“It was.”
“Yeah, it was,” I nod, “but I got tired of it. I got tired of a life that was shoved at me and not the life I had always dreamed about. I knew I’d go to college and get a degree, but I also knew I’d return here, run the ranch, and live the same life as my dad and my grandpa before him. It’s what I knew, what I was raised on. Hell, it’s what runs through my veins. So yes, I moved back to see if I could get the girl, see if she was still here to catch, but it’s about more than that. It’s about me going back to being me. Not wearing a suit and tie that chokes me, or putting on a smile and greeting assholes I can’t stand.”
I run a hand through my hair and expel a deep breath through my mouth. I’ve been living that life for so long, I’ve lost sight of what I truly want and what my real dreams are. Now, I’m going to fight for them, even if it means starting a ranch from scratch.
“You’re still going to work as a lawyer,” Camden reminds me.
“Yeah, but at Town Hall with Mr. Powell. No suits if I don’t want to. I’ll have time to ranch, get a horse, do whatever the fuck I want.”
“And get the girl,” he reminds me.
“Yeah,” I sigh.
Faith McGraw will always be the girl that got away. Now, I’m back to get her, and I hope like hell nothing stands in my way.
Faith
What in God’s name happened last night? One moment I’m having fun with my friends and the next I see a mirage of the man I’ve been trying to forget. Except, it wasn’t a mirage. It was Easton Locke in the flesh before me, talking about moving back to Everton and buying his family’s ranch.
I rub my eyes and groan, my headache increasing with each breath I take. If I lie really, really still, I’ll feel better, and the room will stop spinning. I’m sure of it.
I grimace as nausea rises. Let it be the last time I get drunk because of a man—or any reason, really. What am I, twenty-one again?
All I remember is that Easton was gone when I came back from the bathroom, but I was still feeling the punch to the gut from seeing him. When Averly suggested a shot, I yanked it from her hand and downed it.
It wasn’t pretty. And now I’m paying for it. So. Damn. Bad.
I take a deep breath, hoping to keep down any liquor threatening to make an escape. The problem with alcohol—besides the obvious hangover—is that it doesn’t really make you forget. You just blackout for a few hours, and when you wake up, the memory of what you were trying to erase is even more obvious—with the bonus of a splitting headache that feels like your head is being squeezed by metal clamps.
Ugh. My stomach rolls, so I lurch out of my bed and make a run for the bathroom, jumping over my boots before I trip over them. I sit on the bathroom floor, my head resting on the closed toilet seat, hot tears rolling down my face.
“This is hell,” I say in the small bathroom. “Hell, hell, hell,” I yell before ripping the toilet seat open and emptying the rest of the contents in my stomach.
When I feel strong enough to stand, I jump into the shower on shaky legs and wash away the hangover, the green eyes that I spotted last night, and my embarrassment for getting so drunk.
I need greasy pizza.
Skipping church, since I don’t want the stink of alcohol coming from my pores to compete with the smell of incense, I order a pizza from Howdy’s and lie on the couch while I wait for it to arrive, thankful Howdy’s is open already.
I pat my stomach, feeling much better after way too many slices of pizza, some pop, and ibuprofen—the perfect hangover cure. Just as I’m settling into the sofa, my phone rings way louder than necessary, interrupting the World War II documentary I’m watching.
“Hello?” I answer when I see Abbie’s name flash across the screen.
“Hey, how are you feeling?”
“Good, actually. Well, not great, but I’m better. Woke up with a killer hangover.”
“I figured,” she laughs. “Alcohol never works out the way we wish it did. Anyway, I called when I didn’t see you at church and figured you were hungover beyond belief. Do you need anything? I can come over.” My ever so kind friend. Abbie is the caretaker, the nurturer.
“I’m okay, but thanks. I ordered Howdy’s, and I’m feeling much better.”
“Nothing like greasy pizza to soak up the alcohol,” she giggles.
“True that.” I pause a moment, silence hitting the line. “So… Did anyone talk about my drunkenness at church?” I cringe, not wanting to be the center of gossip in this town. I do my best to stay away from that circle.
“Umm… No, not really.” Abbie’s always been a terrible liar.
“Abbie…” I warn. “I can handle it.”
“Are you sure?” she whispers. The line sounds muffled as if she’s covering the phone with her hand.
“Yes,” I assure her. “Hit me with your best shot. Actually, cancel that. No more shots for this girl.” I roll my eyes.
“Okay… They weren’t so much talking about you being drunk, but Easton was at church, and you know how it goes. Some people started the rumor that you are going to get back together.”
My eyes fall shut as I take in her words. How does a town hold on to a teenage love for so long? I mean, let it go, people.
“Okay,” I state, emotionless. I haven’t had time to process what it felt like to see Easton. Give me a few days, and I’ll be panicking. That’s my downfall, delayed reaction.
“How do you feel with him being back in town?” Abbie questions softly. Her voice is full of concern yet hopeful.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I haven’t had time to process. I’ve been puking and then eating my life away.”
“I’ll come over.”
“No, go have lunch with Finn, plan your wedding or whatever. I’m okay, I promise.”
“Faith…”
“I mean it, Abbie,” I cut her off.
“Okay, but if you need anything, call me,” she resigns.
“Thanks. I’ve got a documentary on the TV, and I’m pretty sure I’ve got some break and bake cookie dough in the fridge.”
“Call me,” she repeats. I tell her I will and hang up, bringing my knees to my chest and lying down on the couch.
I think I’m in shock. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d see Easton again. I’m not mad at him; our lives just went in different directions. But now…
Could we pick up where we left off? I allow myself a second to fantasize before I return to the present. For all I know, he has a girlfriend or a wife. I’m going to pretend that’s not a possibility.
His eyes are still the same gorgeous shade of green, bright and comforting. He looked the same, yet different. Stronger, taller, he filled out his clothes much more than before. Easton always had plenty of muscles to show off—a perk of ranching—but he was thinner. Now… Now, he’s all man.
He’s even more handsome than before, making my heart stop when I saw him. It felt…unreal. I spent the rest of high school and then early college dreaming that he’d return, that he’d show up on campus and surprise me. I’d catch myself daydreaming about this, preparing for when I saw him. But I never did. It was a silly thing to spend my time thinking about. Too many years had passed, and we were different people.