My Heart for Yours by Jolene Perry, Stephanie Campbell Read Free Book Online Page A

simple. I don’t want the same things as you. I don’t want to go out every night searching for a different girl. I just want Delia. I just need you to try to be happy for me. I’m leaving tomorrow. I’m going to drive up to D.C. and surprise her.”
     
    “ Have you told Mom any of this?” Eamon asked, like I needed permission or something.
     
    “ No, not yet. I’ll talk to her when she gets home from work. Now, we can go and get some food.”
     
    I sat on the edge of my bed to put on my shoes when Eamon said, “Tobin, wait.” He left the room for a few seconds, and when he came back, he was holding a folded newspaper.
     
    “ Mom and I thought it’d be better not to show you this. But I’m not going to have my brother driving hundreds of miles to make a fool out of himself. I’m sorry, bro.”
     
    He handed me the paper, and all of the air left my lungs. No, all of the air left the entire room. The house. Maybe the earth.
     
    It was her. At some hoity political event at the state capitol. She’d been close and didn’t even tell me. I could’ve driven out to Baton Rouge to see her. Why wouldn’t she tell me?
     
    He was why.
     
    The caption under the photo said it all. Everything I needed to know about why she hadn’t been returning my calls as often. Why she sounded so distant. Black and white. Right there. And they’d hid it from me like I was too stupid and weak to understand.
     

     
    YOUNG LOVE: Louisiana Senator’s daughter Delia Gentry and Tennessee Senators son Weston Martins, pictured here at the Conservative Politics Black Tie Fundraiser in Baton Rouge.
     
    ***
     

     
    I waited for weeks for her to tell me that it was just some big misunderstanding. That they’d been forced to pose for that photo, smiling, his arm draped intimately around her. But she didn’t. And her silence when I called only further confirmed what I already knew. There was no mystery here. Nothing to figure out. The only thing to wonder was how I’d deluded myself into believing that I was ever good enough for Delia Gentry to love.
     

 

     

     
    TO MAKE YOU HATE ME
     

     
    The impossible task
     
    Wasn’t as hard
     
    As I’d hoped
     

Eight Delia
     

     

     
    Weston. Here. In Crawford. With my dad —the guy who was too busy to come. It’s so like Weston to come in and rescue the girl when she’s down. I should be thrilled, but I don’t know what I am. The confusion from my whole day seems to be surrounding everything I do.
     
    My heart’s pounding, and I hate that Tobin saw Weston here, but I shouldn’t. That’s why I was so horrible at the end of us. We went from not knowing how to talk, to me unleashing every fear, hurt and frustration I had. My heart broke as I did it. I knew everything would be easier if Tobin hated me…until I saw him again. I wish I still wanted him to hate me now, because if he didn’t before, the hard look on his face when I got out, solidified that how I’d hurt him was all still there.
     
    What Tobin doesn’t know is I feel the same way—hurt, angry. I’ve just learned to be a lot better at pretending.
     
    We probably would have survived my family’s move. I know he loved me. I know he would’ve waited for me until we came back from D.C., but there was a lot more to overcome than miles. And that’s the part he bailed on.
     
    Weston and Dad are pulling suitcases out of the trunk of his car, and I’m standing in the roadway, watching each piece of luggage hit the driveway, wondering how long exactly they plan on staying here. Weston with his neatly trimmed brown hair, and perfectly shaved face, and tidy clothes—even Tobin all dressed up has something rough around the edges. And it may have been the bit of slouch that attracted me to Weston, but that wouldn’t be noticed by anyone in Crawford. Weston here is all polish and rich perfection.
     
    As Dad and Weston joke about something in the driveway, all I can think about is what it was like to say