Page 30 of The Weight Of Falling
Joel’s gaze holds mine. “People call you Brown Oaks’s sweetheart, but there’s a fire in you most of them don’t see.”
“I don’t like that label,” I confess. “The town sweetheart.”
“I’m not surprised.”
There’s no edge in his voice, only honesty. It lands heavier than I expect. I swallow hard. A fire inside me? He’s mistaken. “Joel, you don’t know me.”
He doesn’t say anything. He simply watches me with that quiet, unnerving intensity. And then his mouth curves into a half-smile, like he’s slowly and meticulously peeling back the bright, shiny layers I show the world, until there’s nothing left but the truth I haven’t said out loud.
And that’s when the memory crashes in—me fisting his shirt in my hands, pulling him toward me, and running my hands over his body.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I don’t know me either.
I clear my throat and sit up a little straighter. “My turn.”
Wariness floods his face.
“Tell me about your family,” I say.
“That’s not a question,” he points out.
“You’re going to nitpick?”
“If it buys me time, yes.”
“Okay, then. What about your family? Are you close to them?”
His eyes flash away from mine. “My parents are dead. And I’m an only child.”
I stare at him, stricken. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine.” A few seconds tick by. He’s gazing into the middle distance, halfway here with me and halfway lost in his head. His flat, closed-off expression tells me this is not a subject he’s willing to explore further.
“What about you?” he asks finally, meeting my eyes. “Are you close to your family?”
I nod. “I get along really well with my parents.”
“Any siblings?”
“No.”
“So, you had a happy childhood?”
He asks it like he already knows the answer, but I nod anyway. “I did. My parents made sure of it.”
“I’m glad,” Joel says softly.
Something in his voice tells me his childhood was nothing like mine.
I press my lips together, trapping all the questions I want to ask, the ones I’m not quite brave enough to voice. It doesn’t matter, though. Our time is up.
10
Sobs keep catching in my throat as we step into the crowded lobby.
Joel half-raises his arm, as if to comfort me, then lets it drop to his side. It’s clear he has no idea what to do with me. To be fair, I’m not sure what to do with me either. For the life of me, I can’t seem to stop crying.
“Kenzie,” he says helplessly, looking torn between concern and amusement. “How can I help? What can I do?”
