The Natural History of Us (24 page)

Peyton's
family was weird. They were very nice, extremely welcoming, and over the top supportive of each other.

Like I said, really weird.

They'd treated me like one of their own all weekend—much to the chagrin of that horse boy, Cade. The dude had it bad for Peyton, that much was obvious, but he'd been too much of a chicken-shit to step up to the plate. Now I was here, and too bad for him, I owned the plate. And Coach loved me.

I'd been his sous chef, whatever the hell that was, at the annual fish fry on Friday. He taught me his secret trick to keep the batter from falling off. Then this morning, he had me join him behind the grill, prepping the big family Easter meal.

And by big, I meant
big
.

Who knew someone could have so many relatives? Since my grandparents died, it'd just been Dad, Annabeth, Chase, and me. There were no cousins or aunts and uncles running around. No close family friends wearing the honorary title, either. Peyton, though, she had it all. Brothers, sisters-in-
law, nieces and nephews, aunts and uncles, cousins like you wouldn't believe. Both sets of grandparents, and even a set of great-grandparents, were sitting off in the shade.

What would it have been like to grow up with that much love around you? What would it feel like to know that many people had your back?

It was unfathomable to me.

Even weirder than the legions of relatives taking over the dining and family rooms were the Williams' family traditions. Apparently, Mrs. Grace was from south Louisiana, and there it was common practice to smash brightly-colored Easter eggs for fun in some type of battle royal. They called it
pocking
. I called it strange.

Peyton's great-grandfather had been the first to rumble, squaring up against her three-year-old nephew Baylor. The two got all serious about it, too, going squinty-eyed and lining up the pointy end of the chosen eggs in their hand. Then, at some unheard cue, Baylor smashed his egg against the old man's. Since his egg wasn't cracked, he'd been declared the victor.

I couldn't make this stuff up.

My Easter tradition? Waking up, spoiling Chase rotten with chocolate, then helping him into a monkey suit for church, so Dad could make his annual appearance. Afterward, I'd lock myself in my room for a nap. At some point, Rosalyn would swing by fresh from her own family's celebration and leave me a covered plate of food.

“Justin, what's it like playing ball for my old man?”

I blinked away the memories, and focused on Peyton's brother Lars. “It's awesome,” I told him honestly, and Peyton squeezed my thigh under the table. “The man knows his shi—” I quickly glanced at the young girl across from me and corrected myself. “His stuff.”

Lars's wife Susan smiled at me as she scooped potato salad on little Eva's plate.

“He's one of my best players,” Coach interrupted from the head of the table. “Justin's on JV, but I can already tell, the boy's gonna be unstoppable.”

The tips of my ears grew warm and I stared down at my plate. Normally, I got off on praise. God knows I never heard stuff like that from my own Dad, and making Coach Williams proud was what I lived for these days. But here, surrounded by Peyton's family, it sort of made me uncomfortable. Which made absolutely no sense.

“One of my friends played for Dad back when I went to Fairfield.” This came from Jesse, Peyton's other brother. “He ended up getting drafted and got to play a few years in the majors. Think you'll want to go to college, or try pro straight out of the gate?”

I shifted in my seat, mutilating the linen napkin in my lap. Despite the chaos of bodies, the
clink
of silverware, and the soft music in the background, it seemed like all eyes were on me. Waiting to hear what I'd say.

“Well, I—”

“He'll have his pick,” Coach predicted for me. “As long as he listens to instruction, as he's been doing, and keeps working hard, he's got the stuff. I can feel it.”

He met my gaze with a proud smile and a weird sensation tightened my chest.

“On the field, scouts look at two things,” he said, lifting a hand and counting them off on his meaty fingers. “Field position and batting average. But what happens off the field is just as important. Keep your grades up, stay out of trouble. No problems with the law or too much disciplinary crap in school, stay away from drugs and alcohol.” His wise gaze sharpened. “And stay the hell away from steroids.”

“Dan!” Mrs. Grace scolded, swinging her widened gaze toward the children. “Language.”

Not wanting to laugh, I rolled my lips between my teeth.
Hell
was probably the least offensive thing I'd heard slip from his mouth when he got going, but I wasn't about to bust him for it. Seeing his sweet wife put the tough old man in his place, however, was classic and I wished the guys were here.

I looked at Coach nodded, letting him know I heard what he'd said.

Steroids were no secret around sports, especially baseball. There'd been talk around the locker room, but so far, I'd yet to see anyone actually dope up. I was glad, too, because that shit was stupid. One of the best things about baseball was how pure the sport was. Unlike everything else in my life, it was straightforward, honest, and fun. Drugs had no part in that.

“I'm sure Justin doesn't want to be beat over the head with sports talk,” Mrs. Grace said, sliding me a wink. “You boys do enough of that at school. Today's a holiday, for Pete's sake, one celebrating the season of redemption and life, and this year, we have a lot to be thankful for.”

