Page 130 of The Lilac River

I held her tighter.

"I usually watch it from the porch, but I didn’t want to be far from you," I said. "And once the sun’s up, I’m carrying you back inside. Because I’m not done loving you yet."

She smiled.

"Don’t you dare go easy on me," she whispered.

"Never, Lila," I breathed. "Not even a little."

She giggled and smacked my chest lightly. "Ssh. It’s about to rise."

And in that soft, golden silence, we waited for the sun.

And listened together for the hiss.

Chapter 46

Reckoning – Whiskey Myers

Nash

Twelve Years Ago

The sun was sinking behind the mountains, casting the lavender fields in a haze of gold and violet. The colors stretched across the land like a painting, each stalk glowing in the low light, swaying gently in the warm Colorado breeze. The scent of lavender thickened the air, heady and calming, but I was anything but calm. My palms were sweaty, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest, and my mind a scrambled mess of everything I wanted to say and everything I was too terrified to.

I’d been working up the courage for weeks now.

Taking Lily home from school, finding excuses to sit next to her at lunch, inventing reasons to show up wherever she was. Whether it was in the library, the bleachers, or by the vending machines. And every time, I’d make her laugh until she clutched her sides and begged me to stop, and that laugh, it wrecked me.Every single time. It made my stomach do that weird flip thing I didn’t know how to describe. Like gravity didn’t apply when she was around.

It had been exactly forty-three days since Lily Jones walked into history class, slid into the seat next to mine, and tilted my entire world on its axis.

Forty-three days of watching the way her eyes lit up when she talked about books. Forty-three days of noticing the way her nose crinkled when she was concentrating. Forty-three days of wanting her and not knowing how to tell her.

“Look!” she said suddenly, pointing toward the horizon. Her voice was a soft breath of awe, like the moment had caught her off guard. “The sunset. That’s what they call the golden hour. And, you know if you listen carefully to the sun rising, you can hear the hiss when it hits the sky.”

I turned to look, but I wasn’t really looking at the sunset.

I was looking at her.

“Is that right?” I murmured.

We were sitting on the back of my truck, legs dangling over the edge, parked just at the edge of the lavender fields. She’d mentioned wanting to see them, had said she’d never seen anything like it before. Had never been on a ranch at all. I’d jumped at the chance to bring her here, to my favorite spot, this quiet little edge of the world that felt more like home than the house ever did since Mom died.

She swung her legs back and forth, her sneakers brushing against mine every so often. She was wearing a pale yellow tank and a white skirt, soft and fluttery, that made her skin glow like honey. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders in loose, sunlit waves, catching the last light of day. She looked like something out of a movie, ethereal, unreal. Too perfect to be sitting beside me on an old truck bed with dirt under my nails and sweat on my brow.

“Thanks for bringing me here,” she said quietly. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” I said, because apparently that was all I could remember how to say. Yeah.

Idiot.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and turned to look at me, her head tilted. “What are you staring at? Do I have something on my face?”

“No,” I managed, voice dry. “You’re just…” I paused, swallowing hard. “You’re so damn pretty.”

Her cheeks flushed a soft pink, and she ducked her head, but I caught the smile she was trying to hide behind her hair.

“Is that why you keep finding reasons to hang out with me?” she asked, her voice quiet but playful, teasing.

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