Page 83 of Sunshine

He jogs toward the cabin and slips inside. It’s less than two minutes before he’s back out the door, a stack of thick blankets and pillows in hand. He leads me around the side of the cabin and out toward the mustang pasture, quietly pushing through the gate in the fence line. We keep walking for another fifty yards until he stops, looking around. “This’ll do,” he says to himself.

He lowers the stack of linens into the grass, taking the blanket from the top and spreading it open on the ground. He arranges both pillows and tells me to lie down. When I do, he covers me in the other thick blanket before crawling in next to me, wrapping me tightly in his arms.

“Look,” he says softly, eyes on the sky.

I look up and see thousands of stars, all sparkling in the dark. “Wow,” I say on an exhale. “Do you think he’s up there?”

I don’t even realize what I’ve asked until I do.

Wells stills, and then tightens his hold around me. “Yeah,” he answers. “I do.”

“Do you think he’s mad at us?”

His chin swipes along the top of my scalp as he shakes his head. “No, sunshine,” he murmurs. And I try to let that sink in.

“I hope not,” I whisper.

“I think,” he says, “that Jason isn’t suffering anymore. That whatever struggles he had to bear during his life . . . they’re gone now. He’s at peace. And despite everything, I know he loved us both. So I like to think it would bring him some comfort to know we’ve found the same in each other.”

I turn my head to face him, and he shifts onto his shoulderto look down at me. “Do you think this is only happening because we miss him?” I dare to ask.

He stares at me for a long time before blowing out a soft breath. And then he shakes his head. “I can’t speak for you. I—I don’t know what your feelings are. You’re going to have to find that answer for yourself, but . . .” He trails off, looking away. And I can sense it, the emotional distance he’s creating between us. “I know how I feel.”

The words he spoke only days ago crash back into me.

I’ve loved you every day since the first time I laid eyes on you, Layla Hayes.

IlovedJason. I loved him with my whole heart. And I hated you because I loved youmore.

If we do this, it’s going to mean something to me.

I watch his throat roll with a swallow as his eyes skim the trees in the distance. Do I love him?Of course I do, I tell myself. But . . . is it the kind of love that he’s talking about? The kind that’s all-consuming, body and soul? The kind thatreallymeans forever?

I want to tell him I’m not sure, that I still have so much to figure out about my life. I’m going back to New York in less than a week—a topic we’ve both been avoiding. I want to tell him that he’ll always be important to me. That what he wants out of lifematters.

I taste the words on my tongue, but before I have a chance to say any of them, Wells props himself up on an elbow. “Look,” he says, pointing.

I push up too and follow the line of his extended finger, finding the silhouettes of four horses in the distance. Even under the blanket of night, I recognize the gleaming spots on her back. “Stardust,” I whisper.

“She knows you’re here,” he says. And I wonder if it’s true. If it’s the same bone-deep understanding that lets him know Jason is, too.

I smile as I lean into his shoulder, breathing him in. And when he wraps his arm around me and pulls me in close, I realize that no matter what happens between us, we’ll always have the love we share for them.

CHAPTERTHIRTY-FOUR

THEN

I’ve never been one to make a New Year’s resolution. I find the whole idea of it to be nothing more than a personal setup, a way to let yourself down when said resolution falls by the wayside. I’ve watched my mother make one every year for my whole life—promises to herself that she’ll spend more time outside, more time with Annie and me. That she’ll finally get around to planning a family vacation to Florida or California or Hawaii.

But every year her promises grow cold, fading into the background of her busy life. Always forgotten. If she ever remembers to be disappointed, she doesn’t show it. But I know myself well enough to know that disappointment would run deep, so I avoid the whole thing altogether.

Jason, on the other hand, thinks resolutions are a chance to change what hegetsout of the world around him. For instance, last year he’d made one to get laid more. Which, obviously with the logistics of his residence at Texas A&M and my big move toNew York City to attend NYU, meant he inevitably didn’t get what he wanted.

But boy, did he try.

Don’t get me wrong, I like sex for exactly what it is—a means of mutual pleasure, an opportunity to share something personal and vulnerable with someone you love. But to Jason . . . I guess sometimes I feel like sex is a third party to our relationship, another entity to make considerations for and compromises with.

We all made our way home to Saddlebrook Falls over a week ago for Christmas break, and Jason and I still haven’t found an opportunity for some . . .alonetime. The days seem to go by in a flash—Annie is twelve now, and we spend nearly every day cuddled together on the couch in our festive pajamas, watching holiday rom-coms and eating Mom’s famous Christmas cookies. She’s growing up so fast, and being away from her during these formative years is a constant ache that never settles.

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