, I’m not exactly feeling great about this relationship at the moment. Since then, he’s barely said two words to me.
I know I shouldn’t skip small group over it.
That I should be leaning on God in difficult times, not pulling away.
But it’s hard. The energy it takes to fake a smile is exhausting.
I did it at church on Sunday. Then around my family all day afterward so they wouldn’t suspect anything or ask questions.
Now it’s Tuesday and I’m just tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of feeling like I’m the only one in this relationship who cares enough and wants to make things better.
I laid out what I was wearing an hour ago, but now I’m just sitting on my bed, staring at it. I don’t have the energy to change. I just wanna stay in sweatpants.
My phone dings and I pick it up immediately, hoping it’s Brantley with an apology text, but it’s not. It’s Wes.
Wes- “Got done mowing hay early. Want me to pick you up for Bible study?”
Slightly disappointed it’s not Brantley, I open the text thread.
Wesley and I carpool to small group when he can. He doesn’t always have the chance to go. Farming takes up a lot of time, especially this time of year.
Me: “I’m not really having a good day. I wasn’t gonna go.”
Wes- “It might help to go then.”
Me- “I know. Would you wanna skip and just do one together? Me and you?”
I hit send and he reads it instantly. The text bubbles pop up, indicating that he’s typing, and I wait for his reply.
Wes- “Your place or mine?”
Me- “Mine.”
Wes- “Be there in 10.”
I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding and grab my Bible and highlighters from my nightstand before heading downstairs.
When I walk into the dining room, I’m met with a variety of different fabrics spread out across the table, Mom sitting in the center with her sewing machine, her glasses on the bridge of her nose.
“Oh, are you doing this all night?” I ask.
“I just got it out. I’m making a few baby blankets for Jesse and Ella.”
“Oh. They don’t know what they’re having though.”
“I know, I’m just making one of each and a gender-neutral one.” She stands to hold one of the blankets up. It’s a pattern of solid-colored squares—dark green, cream, yellow—and then a goose-patterned fabric. Definitely for a boy.
“That’s cute. Jesse would use it too, I bet.”
“That’s what Mason said.” She laughs and sits back down.
“Well, Wes and I were going to do a Bible study, but maybe I should go over there if you’re in here? I know Dad isn’t going to want to give up the living room, so…”
Mom tucks her chin and peers over her glasses at me. “Promise you won’t decide tonight’s the night to confess you’re in love with each other?”
My jaw drops and I laugh. “Mom!” My cheeks flush. I wasn’t expecting her to say that.
“Promise me?” she warns.
“We’re just friends!” I argue.
“I know…so, you can use your room. Door stays cracked though,” she adds.
I get this weird feeling in my stomach that I can’t quite describe but I push past it. “Okay. Yeah. We’re just friends,” I remind her, again. I feel like I say that five times a week to everyone else, but not her. It’s never been her.
Mom mumbles something to herself as I head to the fridge, but I don’t stop to listen. I grab two sodas, cheese sticks, bologna, and grapes. Setting it all on the counter, I grab a cutting board and cut the cheese sticks into bite-sized pieces, along with the bologna.
After I lay it all out on a plate, I throw in some crackers and pretzels before taking it up to my room. A knock sounds from the front door just as I start back down the stairs.
Opening it, I do a once-over of what he’s wearing. Jeans, dark-blue Grunt Style shirt with an American flag on it, and a clean, brown trucker hat with the Kimes Ranch symbol on the front. In one hand he’s got his Bible, and in the other, his keys and a water bottle.
“Trail was muddy,” he says and slips off his boots.
I laugh. “Yeah, that’s why I said for you to come here.”
“I’m aware,” he retorts playfully.
He follows me to the kitchen, greeting my parents as they chat for a minute about the weather and Wesley’s work. Sounds like the rain we got was good for him. I’m never really sure if rain is always a good thing or not. The farming stuff goes right over my head, honestly.
I wait at the stairs as the conversation ends, my dad walking back to the living room, and Mom starting her sewing machine again.
Wesley turns around and stops just a few steps away from me. “Wait,” he whispers. “Upstairs?” His eyes narrow, like it’s the craziest thing ever.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” I assure him.
The hesitation in his face raises questions in my mind. Am I the only one around here who actually believes we’re just friends?
His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “Alright…”
Getting into my room, I leave the door cracked a few inches.
“I got snacks,” I say, pointing to the plate on the edge of my bed.
Wes hums and slowly walks around my room, looking around.
I have a few pictures hanging, mostly of me and Brantley, and a few of my family.
It’s a little weird to see him in here, I guess.
He pulls out the cowhide swivel chair that sits at my vanity and settles down into it. “Sounds good.”
I pat the empty space on the bed beside me. “You can sit here.”
He shakes his head. “Here’s fine.”
He clears his throat and looks at his Bible. “So, what’s been bothering you?” he asks, thumbing through the pages and then looking back to me.
I push the snack plate to the end of the bed and scoot down closer as well. A whiff of his cologne wafts across my nose. He put his fancy church stuff on for me? Interesting. I crisscross my legs and sigh heavier than I really mean to.
“Oh boy,” Wesley says, a small laugh escaping his lips. He sets his Bible on my vanity before adjusting himself in the chair and giving me his full attention.
“I don’t know.” I shrug, breaking our gaze. “Me and Brantley aren’t on the best terms right now. After the rodeo on Saturday.” I look back at him.
