Page 33 of Untruly With You

I assumed she would be the opposite of me, likely because I’m the last person in the world I can imagine Sutton truly liking. Turns out, I wasn’t far off. She’s not blonde like I pictured her. Instead, Cassidy has copper hair that hangs almost to her butt. It’s not vibrant or full-force—no Hayley Williams circa 2008. Rather, it’s so light it’s almost peach. While I’m short and curvy, Cassidy is tall and thin. Her complexion is like printer paper compared to my tawny amber skin, and freckles dot across every inch of her face. Even in our features, we're stark contrasts: she’s a gentle doe with her wide, expansive eyes and button-like nose, while I bear more resemblance to a fox with my slightly upturned and narrower eyes.

It’s hard not to feel self-conscious standing ten feet away from her. Not only because she’s gorgeous, but also because she was Sutton’s first, longest, and possibly only love.

I can’t force myself to look away from Cassidy, but I don’t think she’s even noticed me yet. The second we came through the door, her eyes landed on Sutton and haven’t yet moved. His palm has gone limp in mine, and when I releasemy grip on it, his arm falls lifelessly at his side. Meanwhile, Frankie tightens her grip around my hand.

“Sutton,” Cassidy exhales, her round lips tilting into a sideways smile. She has the voice of a Disney princess. All at the same time, she approaches Sutton, he approaches her, and Frankie and I step back until we’re in the doorframe.

I’m not sure how long Sutton and Cassidy stand there staring at each other, but eventually, she reaches out for him and draws herself against his chest, wrapping her arms up around him. Sutton stands motionless for a moment, but then he follows her lead, his broad frame towering over her. My mouth goes dry.

Suddenly feeling like I’m intruding, I walk backward off the porch, nearly tripping on the steps, and briskly make my way across the lawn. Frankie is close behind, rambling on about how the hug is surely harmless.

“It’s fine,” I say through a plastered-on smile.

Yeah, itisfine, I remind myself.

“What’s going on?” Wells asks, his grin fading as he reads our expressions.

“Nothing!” Frankie and I say in unison, a bit too quickly.

Wells’ face drops, and his eyes dart over to the cherry-red truck in front of the house. Without another word, he takes off toward the house. I can practically see the steam coming from his ears,Tom and Jerrystyle.

Frankie and I watch Wells, our feet planted in the grass, too nervous to be right in the action, too engrossed to walk away. Wells gets to the open door, stands in the frame for one short second, and retreats the way he came, slamming the door so hard the glass windowpanes in it shake.

Not long after, Sutton is running out the back door behind him. Our eyes lock for a moment, and he gives me this torn look. He continues forward, catching up to Wells at the far fence. Frankie and I watch, motionless. Even from adistance, the tension sparks, like a lightning storm we’re watching on the horizon.

We can't hear what Sutton says, but everyone in the bunkhouse can probably hear Wells’ response.“You can’t explain your way out of this one. I saw you with her!”

“It was ahug,” Sutton insists, now almost as loud as his brother, his flaring his fingers at his sides.

“Is that what you call it?” Wells spits back. His words come faster, rambling together. “You know, you can claim that you aren’t hung up on my fiancée, you can bring a new girl to the ranch and parade around like you’re Prince Charming, but that wasn’t a ‘friend’ hug. You’ve had six years to move on, Sutton. It’s over. She. Chose. Me.”

“Yeah, she chose you because I wasn't around anymore. Shesettledfor you.” As soon as he says it, Sutton’s mouth stays open, surprised at his own words.

Frankie audibly gasps.

“I—I didn’t mean that…” Sutton stammers. His words hang in the air like a heavy cloud. I’m stunned, never before hearing Sutton be harsh. I didn’t think he had an ounce of his father in him.

Wells shakes his head in disbelief, his hands balling into fists. “No. She chose me because she was tired of being with a depressed wet blanket.” Wells stomps toward Sutton, and for a moment, I worry that he’ll take a swing. But then, he marches right by, his shoulder crashing against Sutton’s so hard he stumbles back.

For a moment, Sutton does nothing. He just stands, one hand covering his face. Then, he takes off in the opposite direction, around the house. I take a few minutes to collect my thoughts before trailing behind him. Frankie, meanwhile, follows Wells.

As I walk around the back of the house, I hear a steady rhythm.Crack.Pause. Crack.Pause.When I get around thecorner, I see Sutton, his back toward me, placing a log atop a cut-off tree trunk. He’s shed his dusty white t-shirt, and as he brings an axe behind him, I can see every defined muscle in his back tighten. Lifting the axe up high, he swings it down on the log, splitting it in half. He continues this for a few minutes, splitting the wood until a small pile has formed at his feet. And I continue watching.

It’s quite pathetic, really, how easy it is to forget what just happened when I’m watching Sutton chop wood. It’s like I’m watching a Calvin Klein ad. A heavy feeling settles in my stomach, and I can’t seem to look away.

There’s a raw intensity to his movements. Each swing of the axe is a release of frustration.

My boots crunch on the ground as I take another step toward Sutton. He must hear it because he pauses, axe in mid-air, and turns to face me. His expression is broken. Vulnerable.

“Laine,” Sutton says, his voice rougher than usual.

My eyes betray me, flitting down to his chest. His front is even more impressive than his back. On his ribcage, just under the muscles of his chest, he has a tattoo of the same symbol that was above the ranch’s main gate, the same symbol branded on the cows. The S with the curved lines above and below it. Silver Ridge Ranch has always been a part of him, and I just didn’t realize that until now.

I take a tentative step closer. “Sutton, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry you had to see that. The hug…it meant nothing.”

“So I’ve heard,” I hum.

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