The Natural History of Us

by Rachel Harris

  Soon, my shorts were gone. They were lost in a blur of eager hands and seeking mouths. I did my best to prep her, my trembling hands finding her and making her squirm. In this way, my past was useful. I knew how to get a girl off with my fingers. Earning their sated smiles momentarily eased the loneliness I always carried within me. But it never lasted. The void always came back.

  It wasn’t until Peyton clutched my shoulders, her head thrown back in a scream, that I entered her. Her wide eyes squeezed shut on a wince.

  I instantly stilled. “Baby, you okay?”

  I held my breath, held my muscles tight, ignoring how incredible she felt. How complete I felt. In that moment, all that mattered was that she was there with me, still wanting me with no regrets. I swallowed hard and waited, hoping like hell that was the case.

  “I’m good,” she croaked, eyes still shut. I needed to see her eyes. “Just need… a second.”

  My arms shook, beads of sweat rolled down my face, and my body screamed for me to move. I fisted the sheet in my hand. “Sunshine, I need you to look at me. Please. Can you do that for me, baby?”

  Peyton released a shaky breath and the mask of pain shifted on her face. As relief seeped through my veins, I allowed myself a quick inhale and watched as her mouth relaxed, the tension disappearing from her forehead.

  A moment later, her eyes opened. Emotions swirled within the blue-gray depths, awe, fascination, a lingering of pain, and a few I was afraid to name. Then she smiled and four words I hadn’t heard since my grandfather died, four words that would change my life forever, passed her lips.

  “I love you, Justin.”

  SATURDAY, MAY 31ST

  1 week until Graduation

  ♥Senior Year

  PEYTON

  GALVESTON BEACH HOUSE 3:02 A.M.

  “Hey.”

  I blink my bleary eyes and attempt to focus on the fuzzy form in front of me. It doesn’t work. It’s been a long night of trying to figure out what this robot wanted. Most recently, that was a bottle and a diaper change, followed immediately by another bottle and burping. Do real babies eat and poop this much? I only just got the thing to settle down. I’m exhausted, stressed, and partially deaf. My ears won’t stop ringing from the crying.

  Yawning, I gently prop the blessedly silent baby in a borrowed car seat, dig my fists into my eyes and rub, then try again. A sleep-mussed Justin materializes with a tired grin.

  “How ya doing?” He whispers the question, almost like it’s a real baby and not a robotic demon, and for some reason, it makes me smile. The annoying little sucker sure cries like it’s real.

  “Peachy.” I heave the slightly off-hinge laugh of the sleep deprived, and scratch the skin on my wrist beneath the sensor bracelet. “He’s woken up twice so far, and the last time was just brutal. Lauren’s off baby-duty tonight, and threatened to shake ours, so I figured I’d come hang out here.” I lean my head against the impossibly soft sofa cushion, my heavy eyelids half-closed before a worrisome thought comes to me. “God, I didn’t wake you, did I?”

  “Nah.” Justin shifts his weight, almost looking nervous. “I just figured you could use a pick me up.” He glances down and for the first time I notice a movie-sized box of chocolate almonds and a twenty-ounce bottle of Sprite near his hip. My greedy eyes widen with excitement. “I’m hoping I got the candy right.”

  “Please. Like you ever get anything wrong,” I tease, making grabby hands at the gift of chocolate like it’ll be my last meal. Sugar rushes are the cure-all to exhaustion… well, at least until the eventual crash. But right now, I’m all about the instant gratification.

  A sad expression washes over Justin’s face. “Sometimes,” he says softly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Sometimes I get things horribly wrong.”

  An awkward silence descends.

  I’m not sure how I’m supposed to respond to that, so I rip into the shrink-wrapped plastic of the candy. A strange urge to comfort him tenses my arms. The truth is, whether there’s a miracle detail that’ll somehow change things between us or not, he did get it wrong freshman year. He hurt me—no, he destroyed me. There’s never an excuse for that.

  Releasing a heavy sigh, Justin pads over to the sofa. With the car seat on the cushion near the wall, I’m sprawled out in the middle… which leaves only one cushion left. The one right beside me. Glancing at the empty seat, it suddenly looks as if it’s shrunk during our short chat.

