Page 57 of A Surefire Love
“Your parents have a thing for unusual names, don’t they?” She pulled her legs up onto the cushion and nestled into the corner. Then, she stiffened. “Wait. Was?”
He nodded.
“Oh.” Lips parted, she leaned her elbows on her knees, shifting close enough that he could touch her shoulder if he straightened his fingers. “I’m sorry, Anson.” Sincerity rang in her tone, as clear as any note she’d ever sung.
He rubbed his thumb against the couch cushion. “Carter reminds me a lot of him. That’s one reason I’ve been trying so hard to reach him.”
“How are they alike?”
“Gury was a popular athlete too.” A chuckle rose. “He also had a pesky little brother who looked up to him more than he knew.”
She smiled gently. “You’re Dylan in this story?”
“Yes and no. Unlike Dylan, I’ve always been pretty serious and dedicated to the rules. But Gury told me once that I could be good or I could be cool. After that, being cool was my compass in all decisions related to him. I didn’t tattle when he pulled pranks or came in after curfew. Sometimes, I covered for him.
“Mom and Dad found out some of what he was up to, though. That’s how he ended up grounded toward the end of my seventh-grade year, his eleventh.” Anson hesitated. He could share the version of the story he’d told before or the version he’d long since classified. He chose the familiar path.
“He snuck out anyway to go to a party at a state park. That area is known for some steep bluffs. When our family went hiking there, I remember feeling nervous on the overlooks. There’s no fence or anything, just rocks jutting outuntil there’s nothing but turkey vultures drafting on the air currents.
“A couple of hours after Gury left, I was up in my room when Mom made this noise unlike anything I’ve ever heard. It was a wail, I guess.” He clenched his jaw as the memory played. His aching throat turned his voice gritty as he continued. “Gury fell from one of the bluffs. He was drunk. Goofing around. Died instantly.”
“Anson. I’m so sorry.” She reached across the distance and laid her hand over his forearm.
He stared down at her hand. He longed to hold her, but more than that, he wanted to be held so he wouldn’t fall into the abyss of these memories. He swallowed hard. “You asked once who I lost. He’s the answer.”
She scooted closer, her knee resting on his thigh as she encircled his hand with both of hers. Her warmth convicted him. The cost of true connection was truth. He’d been alone or faked his way through relationships for too long. She deserved the whole truth. The full version.
“But it …” He cleared his throat. “It gets worse.”
Her hold on him tightened.
“When my parents discovered he’d snuck out—before the accident—they asked me where he was. I lied and said I didn’t know, but I heard him and his girlfriend talking.” Anson had sobbed as he confessed to his parents later that night. After more than a decade, he hadn’t expected his eyes to sting over it. “If I’d told the truth—”
“No.” Shaking her head, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her cheek moved against his ear. “We’ll never know the alternate paths our lives might’ve taken if some detail had changed, but your brother is responsible for his own choices.”
She shifted back, placing one hand on either side of his face and forcing eye contact.
As if he could look away.
“Do you have any idea how many things I’ve done to be cool or to fit in or to not rock the boat?” Instead of waiting for an answer, she enveloped him in another hug.
And just like that, she joined him in the abyss with all of her light.
He dipped his chin to her shoulder and let his eyes shut as he inhaled. Her hair smelled like flowers, and her arms around him felt like lifelines. She rubbed her hand over his shoulder blade. Seconds ticked toward the moment the embrace had to end, and his gut churned in protest.
When she sat back and drew her hands into her lap, he clenched his teeth.
He wanted more. More than a hug. More than friendship. Did she?
“When we got interrupted on Saturday, I thought the deal might be off. Thank you for trusting me.” Seated sideways, she tipped her head against the couch back. “What did Greg want, anyway? He sounded so urgent.”
The question pulled him back from the brink of confessing his feelings. His emotions were raw and strong right now, prone to prompting actions he’d later regret. Besides, it was getting late, and Blaze had been tired to begin with. This was not the time to make a move.
“A few families have left MOBC. Greg and I both reached out, but when people leave a church, they don’t tend to return pastors’ phone calls. Eric Newsome had coffee with two of the men who left with their families. He met with Greg Saturday morning to relay that their coffee clutchdetermined I don’t have the personality to be a good youth pastor.”
Blaze’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“I’m too serious and strict, and if I leave, they’ll consider coming back.”
