Page 8 of The Rules We Broke
For a brief moment, life felt . . . perfect.
Then December came. And the unthinkable happened—at least in my world.
Brady’s daddy was diagnosed with lung cancer. Not a shock exactly—he smoked a pack a day, from what Brady said. But still, the news hit hard.
Brady was gutted. And I was gutted for him. I didn’t like the man, and he didn’t like me. But I would never wish that kind of pain on anyone.
I would never forget how Brady told me. He drove me out to old Tate Farm, parked in the middle of a barren cornfield. He brought blankets and hot chocolate.
We curled up in the bed of his truck, wrapped in each other and in silence. Then he broke. He began to cry. I’d never seen Brady cry before.
I held him as tight as I could. “I love you,” I whispered. “I promise it’ll be okay.”
He clutched me even tighter. “I love you, Ellie.”
Under the circumstances, I wanted to get Brady something for Christmas that said, “I love you, and I’ll always be there for you.” I wanted to ask my aunt for her opinion because she was an amazing gift giver, but that would be like pouring alcohol into an open wound.
Eventually, I came up with something that conveyed what I felt. I couldn’t wait to give it to him. We had planned on meeting at the old tire swing late Christmas night after we spent the day with our families, but I had a surprise Christmas evening when our doorbell rang, and it was Brady.
He had never been to our home. He knew the rules. But maybe because it was Christmas, or maybe because his daddy was sick, or maybe because she knew what was coming, Aunt Lu let him stay.
I was so thrilled he was there, I didn’t notice at first—he wasn’t acting like himself.
I took his hand and led him to the drawing room, where the fireplace crackled and the twelve-foot Christmas tree sparkled in soft, golden light. Beneath it sat the present I’d wrapped for him. I picked it up and sat cross-legged in front of the fire. He satbeside me. And before I could say a word, he pulled me into him. The gift smashed between us.
Then he kissed me like he never had before.
It was like a man kissing a woman, not a boy kissing a girl.
His fingers threaded into my hair, and his lips found mine with a kind of desperation—like he needed the taste of me to steady himself. It wasn’t tentative. It was slow and deep and unflinching.
His breath was warm and uneven.
Mine stuttered into silence.
I melted into him, heart pounding beneath my Christmas dress as his hand found the small of my back and held me like I might vanish.
While he tasted and explored, I silently begged for the moment to never end.
When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against mine, his breath as ragged as mine.
“Wow. Merry Christmas,” I stuttered. That kiss was present enough for me.
He leaned away just enough and smiled that country boy smile I loved so much.
But it was then I noticed something was off. His smile didn’t touch his eyes like it always had.
“What’s wrong, Brady?”
He tugged on a strand of my hair. “Ellie…” My name sounded fragile on his lips.
I didn’t like it. Something wasn’t right.
“Brady?” The knot forming in my stomach tightened.
He took a deep breath, his baby blues lowering, avoiding my gaze. “We can’t be together anymore,” he blurted.
I shook my head, hoping I’d misunderstood, but I knew I hadn’t.