  Justin sits and my senses instantly go on high-alert. Phantom tingles explode across my thigh, and I inhale, needing to calm my nerves. The sharp scent of mint clouds my head, almost making me dizzy. Mint is forever linked with Justin. It’s his scent. For about a year after we broke up, a mere whiff would send me into hysterics. Now, it just leaves me feeling confused. And a bit sad.

  “Thanks for this,” I say, shaking the box in his direction. “You want some?”

  He nods and I pour a few decadent morsels into his extended hand. A really fat one plops in the center of his palm, the holy grail of chocolate—the magic twofer—and he laughs, a low rumble of a chuckle that causes the fine hairs on my arm to stand on end.

  “Here.” Justin scoops up the piece and hands it over with a grin. “You know you want it.”

  For a nanosecond, I debate not accepting it… but, of course, I do. Come on, it’s a twofer! It’s like snagging one of Wonka’s Golden Tickets.

  “You rock.” I pop the candy into my mouth and close my eyes, moaning my gratitude. When Justin chuckles again, I elbow him in the side. “You know, you can head on back to bed. I’ve got this now. This should keep me happy through the next crying fit. Besides, you’re on overnight duty tomorrow.” I peel open my eyelids and smirk. “Best be storing up that beauty sleep.”

  Justin lifts his arms in a long, exhausted stretch and kicks his feet onto the coffee table. Nope, no need for beauty sleep on his end. I glance down at my frumpy pajamas and sigh.

  “I’m good,” he says. “I’m up anyway. I’d much rather be out here keeping you company.”

  His gaze drifts toward the closed door of the other bedroom, and I know what he’s thinking. But Justin’s wrong. I don’t mind that Cade’s not out here with me. He probably didn’t even hear the baby crying—Drew passed out earplugs at dinner. Besides, it’s not his project anyway. Cade doesn’t even go to Fairfield Academy. He’s strictly here as a favor to me, so I can’t really blame him for wanting to sleep through it.

  Justin shifts his hips, turning slightly on his side, and our eyes lock.

  But the thing is, he heard, and he didn’t want to sleep through it. He’s here. With candy… and soda… and a listening ear, and quiet company, something I didn’t realize I even wanted or needed until he appeared.

  The air-conditioning unit clicks on with a low hum, muffling the other noises of the house—the slight snores, the muffled sounds of other baby cries, whispers that prove we’re not as alone as it feels. Justin’s hand twitches, his pinkie finger moving a hair closer than it was before, and it would be so easy to stretch mine out to touch. My finger itches with the urge to do it. But it would be wrong. Incredibly wrong.

  I curl my hand into a fist and shove it under my thigh.

  “So, the draft’s coming up,” I say, snapping my eyes back to his. They’re filled with longing and sadness and I don’t even want to know what he sees in mine. The thick air around us feels magnetic, like it’s trying to pull us together, but I refuse to give in. “Have you decided what you want to do?”

  Justin draws a deep breath and lowers his gaze to his hands. The sling is off now, not needed anymore, but he’s on strict orders not to overdo it. As reckless as he can be, I know he won’t risk it. Baseball means everything to him.

  “No. Not really.” Justin flips his hand over and stares at the grooves in his palm. “Coach says the injury won’t be a problem. As long as I’m a hundred percent for the next game, and I will be, then I still have a good shot.”

  “That’s not what I asked.” I m
atch his body posture, shifting on my hip to face him. “I asked what you want to do. The choice will be yours, I have no doubt about that. But at the end of the day, what path will make you the most happy—college or pro?”

  He huffs a laugh. “What’ll make me the most happy has nothing to do with baseball.”

  My breath catches at his meaning, and Justin’s eyes burn into mine. An emotion stirs in my chest, a feeling akin to hope and happiness, and I lock it down quick. This isn’t about me.

  I quirk an eyebrow, giving him a look, and Justin sighs.

