Tears welled up in my eyes as soon as I turned away from Jake. Everything was out of control, problems snowballing faster than I could patch them. An overwhelming feeling of impending doom loomed like a giant black stain in the skies above me, promising life-destroying changes to come.

Oh quit being so melodramatic, I told myself.

I was over two hours late. It was 11:50- only ten more minutes of Peyton's birthday left. The thought of his face relaxed me somewhat, giving me the energy I needed to start running toward the front entrance.

In another few minutes, Peyton would be there and everything would be okay. Peyton always made everything okay.

Please, be there.

Maybe I would even tell him tonight, the real reason I always wanted to stay with him until the morning on his birthday. He'd done it each time for the last three years, but never asked why.

No. I didn't want to be a burden to him. Ever. I didn't want to be added to his list of to-dos, another place he had to be, another person he had to take care of.

And wasn't it a little romantic? My girlish dreams of being that one person in the world who never asked anything of him? When he was old and gray and dying in his bed, surrounded by his family and friends, I wanted him to remember the girl he once knew, the girl who with nothing who took nothing from him, only gave.

Anyway.

Back to June 19, the day my daddy died. The thing of it was, grief was a funny emotion that had a way of seriously messing up a girl's head. She looked for answers and signs where there were none. Until eventually, she reached beyond the confines of logic and pieced together nonsensical scraps and fragments, forcing square pegs into round holes in her search for validation. She hung onto the thinnest gossamer connections and wove them together until it became something, anything, resembling a whole, something strong enough for her to hold on to. It was madness, but it doesn't matter.

Mine was this: Peyton was born on June 18, the day before daddy died so that he would be with me every year on the anniversary of his death. All this was predetermined by fate long before the three of us were born on this earth. That was the story I was sticking with and nothing would change it.

I picked up the pace. One more turn left.

I stopped.

Please be there... Please be there...

I shut my eyes, held my breath and stepped around the corner.

Peyton's car sat idling in the driveway, headlights on, engine running.

Tearing the flip flops from my feet, I went flying across the grassy lawn, the giddy rush from seeing him there propelling me faster than I thought I was capable of. The windows were closed, but I started screaming "Happy Birthday" at the car anyway, long before I reached it. Panting and out of breath by the time I reached the door, I braced my hands against my knees, doubled over and gave myself a few seconds to rest before throwing the door open and climbing in. My gaze zeroed in on the dash.

11:58

Thank God.

"I didn't miss it!" I said, my chest heaving, my words coming in gasps. "Happy Birthday Peyton!"

I couldn't stop smiling. I was just so happy to see him. I wanted to crawl onto his lap, throw my arms around his shoulders and stay there until the morning. But for propriety's sake, I settled for scrambling over the console and pressing my lips to his cheek. "Happy Birthday."

He smiled. "You already said that."

"Did I? Are you mad? Have you been waiting forever? Did you eat dinner?"

"I'm not mad. Like you said, you didn't miss my birthday."

I looked at him warily.

He laughed, the sound a symphony to my ears. "Layla, I'm just trying to give you a minute to catch your breath."

"Oh. Good," I said, holding up a finger. "I need it. I swear it's-"

Peyton's eyes moved to the rear view mirror and my gaze followed his.

I noticed the ribbon first. It was a thin brown thing with white saddle stitching on the edges, a horse drawn chariot logo, the words Hermes and Paris embossed on it. It lay crumpled beside an orange box, previously opened with the top laying carelessly across it. Something shiny peeked out from below, maybe jewelry, maybe a watch.

The side of the box rested against the bare thigh of a girl.

I spun around, facing the back seat, as if turning would make her any less, well, there.

She sat like a porcelain doll with her perfect posture, unnervingly still except for her fine, pale hands. Those were set on her lap, fretting with a scrap of fabric, twisting and untwisting as if her life depended on it.

It was dark in the car so I couldn't make out the details but she was about our age, thin and delicate. Her head was bowed so I couldn't see her face but if I had to guess, I was going with beautiful.

