Page 5 of The Rules We Broke
“I love you, Miss Ellie,” he whispered.
I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t quite sixteen. In my mind, we were too young to be in love. Don’t get me wrong, I felt deeply for him. He had become my best friend, and if ever I was going to be in love, it was going to be with him, but I couldn’t say it then.
I looked into his expectant eyes. “Oh, Brady.”
I thought he would be upset that I didn’t say it back, so I braced for his disappointment. But it never came. Instead, he smiled that sweet country boy smile as he ran his fingers through my long, brown, curled hair.
“Don’t worry, Ellie, you don’t have to say it back. I love us enough for the both of us.”
We spent the summer before our junior year the same way we had the previous one, lying by the riverbank in each other’s arms and swinging on that old tire swing, sometimes until the early morning hours. The only exception was that the kisses grew hotter and my fondness for Brady grew into love, but I didn’t tell him.
Holding those words back spared me some of the ever-present guilt I felt for lying constantly to my Aunt Lu. My Aunt Lu, who had just bought me a silver Mercedes convertible for my sixteenth birthday. She refused to be outdone by the Jacksons. This was the same Aunt Lu who told me every day that she loved me more than air and that I was more than a beautiful face.
And I believed her.
Which only made the secrets I was keeping harder to swallow.
Our junior year began, and Brady was getting lots of attention on the field. He was the most talented wide receiver our school had ever had, and recruiters from all across SEC land were frequenting our games. It was a waste, though, because his name had been down at the University of Alabama since before he was born. His blood ran crimson.
At least I could go to the games and cheer for him. There was one exception to the rules—and, naturally, it involved sports. It didn’t matter if you were on team Eaton or Jackson. When it came to the school team, you were expected to set aside family loyalties and cheer for victory.
I tried not to be too obvious in my support for Brady. But in my heart? I cheered loudest every time he caught the ball. And when he scored a touchdown, I swelled with pride no one could see.
I also worried the most. Maybe not more than his momma did—but when he got tackled and didn’t get up right away, my breath would hitch until he did.
By homecoming of junior year, Brady had finally had enough of sneaking around. I’d never forget standing at the refreshment table in my pale pink chiffon dress when he marched straight toward me—black suit, pale pink tie, and fire in his eyes.
Without hesitation, he took my hand and pulled me out to the center of the dance floor. I was too stunned to object. I just followed.
He held me close, right there in front of everyone. “I’m sorry, Ellie,” he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. “But I’m tired of pretending I don’t love you.”
How could a girl say no to that?Icouldn’t, because I loved him, too.
The dance became instantly silent, except for the music, as people realized what had just happened. It was like the world was ending and everyone was standing still to watch it. Brady didn’t care. He pulled me closer and smiled that country boy smile of his.
I rested my head on his chest and closed my eyes, needing his comfort and protection at that moment. I knew we were in for a whole lot of trouble.
When the song ended, he left no doubt that this wasn’t a one-time thing. Brady leaned down, cradled my face in his hands, and kissed me softly.
“I love us enough for the both of us,” he whispered.
I was pretty sure one of our chaperones fainted.
Well, that did it.
His parents and my Aunt Lu were called. We were marched out of the dance and straight to the church to meet with Pastor Norton—like we’d committed some scandalous crime. The way people reacted, you’d think the apocalypse had begun.
His momma was crying. His daddy’s face turned crimson, veins popping, and he unleashed every expletive in his vocabulary.
But I barely heard any of it.
I wasn’t concerned about them. I was only thinking about Aunt Lu. She didn’t yell. She didn’t cry. She stood there—stone quiet, lips pressed together, eyes full of hurt.
And that . . . that killed me.
I felt bad for Pastor Norton. Judging by his pajamas and bedhead, he’d clearly been fast asleep before getting the “emergency” call.
The moment we entered his office, Brady tried to sit beside me. His daddy didn’t let him. He yanked him right out of the chair and placed him next to his momma. It was just like it had always been in this town—the Eatons on the right, the Jacksons on the left.
