The Natural History of Us (34 page)

Excitement and anticipation surge though me with such force I practically vibrate on the steps. Aly beams up at me, clearly a mind reader, and I exhale the toxic fear. “I need to find Justin,” I say, and she nods at me.

“My work here is done,” she replies. “Last I saw him, he was heading out to the beach with Justin Jr.”

My feet have already spun, guiding me down the walkway to the private strip of beach behind the house. I'm halfway down the path before I even realize it, and I quickly turn and call out, “Thank you!”

Aly waves me on, holding a thumbs-up, and yells out, “Go get your man!”

Laughing at the absurdity… and possibility… of Justin Carter being my man, for real this time, I take off for the beach. Hope flutters in my heart, an odd yet familiar sensation when it comes to him, and I my press my open hand over my skin.

The steady
thump, thump, thump
against my palm pushes me on.

Part of me realizes I need to grieve my relationship with Cade, to take stock of what happened, and find a way to salvage our friendship—and I will. He deserves that, and I can't lose him from my life completely. He was a huge part of my past. But right now, I need to chase my future.

I check either side of the beach, holding onto the rope railing as I search for Justin. The walkway climbs over a sand dune and I smile as I crest the hill, somehow knowing he's waiting on the other side.

A few steps away from the top, I call out, “Justin?” too eager to wait, and hear a muffled shuffling in response. I always knew my body was attuned to his. Smiling, I rock back and forth on
my heels and wait for him to duck out from behind the dune, still amazed that I'm actually doing this.

“Peyton?” Justin appears in front of me, just on the other side of the railing, with the robot baby in his arms and a strange expression on his face. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” I shake my head a bit, hoping to shake off the sudden weird vibe, and say, “I think so. I mean, Cade just left… We, uh, we broke up.”

Joy lights his face before he quickly checks it, replacing it with a look of concern. I stifle a grin. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

“No, you're not.” I laugh as a swarm of hyped-up butterflies takes flight in my gut. “But that's not why I'm here. Not really. I came to find you because, well, I talked to Aly, and I think… I mean, if you are, I'm ready to…”

My voice fades as the scene plays out like a bad teen movie.

The slight breeze off the Gulf of Mexico carries a sharp, salty scent, and with it comes the past. I'm here on the beach, but I may as well be back at the concession stand at Fairfield Academy. The players are the same, the shock just as real.

The slap of stupidity every bit as embarrassing.

How insane can I be? Will I ever learn? I'm standing here with my heart in my hands, prepared to hand it over to the very guy who once cut it to shreds, and out comes the girl who once held the knife.

Lauren struts out from behind the sand dune, the same one Justin was just behind, and flashes me a smile as she fixes the bottom of her impossibly tiny bikini. I stagger back, my gasp echoing in my head, and Justin holds out his hands as if to catch me.

“Sunshine?” He looks back and discovers Lauren waiting behind him, Carlos Jr. in a bedazzled carrier by her side, then twists around with eyes blown wide. “Shit. Baby, please, it's not what it looks like. You have to let me explain.”

“Explain?” I repeat, my dumb eyes filling with hot tears. “Explain what? What a fool I am? That I actually thought…”

The lump in my throat refuses to let me complete that thought. Instead, I spin on my heel.

Shame and embarrassment threaten to push my tears over the edge, but I can't let them fall. Not where they can see. The two of them have gotten enough tears out of me.

Warm sand kicks up beneath me as I jog down the path, Justin's voice chasing behind me. He can't take off and risk jostling the baby's neck, so if I keep moving, maybe I can outrun him. If I move a little faster, maybe I can outrun the pain, too.

A girl can hope.

The
mental tapes played the entire drive to school.

So… baseball's not the only thing you and the old man have in common. A baby in high school. Maybe you should compare notes
.

You knew you were never good enough for Peyton… and this only proves it
.

Just when she's getting her life back, you have to come along and ruin it
.

That last one hurt the most.

Peyton Williams was a fighter. Her determination to literally get back up on the horse and ride Oakley blew me away. In the short time I'd known her, her progress was incredible, and her therapists believed that by the end of the summer, she'd be back to kicking rodeo's ass.

But you can't ride horses at breakneck speeds pregnant.

The one thing my girl loves the most—the thing she's been
killing
herself to get back to—may very well be stripped away from her again. All thanks to my stupidity. Some secret boyfriend I'd turned out to be.

And then… that was just how this affected her. What about me?

Yeah, I was a selfish prick for thinking it, but this didn't only involve Peyton. My future was on the line, too. Baseball was the one thing I was good at. The diamond, and my team, the one place I ever belonged. Coach Williams was the first man since my Gramps who ever saw anything in me,
believed
in me. Would that faith be shot to hell once he found out how I betrayed his trust? Would he kick me off the team?

From the very beginning, I'd told myself to stay away. Peyton Williams was a
Commitment
. She was declared off-limits, so I had no right sniffing around her.

But I couldn't—or didn't want to—tell her no. Which led me back full-circle:

This was all my fault. As such, it was up to me to fix it.