She had on bright white shorts, the female version of those button down shirts Peyton always wore and a navy blue blazer over it. A delicate gold chain with a cross pendant hung around her neck along with a string of thin pearls.

Peyton was watching me carefully, but turned away when I caught him.

"Layla, this is Alice Huntington. She's a friend from home - well, of the family's, she's... a friend. Alice, Layla."

Alice looked up and my heart dropped. She was beautiful. Very, very beautiful. Not in the way I was, but in the timeless, classic way of Grace Kelly. She wore no makeup and had her silky brown hair pulled back from her forehead with a simple headband.

She even smelled good. The car was bathed in a muted but exquisite fragrance, spring flowers with a hint of vanilla. I knew it wasn't Peyton - he didn't wear cologne. He smelled like Tide.

As a bewildered Alice stared back at me, I tried to imagine what she would see.

A feral girl with wild, unkempt hair. I'd tried to pick out all the hay that was stuck in it, but without a brush, it was an impossible task. A girl wearing filthy clothes that stank like animals and grime. A girl with dirt beneath her finger nails and scabs on her legs. Beautiful, but in an untamed, blatant, and almost vulgar way.

Say something.

"Hi!" I blurted.

Alice jumped in her seat.

Too sudden Layla. Too loud. Too fake. The single syllable echoed through the silence of the car.

Her voice was thin and insecure when she spoke. "Hello," she said, before quickly lowering her eyelids, returning her attention to her hands.

I glanced at Peyton. He was rubbing at his left eye.

The silence was long, pregnant and really, really uncomfortable.

"Alice just flew in from Paris. We're driving in from DFW right now."

So that's where he was earlier when we were on the phone.

"Oh." I mean, what was I supposed to say? What did he expect me to say?

I cleared my throat. Deliberately ignoring the fact that Peyton was watching my every move like a hawk, I spoke to the girl, this Alice. "Did you come in for Peyton's birthday?"

She looked petrified. "I... well... I didn't, that is..."

"It was a surprise visit. Unplanned," said Peyton, emphasizing the second part.

I glared at him, then turned my attention back to Alice. He was trying to catch my eye, but I refused to give him the satisfaction.

"Oh, that's nice. How long are you staying?"

Alice's eyes grew impossibly wide. "I - uh..." she looked to Peyton.

Seriously?

"We're trying to figure it out," he said.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

"Oh," I said.

Never had I felt like I needed to escape a situation so badly. Peyton might as well have taken a big old frying pan, snuck up behind me and clobbered me over the head with it. The feeling was the same - I was so confused and disoriented that my vision was blurring.

"Listen," I told Peyton. "Why don't you take Alice home? I'm gonna go back and help Daniel unload the horses."

He opened his mouth to speak, but I kept going. "It works out better. We literally just pulled in and it's so late that he won't have any other help - I felt really guilty leaving him on his own anyway. He'll take me home - he's already offered so you don't have to worry about that."

"Layla-"

"It's too late to eat anyway. We can do something uh... another time." I opened the door.

On one hand, I felt bad for putting him on the spot. I knew his hands were tied. Whatever the story was with the girl, it wasn't as if he could ditch her when she'd come all this way for him. On the other hand, fuck you Peyton, for blindsiding me like this.

***

Pride was another funny thing. So completely worthless, but hot damn was it was resilient and loyal, the only friend left standing by your side long after everything else deserted you. It's what kept you going long after life kicked the shit out of you and left you for dead.

Pride helped me smile and tell Alice that I hoped she will enjoy her time in Canyon, that maybe we'd see each other again. Pride kept me standing there in the driveway with a smile plastered on my face, waving the two of them off when my world was on fire and all I wanted to do was die.

As soon as the taillights disappeared into the darkness, I just lost it. I crumpled into a pitiful heap right there on the dirt road and bawled my eyes out.

