Page 64 of Untruly With You

“Oh, Sutton thought he was being really subtle when he told me about you. But I saw right through it.”

“After the date auction?”

“No, after your first day in his class.”

I snort. “What could he even have said? A girl showed up late. She was very annoying and kept begging me to tutor her.”

“Sutton did mention the late thing,” Magnolia chuckles. “But you can’t blame a guy with a color-coded planner for that. That’s not what stood out to me, though. No. Instead, it was how, even when he tried to keep it brief, the way he spoke about you made it clear that you intrigued him. Excited him. And it takes a lot to get Sutton excited, as you probably know. You were special from the beginning.”

I chew on her words, wanting so badly to believe them.

“Sutton doesn’t enjoy depending on others. But he needs you. It puts my mind at ease knowing that he’s loved, even when he’s away from home.” Magnolia nudges my shoulder, a playful lift at her mouth. “Maybe before too long it’ll be your wedding we’re preparing for.”

When I try to smile, my cheeks resist, like I’m trying to push the corners of my mouth through stone. A gnawing pull in my chest begs me to come clean, to face the stupid lie I dreamt up. But when I open my mouth to do so, I see Sutton's face, the shame that would cross his features if the truth came out.

We stay on that porch swing for what feels like a lifetime. Magnolia continues on with her dreaming. She talks about how, maybe someday, me and Sutton might return—or even move just a bit closer. She asks about the possibility ofcoming for holidays. She dreams that, if we have children, we will bring them here for visits, show them the ranch. Eventually, the guilt becomes too much, and I excuse myself to go to sleep.

Attempt to sleep, at least.

In the guest room, I pull all the curtains closed. But even without seeing it, I can still hear the hammering rain, the relentless thunder. A chill runs through me, and I grab the nearest thing to bundle in—Sutton’s well-loved cable-knit sweater. I can still smell his cologne, its musky ginger and hints of floral, and I breathe it in heavily.

Before long, it’s clear my mind won’t be slowing anytime soon. Though I should rest, especially after my restless sleep at the lake last night, I already know I won’t be able to relax enough to do so. Not with the shame, worry, and uncertainty raging through me, just as violent as the storm. I reach for the closest entertainment in sight, Sutton’s childhood copy ofPeter Pan, starting back at the first line:All children, except one, grow up.

28

SUTTON

Wells’words hang in the air, laden with unspoken pain. I stare at him, my mind racing to grasp the weight of what he just said.

“I don't understand,” I finally utter, my voice barely more than a whisper. “What truth?”

Waiting for Hank to be the one to confess, Wells stays quiet. All he does is place a hand behind my back, nudging me toward our father, still huddled under the canopy of pines.

Hank takes a shaky breath, and I see a vulnerability in his eyes that I've never witnessed before. “I have ALS.”

He says the words so simply it takes a moment for their true meaning to register. My mind whirls with disbelief and denial, but my father's blank gaze tells me that this is no cruel joke.

I take a step closer, saying the first stupid question that comes to mind. “Dad... Are you sure?”

Wells finally speaks, his voice filled with the grief he's been shouldering. “He was diagnosed six weeks ago, but he’s been showing signs for a long time now.”

My mind races, trying to make sense of the reality crashing down around us. My father, a pillar of strength and resilience, is now faced with something that will tear down that core center of his being. Within seconds, the ranch, the legacy, everything I thought I knew shifts. Things click into place.

The rushed wedding.

My mother’s and sister’s insistence that I come.

Wells’ unpredictable emotions.

My father gone so often for “appointments.”

His shakiness.

The dropped pie.

His exhaustion.

His anger.

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