  “You know the rules, Sunshine. If I play for pay, I can’t go back later. I can’t change my mind and decide to try it in college. I mean, I can get a degree, but I can’t play ball.” Frustrated, he rakes his fingers through his thick, dark hair. “But then, if I decide to let it ride and go to A&M, what happens if I get hurt? My career would be over before it even started.”

  “Maybe,” I admit, knowing what he needs from me is honesty, not to be coddled. “But so what? If that happens, you’ll do something else… You’re more than just baseball, Justin. You know that, right?”

  He doesn’t say anything, which means no, he doesn’t. Sadly, I’m not surprised. It’s always come down to this. His family did a real number on him. I curse them for the millionth time in my head and pull my knees up onto the cushion.

  Justin won’t listen if I push. He’ll clam up, stubbornly telling himself I’m being nice. Polite. Even flirtatious. But I want him to feel a real connection. Even after everything that went down between us, I feel an overwhelming need to protect him. Shifting closer, I hesitantly reach out and place my hand on his. He doesn’t waste a second flipping his over.

  Eyes on our joined hands, Justin says, “If I sign with a team, I’ll be constantly traveling. Living on the road, practicing all the time. Eating crap and forgetting what city I’m even in. I’d barely ever see… the people I care about.” His hand squeezes mine, leaving no mistake who he means.

  The thick knot in his throat bobs, and Justin raises his eyes.

  Three years of questions and regrets pass between us. I want to run from the room every bit as much as I want to stay, to confront them. For a moment, I think, this is it. He’s finally going to tell me what really happened that day. What detail I supposedly missed.

  Instead, Justin looks at the sleeping baby beside me and asks, “Do you ever wonder?”

  TUESDAY, MAY 31ST

  Disaster Imminent

  ♥Freshman Year

  JUSTIN

  SWEET SERENITY RANCH 5:25 P.M.

  One thing I’d learned in my short life of being a secret boyfriend—you came when your girl called. When she called you in tears, you booked ass.

  Practice ended not fifteen minutes ago, and I was already at the ranch, having begged an upperclassman for a ride. It would be my luck that today was the one day Rosalyn had to stay late at Chase’s daycare, needing to help him rehearse for tomorrow’s parent recital. I didn’t begrudge my brother his moment of attention; I did, however, hate the curious look in Pete Langley’s eyes when we pulled past Coach’s gate. The senior was notorious for talking shit, but he’d been my only option for a ride. Hopefully, the twenty bucks I slipped him would shut those flapping lips.

  I squinted against the abrupt light change inside the barn and called out, “Sunshine?”

  Oakley stood in her stall, chomping happily on hay, but there was no sign of Peyton. I scratched my head and grabbed my phone, checking to make sure she’d said to meet her here, and that’s when I heard it. A broken sob.

  Blood turned to ice in my veins, but I followed the sound, past every stall and Coach’s ridiculously huge riding lawn mower, right through the back door. She was there, lying on the picnic table that had changed everything. It’d been seven weeks since the weekend she’d read my notebook and snuck into the doghouse. Seven weeks of perfection. Being with Peyton, earning her smiles, it gave me the peace I’d never had before. Being inside her made me feel invincible.

  But, for some reason, I’d yet to tell her I loved her.

  I didn’t know why. She told me every chance she got, so it wasn’t like I didn’t have the opportunity. But something about those innocent eyes filled with hope, trust, and more love than I’d ever seen directed at me before always held me back. I was afraid to tip the scales.

  Peyton’s quiet, constant affection had healed every broken memory, every doubt, every fear that I was like my parents. Those insecurities vanished when I was with her. She deserved to know that.

  Maybe today would be the day. Maybe knowing would fix whatever hurt her now.

  Leaning down, I picked up her curled body and sat down on the bench with her in my arms. The smooth surface of the pond rippled, reflecting a distorted image of the cloudy sky.

  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  I pressed a kiss against her hair and, like always, it smelled like sunflowers. Peyton’s body shook with silent tremors and I tightened my hold around her. “I can’t fix it unless you tell me what’s wrong. You’re obviously upset. You called and told me to get down here, and now I’m here. Tell me what’s going on. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. Together.”

