Page 25 of This Broken Heart

The whole way home, Trace chatters on. He made a Thanksgiving craft at school and he can’t wait for his dad to see it.

As soon as we get in the house, he’s barreling around the house, looking for a good place to display his cornucopia. I suggest the buffet in the dining room and his eyes get super round. “We can put it in there?”

I nod. “Of course, Trace. Something this nice needs to be front and center.”

Finding a box in the garage, I clear the buffet. Carefully stowing the basket and dried flowers inside, we make room for Trace’s crafts.

He arranges and rearranges the cornucopia, the collection of paper maché gourds, before settling on an arrangement that meets his high standards.

When Josh opens the front door, Trace practically vibrates with excitement. We hear Josh walk through the house, floorboards quietly creaking underfoot. He finds us in the dining room, gaze bopping from my face, to Trace’s, before landing on the buffet.

But instead of smiling kindly and complimenting the craft, his face hardens. “You moved Ana’s flowers.”

My stomach drops. It’s instantly apparent that I’ve touched something sacred.

Shit.

I made the mistake, but it’s Trace’s feelings that are being clobbered.

I glance down at him, noticing the way his lower lip is wobbling. My gaze flits back up to Josh’s. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“Can you just…” Josh interrupts me, squeezing his eyes shut briefly, before looking at me. There’s no warmth in those eyes. Only steely anger. “Can you just leave things the way they are? You don’t need to go putting your touch on everything.”

That feels particularly pointed, but at the moment, I’m more worried about Trace’s feelings than my own. “You’re absolutely right. I made a mistake. I can put it all back.”

“No.” He says sharply. His eyes widen. “You didn’t throw it all away, did you?”

“Of course not.” I say, lifting the box from the floor. “It’s all here. I was really careful, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried.” He huffs, taking the box from my hands. “I just don’t like having things disturbed.”

“Message received. Won’t happen again.”

He turns away, box in hand. I can see how tense his shoulders are.

Josh pauses at the doorway, not looking back. “I’m going out. I won’t be back for supper.”

It’s not until the front door closes again that Trace breaks down. I pull him into a hug and he sobs into my shirt.

16.

Josh

Twangy country music floats overhead, and I stare at my beer, watching bubbles float to the surface.

Bo slaps my shoulder, shocking me out of my funk. “Penny for your thoughts.”

We’ve known each other since kindergarten. I can still remember the playground football game that went south and the brawl that followed. The entire kindergarten class was involved, but only four of us got sent to the principal’s office, noses bleeding, grins on our faces.

We’ve been fast friends ever since.

The bartender, Tia, slings a beer over to Bo without asking. We’re predictable, the two of us.

He’s wearing his typical Carhart jacket and jeans. Grease streaks his knees.

“Working on that John Deere again?”

He nods. “Damn thing has it out for me.”