Page 21 of The Love Between the First and Last

The Faye I’ve always been would have faded into the ether of his brilliance, and I’m not sure I ever would have found myself. I’m not sure I ever would have stopped drifting on the glitter of his icy wind long enough to find a little square of earth in which I could root myself.

I hate being an adult. I don’t know what all the fuss is about.

I don’t know why as kids we strive so hard for this.

This sucks.

“Oh, baby.” Mom moves between petting my hair and squeezing me tightly. I realize that she’s been struggling, too.

“I’m sorry I changed my mind. I’m sorry⁠—”

“Shhh!” Mom whisper hisses, but there’s a softness to the vehemence that culls my agitation, urging me to stillness. “Don’t you ever apologize for changing your mind. You can change your mind a thousand times. You can change your mind a million times, Faye. This life you’re living is yours, and no one has the right to tell you that what you want isn’t right. If Tate is who you want, then I’m here to support you.”

“But you seem so disappointed.”

“Because you seem so sad, baby.” Her words crack, lodging like a splinter in my aching heart. “Me and Dad—we’re worried about you, honey.”

I give myself another minute in her arms before I pull free.

I do my best to assure her, “This is what I want, Mom. This life I’m building, here in Rubble Ridge, it’s the life I want. The one that feels good in here.” I tap my aching chest. “It feels good in a way that fitting into Holt’s dreams didn’t.” I fight a new round of tears. “I was a fool.”

“You have never been a fool. You were a girl in love with a boy.”

“I did love him.” I flick away emotion I really wish would just stop. “I do love him.”

“And Tate?”

“I love him, too.” It’s not entirely a lie. I just love Tate differently than I loved Holt. Tate is…safe.

Worry pinches Mom’s brow, but she nods. “Let’s get your boxes downstairs, then. Tate’s in the garage with Dad.”

My entire room fits in the box of Tate’s truck. I’m sweaty after trekking up and down the stairs to my room, but I still pull my hoodie over my hands as I ask Tate nervously, “Can you help Dad with my bed?”

Fists on his hips, Herman grunts, “What do you need your bed for? You’re seeing Tate now, moving in with him. Boy’s got a bed.”

Tate swings an open palm at his father, gesturing ‘stop’. “Pop, don’t.”

Herman sputters, “I’m just saying.”

Elise touches a hand to Herman’s chest. “Not the time.”

“Course it’s the time. What does she want her bed for if this sham they’re playing at is real?” Herman demands. “For Christ’s sake.”

Tate starts toward his father, angry red climbing up his throat. “I’ve loved her since the moment I saw her, and you know it.”

Herman ignores the finger Tate points at him. “She’s Holt’s.”

“She was. But she’s here and he’s not.”

“So, you just move in on what’s his?” Herman shakes his head, that same disgust I’ve feared painting his face in disappointment.

Dad steps forward. “That’s about enough, Herman.”

I cut in. “I’m no one’s.” Herman’s eyes slice to mine. “I’m my own person, and I’ve made the decision to find myself here in Rubble Ridge, where I have family and friends.”

“You had Holt.”

“I had the moments he could spare between the game.” I don’t know where my backbone has come from, but now that I’ve found it, I grip onto it as though my life depends on it. “I don’t owe you or anyone answers. This is my life. Mine, Tate’s, and Holts. We make the decisions now.”