  Tears splashed my neck as she buried her face in the crook near my shoulder. She mumbled something, half words, half wails, but I couldn’t make out anything that sounded like English. I pressed my back into the table, stroking her hair away from her wet cheeks so I could look into her red-rimmed eyes. My heart thudded in agony. “I’m sorry, baby, but I couldn’t understand that. What’s wrong?”

  Fear and desperation flooded her gaze and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Whatever it was, it was bad, but I was here now. I would walk through fire if she asked me to.

  Then Peyton’s mouth formed two short words: “I’m late.”

  I kept waiting for more.

  Late for what, I wanted to ask. School was almost out for the year, her job was here at the ranch. I had no clue what she could possibly be late for…

  Then, it clicked. And my body turned to stone.

  “Justin? Did you hear me?”

  Peyton climbed up my body and straddled my hips, grabbing my face so she could stare into my eyes. My arms fell loose around her. “Say something.”

  I couldn’t. Speaking would’ve required brain power that I didn’t possess at that moment. Every synapse I had misfired at the word “late.”

  The faint scent of charred wood wafted through the air, and I imagined it was the scent of every dream or plan either of us had for our lives going up in smoke.

  Was this how my father felt when he heard those words? Sixteen years old and soon to be a father? A malicious laugh echoed inside my head. Be careful what you wish for. I’d vowed to never become like him, and look at that, I succeeded—I was worse. Hell, I beat him by a whole year.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  Peyton grabbed my shoulders and shook them. I felt the bench beneath me, her soft weight on my lap, and the sun beating down on my head. But I wasn’t at the ranch, not really. I was back in my childhood home, overhearing a conversation I never should have.

  Gramps and Gran raised me as their own. They protected me from the truth as best as they could, but I was a curious boy. When the man who I normally only saw in pictures, the man they said was my father, came home late one day, of course I had to sneak downstairs. What I overheard that night gave me a stomach ache.

  Gran had refused to talk about it when I asked the next morning, but Gramps, he’d understood my need for answers. That afternoon over two fly fishing rods, he’d done his best to give them, putting the truth in words a seven-year-old could grasp.

  “My mom had me when she was sixteen.”

  My voice came out robotic, and Peyton’s eyes widened with surprise. Tears still clung to her lashes, but the sight no longer affected me. It was like a wall had fallen, shutting me off from the world, sealing me away from feeling anything painful.

  �
�Turns out, being a teen mom wasn’t high on her to-do list. Put a crimp in her perfect pageant world, but I guess I should be grateful she had me at all. I guarantee my dad pressed for an abortion. Mom’s parents kicked her out—evidently, having a pregnant teenage daughter didn’t look good to voters, either—but Gramps and Gran took her in, took care of her, and after I was born, took care of me.”

  A bird dove down and snatched an unsuspecting fish from the pond. Peyton’s gaze stayed steady on me, waiting for me to continue, but I couldn’t look at her. It hurt too much.

  “My dad was pissed. He wanted a kid about as much as good old mom, and she at least got free after signing the papers. But dad… he was stuck. Gramps used to say, ‘A Carter owns up to his mistakes,’ and I’m my father’s biggest.”

  I flashed her a grin. “After graduation, Dad joined the family business, earning his degree at night, learning how to be a man in his father’s eyes. Of course, that meant he had no time to see me, and that was just fine by him. I saw him maybe three or four times before Gran got sick. She died when I was seven, Gramps when I was nine. After that, Dad’s luck ran out.”

  Peyton’s cool hands cradled my face, forcing me to look at her. “Justin, I… I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry you went through that.”

  I shrugged a shoulder. “It is what it is,” I said. “You know the rest. Dad hired Rosalyn, and she’s pretty much raised me from then on. Eventually, he married Annabeth, and Chase was born. Effectively replacing me. Hey, it sucks, but it’s my life. What are ya gonna do?”

  I exhaled a breath and felt the fight leaving me. Damn, I was pathetic. Throwing my head back, I stared at the gathering clouds.

  “A long time ago, I made myself a promise. If I ever had kids, I’d be different. I’d do it right. I’d let them know they were loved, I’d take care of them.” I laughed at the sky. “I swore I’d never become like my father.”