Page 15 of Sunshine

“Hold on a minute, bug. On the way to where?”

I freeze—I don’t want to tell her I’m going to Wells Bennett’s house. The Bennetts have a . . . reputation in this town. “He wants to introduce me to some of the guys on the team.”

Her head tilts in consideration. “It’s not a party, is it?”

“No, not a party. Just a few friends.”

She makes a show of pursing her lips, but I already know I have her.

“Be home by eleven, okay?”

I nod. “Yes ma’am.”

Jason picksme up a half hour later, tearing out of my neighborhood with a loud squeal of his tires. I slap him on the arm, knowing I’ll hear about that from Mom when I get home, but I can’t help but smile as he reaches to tug on a wave of my still-damp hair. He came up to my front door to get me this time, dazzling my mother with his good southern manners. But the second we turned away from the house and heard the door latch shut, he nuzzled into my neck with a smallgrowl. “I like you with wet hair,” he said low, his breath catching along the curve of my ear.

It warmed me from the inside out.

We drive to the other side of town where there’s nothing but wide-open farmland on either side of the two-lane road. I’ve never known where the Bennett family lives, but I do know that for generations they’ve run some sort of horse ranch, so it makes sense that it would be in the outskirts. I don’t know much about their family other than the gossip that’s trickled around over the years—mostly about a cluster of rowdy and lawless boys who will do just about anything for a thrill, and their angry, drunk father who’s been arrested on numerous occasions. But when those boys aren’t galavanting around town in the middle of the night getting into trouble, the family mostly keeps to themselves.

Jason snakes his mustang down a windy dirt road before a wooden gate comes into view. It’s propped open, fastened to the fence that lines the side of the road with an old rope. We drive through, and before long the road curves to the right toward a white house with huge windows flanked by beautiful black shutters. It’s the biggest house I’ve ever seen, surrounded by bright green grass and a garden of colorful flowers . . . and what looks like a horse corral.

It must be a horse corral, because someone is sitting on a horse inside of it.

Half a dozen cars are parked in a row along the tree-line on the other side of the house, and Jason drives toward it to park next to an older Chevy Impala. Something about the horse in the corral snags at my attention, so I crane my neck to look out of the back windshield of the car to get a better look. I can barely see what’s going on but . . . I think the horse is trying tobuck the rider off of it. “Is he okay?” I ask, nerves flaring through me.

But Jason just softly chuckles, like my worry isn’t necessary. “Oh yeah, everything’s fine.” He shoots me a quick wink. “Let’s go.”

I can hear whoops and hollering as we near the edge of the corral. People are crowded around watching the rider do his best to hold on, and I can’t stop myself from hurtling forward, still not convinced that something isn’t wrong.

As I get closer, I realize it’s Wells on the horse. His face is twisted in fierce concentration as he holds tight to dark leather reins, the chestnut horse bucking wildly beneath him. His hips bounce up and off the saddle, but he sinks back into it every time the horse lands on its feet, his corded arms straining as his thighs work to keep himself seated.

“What’s he doing?”

Jason smiles next to me, shoulders lifting in a nonchalant shrug. “Riding.”

I turn my attention back to Wells, to his dusty black T-shirt and old backward hat. Something hangs out of the corner of his mouth as the horse continues to twist and kick, and I feel entranced by it all. I’ve seen plenty of horses in my life—this is Texas after all—but I’ve never seen anything like this outside of the rodeo competitions on TV that Barry sometimes watches.

“He’s winding down,” a man with a dark brown cowboy hat calls out from the other side of the corral. In the bending sunlight, he looks a lot like Wells. Maybe a few years older—one of his brothers, I’d guess. There are five of them in total, and they’re all known for their bad behavior.

According to town lore their dad, Bud Bennett, lost the use of his legs in a rodeo accident over a decade ago. Hebecame somewhat of a recluse after it happened, avoiding going into town as much as he could and finding solace from his loss at the bottom of the bottle. My mom said before his accident, you could find him at the center of barroom brawls.

After Bud’s accident, his sons had to step up and run the ranch. There are whispers about what the Bennetts mightreallydo here, scandalous theories of a secret drug ring or a barn full of stolen property. It’s why I was hesitant to tell my mom I was coming here tonight—I knew what she’d say. But sometimes I wonder if any of those stories are really to be believed. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re nothing but a convenient way for the townsfolk to peddle convenient narratives about a family they don’t understand.

“Yep,” is all Wells says back, eyes still focused on the horse beneath him. One of his hands stays in the air, as if to keep himself balanced.

His brother is right—the horse begins to slow, his kicks bursting less frequently and with less energy until he eventually starts trotting around the perimeter of the space. “Good,” he calls back out. “Let’s bring him in.” He pushes off the fence to unlatch a gate that’s built into it, shooting an obvious glare toward this side of the corral where a group of football players continue to jeer. I realize most of them have a beer in their hand. I don’t recognize the girls with them, but they eye me curiously as Jason palms the small of my back to steer me closer.

“Hey, everyone,” Jason greets. “This is Layla.”

“That was fast,” one of the girls says, a tall beauty in a bright green crop-top. “Michelle’s body isn’t even cold, and you’re already parading around a new one?”

Heat burns my cheeks as Jason’s grip on me tightens. “Always a flair for the dramatics, huh Stassi?”

Stassi grins. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

“Knock it off, Stass,” says a dark-haired boy in a letterman jacket that matches Jason’s, and he hooks an arm around her. She looks at him with innocent eyes and he plants a chaste kiss on her temple. “Behave,” he murmurs into her ear.

“It’s nice to meet you, Layla.” Another boy with a mop of blond curls greets me, holding a hand out for me to shake. “I’m Brad. And this is my girlfriend, Erin.” He gestures to the smaller blonde to his left who gives me a wide smile.

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