I didn't understand. I was just a girl, like all the other girls in the world, worse than some, but certainly better than many. Why did my life always have to be so much harder, so unusually cruel?

Get up, stupid girl...

I couldn't even fully give into my meltdown because my survival instinct kicked in. I had to take care of myself because no one else would, and right now, I needed to get home.

To Buck's.

Well, I had two choices. One, I could crawl up into a corner somewhere like a gutter rat and spend the night there praying that I didn't get caught. Or two- I sobbed some more - I had to ask Jake.

I might as well get it over with. Once I'd wiped my face dry with the hem of my shirt, I shrugged on my backpack and dragged my feet back to the barn.

Jake, Miguel, Jimmy, and a guy named Chase were standing around the new horses, oohing and ahhing like city boys would do over a fancy sports car. They were also laughing and talking trash because I heard the words "tits" more than once.

Miguel saw me first. His lips thinned in disapproval but he tipped the neck of his Corona in my direction. Four pairs of eyes turned my way.

Jake's easy smile vanished from his face.

God, please just strike me dead right here, right now.

Jake excused himself and walked towards me. I didn't say anything because I was having a hard enough time trying not to cry.

"You need a ride?" he asked softly.

Seriously, fuck my life. I nodded.

He gestured to the door with his chin. "Okay. Let's go."

Jake told me we had to walk to his house to get his truck. It wasn't far, he said, he and his daddy lived in a house on Beaudry's property.

He walked ahead and I followed behind him.

The storm winds had brought the temperature down considerably, making the night one of the most pleasant in a while, and the walk through the moonlit ranch helped clear my head a little. Not all that business about Peyton and his Alice though, I couldn't think about that. That was too much.

"I don't think Miguel likes me," I said, trying to keep my thoughts from straying in that direction.

Jake responded without turning around. "Miguel doesn't like anybody."

"But I think he likes me even less than he does everybody else."

"Why does that even matter? Not everyone in the world is going to like you, who cares what random people think about you?"

I shrugged. "Easy for you to say, everybody likes you."

We arrived at the modest single story craftsman style bungalow to find the front door wide open.

"Why's the front door open?" I asked.

"Dad," he said, as if that explained everything. He stopped me on the porch. "I have to get the keys. Wait here, I don't know what kind of mood he's in."

I remembered Shana telling me that Earl Waites beat on Jake – or used to anyway. I can't imagine anyone beating on Jake as he was now. Either way, he didn't have to tell me twice. A run in with Earl Waites was pretty damn low on the list of things I was interested in experiencing. I leaned against the porch railing and waited.

The exterior of the house was really nice, neatly painted in grays and whites. Because I'm nosy, I peered into the house. Standard layout - living room, kitchen, hallway, three bedrooms with the master at the end of the hall, nothing special. Messy though, littered with empty bottles and beer cans and overflowing ash trays.

Jake reappeared and closed the door behind him. "Let's go."

Even after we got into the truck, he didn't ask me any questions. He didn't talk at all really, until we hit the cross section of the main road. "Where we going?"

"945 Echo Trail."

I know he heard me but we stayed idling in the middle of the road for a long time.

"It's not your problem to fix," I said softly. "But it's real nice of you to care."

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "I can't take you to Buck Reynolds' house," he said softly.

"You heard what he said."

"Do you even know what he does in that house?"

Of course I did. "I'm not an idiot. But Amber lives there too and she's fine," I said.

"Amber's depressed as hell. Look, you can stay at my house tonight and-"

"Then what? What about tomorrow? And the day after that? There's no point in delaying the inevitable. It'll be okay."

He finally turned to look at me. I knew I looked a mess. My eyelids were so swollen from all the crying that I could barely open my eyes. But did he have to look at me like that?

"Fuck you and your pity, Jake Waites," I whispered with the last of my fraying pride.

He took a deep breath and banged the back of his head a couple of times into the headrest, then rubbed at the back of his neck. "Yeah, okay. Let's go."

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