I slapped him across his face. Hard. Deep hurt flashed in his expression for a second before he met my eyes. Good. I wanted to hurt him to his core right then. Just like he'd hurt me to my core. Just like he'd destroyed me with three words: Because Shelly's pregnant.
I beat at his chest with my fists. He never raised his hands to push me away or to stop me. He just let me hit him—again and again and again, his face, his chest, his shoulders. This couldn't be happening. I choked out another sob, feeling sick and dizzy. I fell back against the wall again and cried out my misery and confusion, the very last piece of my stupid, unguarded heart crumbling away.
He stood looking down at the floor, his hands in his pockets, a drop of blood dripping from his lip where the cheap metal ring I wore on my right index finger must have cut him. I watched that drop of blood fall to the floor as if in slow motion and splash on the hardwood right next to the ridiculous list I'd made, both lying there, the last remnants of us. My eyes moved slowly to his face. It was filled with sorrow. It looked like he was trembling. I wanted to spit on him. He'd done this. How dare he feel sorrowful?
I stood up straight, gathering myself. Kyland finally raised his eyes to mine, red rimmed and pleading me for something. Forgiveness? I'd never give him that.
"You leave Dennville," he said, his voice raspy. "Leave here and don't look back."
I regarded him for a second, suddenly feeling strangely empty, numb. "You're the biggest disappointment of my life," I said. "I'll never forgive you—not as long as I live."
He nodded as if that was the best idea I'd ever come up with. "Good," he choked out, and then he turned his back on me.
I walked on legs that felt like they were made of jelly to his front door. I picked up my backpack and the scholarship packet I'd left on the floor, and I walked out of Kyland Barrett's house and out of his life, leaving behind the man I'd been stupid enough to give my whole heart to, the one who didn't want to love or keep me, the one who had betrayed me in the cruelest way possible. The pitiful words I'd begged him with echoed in my mind, shameful and humiliating.
I didn't go back to my trailer. I went into the woods, not bothering to push aside the tree branches that slapped me in the face as I walked, causing small, burning cuts across my cheeks. The pain brought me out of my fog and again, I recalled Kyland's words. Because Shelly's pregnant. I stopped by a vine of wild honeysuckle and vomited on the forest floor. And then I walked, all the while clutching that scholarship to my chest like it was a lifeline—it felt warm and comforting against my body. I didn't know how long I walked, but even in my half-shocked state, my body knew right where I was and eventually, I'd circled back around to my trailer. I sat on the steps, looking blankly out at the sunset, deciding two things: one, I was going to leave for California as soon as I possibly could, the next day if there was any way, and two, I'd never fall in love again. Not ever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Four Years Later
Tenleigh
There's nothing like going home again, or so the saying goes. It was late afternoon when I got the first glimpse of those Appalachian Mountains outside the window of my car. I gripped the steering wheel. Despite nervousness and anxiety and a somewhat uncertain future, there was also a faint current of excitement flowing through my veins—a feeling that I was back where I belonged. I rolled the window down as I turned off the highway and took a deep breath of the cool, pine-scented mountain air, so different from the warm, salty San Diego breezes I'd been breathing for the past four years while I was away at college. I hadn't come home for summer or winter breaks, choosing instead to take classes year-round and graduate early. I'd stayed in San Diego a couple extra months to wrap up a few things with my student teaching and so I didn't have to drive through winter weather to get home. And now here I was, the mountains just barely coming alive with spring. God, I'd missed Kentucky. An unexpected peace fell over me and I smiled a small smile just a little bit later as I turned up the mountain road to our trailer.
"Home," I whispered. Everything was going to be okay. I was back because I had a goal. I had a purpose.
As I drove uphill, I looked at the small, rundown houses sitting to the sides of the road. Surprisingly, some of them looked better than I'd remembered. Several of the people on the mountain had cleaned up their yards. Well, that was a welcome sight.
But all too soon, the anxiety hit full force as I turned the bend in the road, knowing I'd be driving past Kyland's home in another minute. I purposely kept my eyes straight, not daring even a glance at the little blue house I knew was on my left. I turned at the next bend in the road and let out a long exhale as I pulled into the dirt clearing next to our trailer. I shut off the engine and sat in the car for several minutes, just looking at the only home I'd ever known until just a few years ago. But, oh, what a difference four years could make.
I'd left Kentucky broken and bruised, crushed in a way I thought I'd never recover from. But if time didn't heal all wounds, at least it made them bearable. And I'd survived. I stretched my limbs as I stepped out of my small beater of a car—a dull red VW Rabbit that I'd bought for three thousand dollars. It wasn't exactly pretty, but it was all I'd been able to afford. The truth was, I loved it. It was mine. It was the first thing I'd ever owned outright. I'd waited tables at a large chain restaurant in the evenings after classes, finally saving up enough money to buy my own transportation. It had just made the two-thousand-mile trip from California to Kentucky. I'd say I'd done a decent job picking a good one. Or more likely, I'd gotten lucky, but that was okay, too. I stepped out of my car and looked around, taking everything in as if it were the first time I was seeing it. The trailer looked just about the same as I remembered it—small and sad. But I felt a twinge of happiness nonetheless. "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home," I whispered. "Humble" was probably a generous word for our trailer, but it was still a soft enough place to land. And everyone had to land somewhere.