“Did something happen?”
I take in another deep breath. “He went to some club with his friends that night,” I say, and Wesley nods, waiting for me to continue. “Even after I told him I didn’t want him to. He just brushed it off…said looking and touching are two different things, and that he’s a man, so it’s in his nature.”
Wesley’s jaw tightens and he looks away for a second before looking back at me. “That’s not right.”
“I know,” I admit, a slight crack to my voice. “And honestly, I’m so over it. It happened, I can’t change the past. But I just…I hate fighting; I’m so tired. I’m tired of being angry at him all the time for not understanding or respecting me. I feel like I’m not allowed to express anything.”
“You shouldn’t have to walk on eggshells around your boyfriend, Addie. Especially when he’s telling you he supposedly loves and cares about you.” His voice sounds dry at the end like the words are hard for him to say. He’s not wrong, and I know that, it’s just…the truth hurts sometimes.
“I know,” I mutter, looking down at my hands. “But I don’t know how to fix it. We have that concert this weekend, and I’m so anxious about it on top of all this now…I’m just—”
“I’m still going along,” Wesley interrupts, “He wants to be a jerk to you in front of me, he’ll have a bigger problem.” He crosses his arms over his chest.
I can’t help but smile, my eyes staring at his biceps for a second longer than they should. He’d snap Brantley in half if he had to, no doubt. I reach for a piece of bologna and cheese, stacking it together like a mini sandwich, and take a bite.
Brantley got me four tickets to see Justin Moore for Christmas and the concert is this coming weekend. It’s been an anxiety-inducing thought ever since, but the fact that Wes is going too makes me feel a little better.
Wesley grabs his Bible. “You think I’m kidding?” he mutters.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He clears his throat and sets his Bible open across his leg. “So,” he starts, his voice low and steady, “why don’t we go through Philippians 4.”
I nod. “Good idea.”
I pick my Bible up and flip to the right page. Once he sees I’m there, he starts to read, only to stop a few verses in. I look up to see him smiling at me.
“What?”
“You read now,” he says.
I look back to it, seeing I already have some of this verse highlighted, and I start reading.
“Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”
Wesley takes the rest of the section and I try to focus and comprehend every single word he speaks.
He clears his throat just before finishing, causing me to raise my eyes to him, seeing his dark brown eyes set on me. “And the God of peace will be with you,” he finishes, not breaking our gaze for even a second.
I break into a smile first. “I love that, but sometimes…I don’t know, it feels hard to actually do it, you know? Especially me…not be anxious about anything? Yeah right,” I scoff with a laugh.
Wesley leans back in the chair. “Yeah, it’s definitely easier said than done. But I think it’s more about trying to remember to bring those worries to God and trust He’s got it, He’s got you.”
Letting his words sink in, I glance back down at the page. “I guess I’m good at telling God what’s wrong but not great at the thanksgiving part.” I look back to Wesley. “It’s hard to be thankful when things feel like they’re not working out,” I say softly.
Wes matches my tone. “Makes sense. But remember, it’s not about ignoring the hard stuff, it’s about staying positive. Like, ‘Yeah, this is tough, but it could be worse and God’s still good and He’s still here.’”
“So, what do I do when it doesn’t feel like God’s there?”
Wesley is quiet for a moment, trying to process my question and give me a good answer. I’m good at that, asking him hard questions, making him really think.
“I think that’s when you lean on truth instead of feelings.
God’s always there. Always.” He pauses and looks back to the scripture.
“Like, it doesn’t say you’ll feel peace right away, it says His peace will guard your heart and mind.
” He looks back to me. “That’s a promise, even if it takes a while to feel it. ”
“You make it sound simple,” I mutter,
He shakes his head, his eyes soft. “It’s not.”
The room falls silent. I grab my pen and write Lean on truth, not feelings in the empty space beside the highlighted verse in my Bible.
Wesley finishes the rest of the chapter. I can’t focus on what he’s reading, I’m too in my feelings right now. I haven’t felt God near me lately and it’s scary. I’m frustrated, I’m upset. I feel so lonely.
The words blur as tears start to sting in the back of my eyes. I wipe the couple strays away before Wesley finishes reading. I don’t want him to see me upset; that’s way more awkward for him than it would be for me.
But I’m too late. He comes and sits beside me, his hand on my back. The lightness of it tells me he’s hesitant.
He clears his throat. “You wanna stop?” His tone is gentle.
“Yeah, I’m tired.” I pick my head up, blinking back tears, and they start to go away.
“Okay.” He grabs my hand.
“God, I just wanna pray for Addison. She’s going through a lot right now, and I know you see it all.
Please help her feel your presence, especially when things feel really heavy.
Give her the strength she needs, and the courage to face whatever’s in front of her.
Help her to remember that you’re with her, even when it feels like she’s on her own. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
By the time he’s finished, I have tears racing—and I mean racing—down my face.
They aren’t controllable at this point. He knew just what to say because he pays attention and even figured out how to put the things that I didn’t know how to express into words.
And that means more to me than he’ll ever know.
“It’s okay,” he says, squeezing my hand a little harder. He brushes his thumb over my knuckles before he lets go and puts his arm around me instead, pulling me into a hug. His fingers softly trace my shoulder and arm.
Even though my life and relationship are still in shambles, I feel such a heavy weight lift off of me. I feel seen.