She swung a pointed look toward Peyton and the entire room took a collective breath.

Beside me, Sunshine clenched my hand.

I was no expert on women. Sure, I knew how to get their attention, how to make them blush, and how to turn them on. But I didn't pretend to understand what made them tick. Peyton, though, I was starting to know her.

She hated being the center of attention, especially because of her illness. She hated looking weak. Maybe it was because I hadn't known her before she got sick, or when she was in the hospital, but the girl I saw was far from fragile. The Peyton I knew was strong. She was beautiful, smart, and carried herself with grace, even with her occasional limp. When she cared about someone, she did it with her whole heart.

Even when they didn't deserve it.

Trapping her hand on my thigh, I linked our fingers and gave them a squeeze. Her eyes met mine from beneath her lashes, her long strawberry blonde hair masking a grateful smile. It was like a jolt of Red Bull to the heart.

“Who's ready for volleyball?” Sandra asked suddenly, and Peyton glanced away.

I frowned at Jesse's wife as a dozen folding chairs screeched across the wooden floor. “Volleyball?”

“Yep. Another fun Williams' tradition,” she answered with a grin. “We sure do have a lot of them, huh?”

“That's an understatement.” I tossed my napkin on an empty plate and turned to Peyton. “Did I miss a volleyball court somewhere on the ranch?”

“Nah, only sissies play on a real court,” she teased, her pink lips curving in a smile. “We don't even use a regulation ball. We play with a blown up Dora the Explorer beach ball and the only rule is to keep it airborne for as long as possible. We don't even use a real net or keep score.”

“How do you know who wins?”

Peyton laughed and poked me in the ribs. “It's not always about winning, you know. Besides, it's hard to worry about that when everyone's playing, including my toddler nephew and ninety-year-old great-grandfather. It's just fun, Justin. You do remember fun, right?”

What was the point of a game with no winner… and why would anyone want to play it?

Coach's belly laugh trailed behind him and I shook my head in wonder. The man was even more competitive than I was, and he actually agreed to this? Sure enough, when we walked outside, there he was, standing out on the pseudo court wearing a big happy smile and holding a fluorescent pink beach ball in his calloused hands.

If the guys could only see this
.

The makeshift net was a tree branch, and the family broke into roughly equal numbers on either side. I ended up with Peyton, her dad, her brother Jesse, her nieces Eva and Jennifer, and her seventy-two-year-old grandmother, Velma, who I quickly learned was a feisty old woman with a wicked serve.

I tried my best to stay in the moment. I truly did. I volleyed. I served. I even laughed at the complete ridiculousness of the game. When the huge ball came toward Eva, I hoisted her up and helped her nail it right in her dad's face. He wasn't real impressed, but she giggled like a banshee.

But, after about twenty minutes, it got to be too much.

Fourteen years of lonely Easters rushed over me. Christmases and birthdays with a card, a few hundred dollar bills, and one year even a new Jeep, one that I couldn't even drive for another two years—but no hugs, no laughter. No love. Nights spent lying awake cursing Hollywood for the happy family crap they sold each year. Knowing it was a scam just to make a buck.

How was I to know that it wasn't? That the whole time, Peyton and her family had been here, living that reality.

I couldn't wrap my brain around the unfairness of it all.
Every
kid should have this. Families who spent time together. Who had traditions and memories and laughed at inside jokes. Families who celebrated holidays and didn't leave for vacation without one of its members… or if they did, they at least missed that person while they were gone.

Everything hit me at once. My chest squeezed so tight, my ribs ached. I couldn't breathe. My pulse began a painful tattoo inside my head, my temples felt like they were caving in, and I realized… I was about to cry.

Like a bitch, I was about to totally lose my shit in front of Peyton's entire family.

Without a word, I took off.

“Justin!”

I couldn't look back. No way could I face her like this. A pitiful excuse for a guy sobbing over stupid shit. It was embarrassing, it was painful, and it wasn't her fault—but right now, I needed to take it out on someone, and I'd die before I let that be her.

I waved a hand at the question in Peyton's voice and screamed, “I'll be back.”

That's all my thick throat allowed before it closed on a sob… a fucking
sob
… and I bit my lip until it bled. With my shoes slapping the earth, I fled as far away from the perfect, happy family as I could get.

God, I was pathetic.

“Oh
, thank God,” I whispered, releasing a heavy breath. I'd covered every inch of the ranch, starting with the doghouse, and hadn't been able to find Justin anywhere. It figured he'd be in the last place I looked—not that I would've kept looking after I'd found him. I never had understood that expression.

Not wanting to spook him, I padded quietly past Oakley's stall to my favorite spot on the entire property. It was fitting I'd find him here.