When Rosalyn pulled up in the circle drive in front of the school, Peyton was already there, waiting on the front steps. I'd jokingly named it ‘Sunshine's stoop,' so the sight was familiar, only this time she wasn't furiously turning the pages of one of her books—another sign of how being with me had changed her, and not for the better.

I closed the door behind me and she pushed to her feet, smoothing the wrinkles of her uniform skirt. “Hey.” She waved goodbye to Rosalyn with a small smile that didn't reach her eyes, then turned to glance at the brick building behind us. “Like you said, it's dead right now. Only a few admins and a couple upperclassmen in for detention. We should have the entire second floor to ourselves.”

“That's good,” I said, feeling awkward as hell. Questions and uncertainty hung between us, making the already oppressive Texas heat heavy. I hiked my backpack higher on my arm. “I've got what we need, so let's do this.”

Peyton bit her lip, relief obvious in her eyes. She hadn't been sure she could count on me. I couldn't blame her, since
the last time she saw me, I'd been borderline catatonic, but the lack of trust hurt.

I tugged open the main door and waved her inside, making sure our skin didn't touch. It was dumb and probably juvenile—we'd touched a lot more than hands to find ourselves in this mess—but it felt necessary. Like, one touch from Peyton could break the carefully constructed façade of calm I'd erected overnight.

Peyton padded inside, eyes on the floor, and waited for me to join her. Then, she began filling the silence with chatter.

“Dad thinks I'm here to help Mi-Mi clean out her locker,” she said, hanging a right into the stairwell. Her voice echoed in the corridor and she quickly lowered it. “He was so glad to hear I'd made a friend that he didn't even question it. I mean, how much crap could Mi-Mi possibly have in her locker that she'd need me here this early, you know? But he bought it hook, line, and sinker. I lied to him, straight in his face, and he didn't even blink.”

Guilt cracked her voice, and the pressure in my chest grew tight. Peyton and her family were close. So close it freaked me out, to be honest, because I never had that. Knowing she lied to them, that she probably felt even more alone because of it, triggered those mental tapes again.

You made her lie. You brought her down to your level. Soon, she's gonna hate you
.

At the top of the stairs, I placed my open palm on the door, keeping her from opening it. “Let me check the hallway first.” The smooth skin between her eyes furrowed as she studied me, confusion and a trace of hurt in her eyes. “What?”

Peyton stepped back, shaking her head. “Nothing. Go ahead.”

A part of me realized I was handling this wrong. I was snippy and standoffish and frankly, losing my shit. But I was in
survival mode. I had no clue how to let her in without leaving myself more vulnerable.

Luckily, when I stuck my head out, the coast was clear. I pulled the door open wider and lifted my chin. “Come on.”

The women's bathroom was located in the middle of the hall. We booked it down the path, feet slapping against the linoleum, and I wrapped my hand around the door handle, ready to duck inside. Peyton stopped me cold with her hand.

My skin burned at the contact.

“I should probably go in first,” she said, eyes trained on the spot where our skin touched. Her tongue glided across her bottom lip, and I wondered if she felt the heat, too. “Just in case. The last thing we need is one of your many admirers to see you in there.”

Slowly, she raised her eyes to mine. They pleaded with me, seeking a connection, wanting to know that she wasn't alone in this. And she wasn't—I was
right here
. But the words to tell her that were locked inside my head. Behind a fake, crumbling wall of indifference.

“Fine, but hurry,” I said, taking a step back and severing contact. The hopeful light in her eyes dimmed. “We don't have much time.”

Peyton nodded and slipped inside the bathroom, and I banged my head against the wall. Too many questions, too many unknowns swirled around us—and I was a guy with no answers. Sunshine needed me to be strong, to get her through this. I needed to stop being such a dickhead.

The door opened a crack and she whispered, “All clear.” With a final glance down the hall, I snuck inside.

The women's bathroom smelled a lot better than the men's. Looked different, too. I locked the door behind us, realizing just how weird this was, then slumped against the wall near the sinks. Peyton rolled on the outsides of her feet and raised her eyebrows.

“Oh, right.”

I opened my backpack and pulled out the box I'd spent a half hour in the aisle at the drug store trying to choose. Why the hell did they have so many kinds? Each of them different, too. I'd been terrified I'd get the wrong one and mess things up—well, worse than I already had—but thankfully, a clerk took pity on me. She reminded me a lot of my Grams. After I explained our dilemma, she handed me this one.

Peyton's fingers trembled as she took the box from my hands. “Thanks. Uh… think you can turn on the faucet?”

I frowned in confusion. “I don't think you need to add water or anything,” I said, and she shook her head with a small smile.

“Shy bladder.” Her cheeks turned pink, and the ice around my heart thawed the tiniest bit. After everything we'd been through… everything we'd
done
, she was still self-conscious.

Returning her smile, I turned on the water.

Peyton chose the stall farthest from me and the actual act of peeing on the stick didn't take very long—not that I was surprised. Out of the whole process, that part was pretty basic. It was the waiting that sucked.

She set the test on the sink as I set a timer on my phone. Three minutes to go.

“Should we talk?” Peyton asked, twenty seconds in. “You know, about what will happen—?”