“Her brain didn’t have enough oxygen.”
“There's nothing left of her.”
“Her body is barely hanging on.”
“The family can have a moment to say their goodbyes.”
Ryland stands next to me, and I am suffocating. How is this happening? She was fine. Yeah, sure, she died,but she came back. She can’t leave us. I know she wouldn’t want to leave us. God gave us peace.Whydid he give us peace only to take her away?
My mother’s weeping snaps me back into reality. I look toward her, then to my uncle next to her, and then to my Papaw, who is unmoving. A hand is on my shoulder, and I turn to see Olivia and Luke, out of breath from rushing to us.
“Raine?” she asks, and I look at Ryland for a reason I’m unsure of. A mask of despair is hanging on his face, and there’s a glossy sheen layered across his eyes like he’s holding back a mass of emotions. I allow Olivia to wrap her arms around me and feel two others that I suspect are Ryland and Luke, wrapping themselves around us, and I allow myself to come undone, no longer caring.
Chapter Eight
Thirteen Years Before
Raine
“If I didn’t know any better, I would say that Honeysuckle is your favorite friend.” Ryland snickers beside me as we walk along the trail that takes us back toward the farmhouse. A light breeze pushes past us, cooling our skin from the intense heat from the sun, and not a cloud is in the sky.
I push my shoulder into his and attempt to hide the smile spreading across my face with my hair. I look down at Honeysuckle, a male mallard duck that has been my pet since I was little, and rub his feathers. He is a tad bit spoiled and lets me carry him everywhere. He’s right—Honeysuckle is my favorite.
“If I didn’t know any better, I would say that you’re jealous,” I tease, planting a kiss on top of Honeysuckle’s head, who quacks in response.
Ryland bumps back into my shoulder, causing me to trip, and a giggle escaping my lips. “Oh, I’m definitely jealous,” he adds, and my heart does one of those flipping motions, stealing my breath for a second. I try not to dissect the meaning behind his comment. He could’ve meant nothing by it, but I like the idea of Ryland being jealous over me.
Every weekend for the past year, minus a few holidays or illnesses that kept us apart, Ryland and I have been joined at the hip. Our friendship was easy to establish. Like we’ve known each other for years. We can be silly together one minute and have deeper conversations the next. I love that about us.
I love him.
I’m not sure if I’min lovewith him or anything, but the feelings I have for Ryland are deeper than the love I feel toward my other best friends, Luke and Olivia. Olivia would be upset if she knew this, but Ryland knows all of my secrets, even things I’ve never told her—which isn’t a lot, but still, she can never know.
It’s easy with Ryland. When I open up to him, he does the same in return. Even after months of getting to know one another, I still crave to know more and more about him. I want to know everything.
“Is he the reason why your Papaw calls you Little Duck?”
I giggle again as the memory surfaces of how I earned the nickname and nod my head. “Yeah, actually, he is.” I hand Honeysuckle over to Ryland, a quack of protest escapes before he settles into Ryland’s arms, and I take the basket full of honeysuckle flowers from his hands.
I grab a handful of flowers into my palm and bring them toward my nose and inhale. Scents of sweet honey, vanilla, and hints of jasmine wrap together in a heady nectarous concoction. It’s my favorite scent.
“I was eight years old and went out to pick honeysuckles, like we did today, and I heard a little quack underneath a bush. He was so scared, but he let me pick him up. I tried to find his mama, but I never could, so I took him back to the house and asked Papaw if we could keep him.”
“That doesn’t sound like something you’d do,” he jokes, knowing full well that I have a problem with finding stray animals and bringing them back to the farm. He’s helped me a time or two this past year. What can I say, I have a huge softspot for animals. Why live on a farm if you can’t have lots of pets?
“Anyway,” I add and bump into him again because I like feeling his warmth on my bare shoulder. “I was trying to get Honeysuckle to trust me, and so I started acting like a duck. Papaw caught me and started calling me Little Duck, and it stuck.”
“Please reenact this for Honeysuckle and me. I’m curious to see how you won him over with your duck impersonation.” Ryland strokes his feathers and gives me a brilliant smile, revealing his super-straight teeth, thanks to the work of his braces, which were removed last month. I thought his smile before was attractive, but without the metal, I’ve found myself staring at his mouth more often than I’d like to admit.
What would it feel like to kiss Ryland?
This question keeps popping into my head, and I have to constantly remind myself that he’smy best friend. Plus, I’m too scared to take that next step to see if we could be something more than friends. He hasn’t shown me any clear signs that he feels the same and hasn’t made any moves toward me. Instead, I tuck the thoughts away, only bringing them out to mull over when I’m alone.
The scent of charred meat fills the air around us, and so does the sound of my stomach gurgling. “As fun as that sounds, we should get inside. I can smell dinner, and I’m starving.”
I give Honeysuckle a pat, Ryland does the same before setting him down on the ground. It makes me grin watching him waddle toward the chickens. Ryland reaches over and takes my hand into his, tugging me behind him until we’re up the porch steps.
His hand is callused from all the hard work his grandpa and Papaw have been putting him through lately. I like how it feels and the fact that he’s a hard worker. My thumb strokes his rough skin, and he looks over his shoulder, giving me a smirk that makes my knees quake.