I beat at his chest with my fists. He never raised his hands to push me away or to stop me. He just let me hit him—again and again and again, his face, his chest, his shoulders. This couldn't be happening. I choked out another sob, feeling sick and dizzy. I fell back against the wall again and cried out my misery and confusion, the very last piece of my stupid, unguarded heart crumbling away.
He stood looking down at the floor, his hands in his pockets, a drop of blood dripping from his lip where the cheap metal ring I wore on my right index finger must have cut him. I watched that drop of blood fall to the floor as if in slow motion and splash on the hardwood right next to the ridiculous list I'd made, both lying there, the last remnants of us. My eyes moved slowly to his face. It was filled with sorrow. It looked like he was trembling. I wanted to spit on him. He'd done this. How dare he feel sorrowful?
I stood up straight, gathering myself. Kyland finally raised his eyes to mine, red rimmed and pleading me for something. Forgiveness? I'd never give him that.
"You leave Dennville," he said, his voice raspy. "Leave here and don't look back."
I regarded him for a second, suddenly feeling strangely empty, numb. "You're the biggest disappointment of my life," I said. "I'll never forgive you—not as long as I live."
He nodded as if that was the best idea I'd ever come up with. "Good," he choked out, and then he turned his back on me.
I walked on legs that felt like they were made of jelly to his front door. I picked up my backpack and the scholarship packet I'd left on the floor, and I walked out of Kyland Barrett's house and out of his life, leaving behind the man I'd been stupid enough to give my whole heart to, the one who didn't want to love or keep me, the one who had betrayed me in the cruelest way possible. The pitiful words I'd begged him with echoed in my mind, shameful and humiliating.
I didn't go back to my trailer. I went into the woods, not bothering to push aside the tree branches that slapped me in the face as I walked, causing small, burning cuts across my cheeks. The pain brought me out of my fog and again, I recalled Kyland's words. Because Shelly's pregnant. I stopped by a vine of wild honeysuckle and vomited on the forest floor. And then I walked, all the while clutching that scholarship to my chest like it was a lifeline—it felt warm and comforting against my body. I didn't know how long I walked, but even in my half-shocked state, my body knew right where I was and eventually, I'd circled back around to my trailer. I sat on the steps, looking blankly out at the sunset, deciding two things: one, I was going to leave for California as soon as I possibly could, the next day if there was any way, and two, I'd never fall in love again. Not ever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Four Years Later
Tenleigh
There's nothing like going home again, or so the saying goes. It was late afternoon when I got the first glimpse of those Appalachian Mountains outside the window of my car. I gripped the steering wheel. Despite nervousness and anxiety and a somewhat uncertain future, there was also a faint current of excitement flowing through my veins—a feeling that I was back where I belonged. I rolled the window down as I turned off the highway and took a deep breath of the cool, pine-scented mountain air, so different from the warm, salty San Diego breezes I'd been breathing for the past four years while I was away at college. I hadn't come home for summer or winter breaks, choosing instead to take classes year-round and graduate early. I'd stayed in San Diego a couple extra months to wrap up a few things with my student teaching and so I didn't have to drive through winter weather to get home. And now here I was, the mountains just barely coming alive with spring. God, I'd missed Kentucky. An unexpected peace fell over me and I smiled a small smile just a little bit later as I turned up the mountain road to our trailer.
"Home," I whispered. Everything was going to be okay. I was back because I had a goal. I had a purpose.
As I drove uphill, I looked at the small, rundown houses sitting to the sides of the road. Surprisingly, some of them looked better than I'd remembered. Several of the people on the mountain had cleaned up their yards. Well, that was a welcome sight.
But all too soon, the anxiety hit full force as I turned the bend in the road, knowing I'd be driving past Kyland's home in another minute. I purposely kept my eyes straight, not daring even a glance at the little blue house I knew was on my left. I turned at the next bend in the road and let out a long exhale as I pulled into the dirt clearing next to our trailer. I shut off the engine and sat in the car for several minutes, just looking at the only home I'd ever known until just a few years ago. But, oh, what a difference four years could make.
I'd left Kentucky broken and bruised, crushed in a way I thought I'd never recover from. But if time didn't heal all wounds, at least it made them bearable. And I'd survived. I stretched my limbs as I stepped out of my small beater of a car—a dull red VW Rabbit that I'd bought for three thousand dollars. It wasn't exactly pretty, but it was all I'd been able to afford. The truth was, I loved it. It was mine. It was the first thing I'd ever owned outright. I'd waited tables at a large chain restaurant in the evenings after classes, finally saving up enough money to buy my own transportation. It had just made the two-thousand-mile trip from California to Kentucky. I'd say I'd done a decent job picking a good one. Or more likely, I'd gotten lucky, but that was okay, too. I stepped out of my car and looked around, taking everything in as if it were the first time I was seeing it. The trailer looked just about the same as I remembered it—small and sad. But I felt a twinge of happiness nonetheless. "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home," I whispered. "Humble" was probably a generous word for our trailer, but it was still a soft enough place to land. And everyone had to land somewhere.
