Page 8 of Redemption

I barely make it to my gate in time because, of course, I’m flagged by TSA for additional inspection. I’m the last person to board, and my seat is in the back of the plane, so I have to fight through the sick feeling in my stomach as hundreds of curious eyes look me over as I walk down the aisle. Once I’m finally seated with my seat belt securely fastened, I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. I know once I arrive at the ranch, there’ll be a whole new set of shock, pity, and questions I’ll have to endure, but the weight that’s been crushing my chest all these years finally feels a bit lighter.

Chapter Five

Presley

– Age 13

“Great job today, girl.”

I close Magnolia’s stall door and hang her halter on the hook. Beck finishes stalling his mare, Cinnamon, and meets me at the end of the stable. Cinnamon isn’t technically Beck’s, but she’s taken a liking to him. He assisted his dad with her delivery a few years back, and they bonded right away.

Beck removes his snapback and runs a hand over his head. “Do you know what your mom’s cookin’ for dinner tonight?”

Beck’s dad works late this time of year, so my mom insists he eats dinner with us every night. Then, she sends him home with leftovers for his dad. She’s the ultimate mother hen—you’re going to get a hot, home-cooked meal every evening whether you like it or not. Beck never seems to mind, though. I swear that boy does nothing but eat these days.

“Meatloaf and mashed potatoes, I think.”

He gives me a crooked smile. Dang, he’s cute when he does that.

“My favorite.”

I roll my eyes. “Everything’s your favorite nowadays, as long as it’s in your belly.”

Beck’s gotten really tall over the summer—way taller than most boys our age. He says it’s from my mom’s cooking.

He rubs his stomach. “I’m a man, Pres. A man needs to eat a lot to have enough fuel to work on the ranch.”

I laugh. “You’re getting ahead of yourself, a little bit, don’t ya think? You’re thirteen, Beckett. Not thirty.”

“Close enough.” He smirks.

“Have you ever kissed a girl? With tongue?”

He sputters a little from my abrupt change in topic. “Why do you ask?”

I shrug. “I dunno. Most of my friends are kissin’ boys already. I guess I wanted to see what all the fuss is about.”

He props a boot against the wall and leans back. “Well, I couldn’t tell ya because I haven’t done it. You’re the only girl I ever spend time with.”

My toes curl inside my boots. I didn’t think Beck had kissed another girl, because like he said, he’s always with me, but it could’ve happened at school or something. I see how some of the girls look at him. Okay, most of the girls.

“Well, then we should kiss and see what’s so special about it.”

“W-What?” He pulls the hat over his head again. “Uh… I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Pres.”

I tap my toe in irritation. “Well, why not?”

“You’re my best friend, Presley. Friends don’t go around kissing each other.”

“What the heck is wrong with you, Beckett?” I throw my hands up. “Why have you been actin’ so strange lately?”

He hooks his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans and rocks back on his heels. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve been friends for eight years, and you’ve never been this way before. Every time I want to hold your hand, or hug you, or go swimmin’—things we’ve always done—you act weird like I gross you out or something.”

“You definitely don’t gross me out,” he mumbles.

“Well, then what’s the problem? Is this because I got my period? Because I’m gettin’ boobs?”

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