Under the Dusty Sky (Holloway Farms)

coop.
    Stomping up the porch stairs, I rip open the front door to face Asher.
    “ What’s your problem, sis?”
    I shove past him without answering.
    “ Holy hell, Bug, you smell terrible.” He laughs and leaves the house, his sneakers hammering on the wooden steps.
    ***
    It takes me until after I’m done showering to figure out why I am so mad. I tug a comb through my thick hair and blame Hunter for leaving. He comes home for one weekend and just bosses me around.
    There’s a soft knock, and I don’t say anything. I have brothers. They do what they want no matter what I say.
    Hunter presses open the door and gives me a sheepish smile. I glare, but I can’t stop a small smirk from tugging at the corner of my mouth.
    I wave him in, and he closes the door behind him. Lowering himself to the floor beside me, he nudges my shoulder with his.
    “ You mad at me, Bug?”
    “ I’m always mad at you. You’re my brother.” My smile widens as he takes the comb from my hand and starts to work it through my hair. He used to brush my hair when I was little because I didn’t have a mother to do it. Hunter takes care of people. He takes care of my dad, the farm, Emma, the twins...me. Then he leaves. He does everything for all of us then leaves.
    Everyone leaves. That’s why I’m mad. It’s stupid, and I hate feeling this way, but I can’t shut it off. Hunter left.
    A sob gets stuck in my throat, and I push it back down. I breath in the hurt. It’s not worth it. I have my memories. Plastered on my bedroom walls are photos, ribbons, medals, all the memories. All perfect. All mine.
    “ I know what you’re thinking, Gracie, and it’s not true.” Hunter’s eyes pull at everything inside me I try to hide. He knows what I feel before I do. He’s the only one.
    That damn hippie girlfriend of his. No, it’s been like this forever.
    “ I don’t believe you,” I mumble, and he stops brushing my hair.
    “ I’m not leaving you. No one is leaving you. Mom didn’t leave you. She left us, Graceland. All of us. I would never leave you. Not like she did.”
    I force back the tears that burn and again have to swallow the hurt. I nod, and Hunter pulls me in for a quick one-armed hug.
    “ The day will come when you have a chance to get off the farm. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t take it. I know you’d be lying.” He nudges me again and winks.
    He’s right. I would. I'm trying. Why else would I need my license so bad? I’ve already made the appointment to take the test, and I don’t even know how to drive yet.
    “ Fine,” I say through a smile.
    Hunter pats my cheek and stands up, holding out his hand. I let him pull me up and into a hug.
    “ You’re the best mom a girl could hope for.” I laugh into his chest, and he shakes me.
    “ Thanks, kid.” He kisses the side of my head quickly and turns to leave, pausing at the door. “It’s noon. Do you really need to start getting ready now? It’s just the Kick-Off, and you’re gunna be gross by the end of it anyway....Oh, and Also, I might let the twins give you birthday bumps this year. Just a heads up.”
    “ I retract all former praise of your mothering,” I say, shaking my head. Plus the twins won’t dare, not with the dress I’ll be wearing.
    Hunter laughs and shuts the door.
    The Summer Kick-Off is like a big town barn dance. It happens every year around my birthday. Sometimes they’re the same day, but not this year though. This year they had to bump up the date because of some Rodeo thing, so technically I don’t turn sixteen for just under two weeks, but my family always celebrates my birthday on this night. It’s one of the best memories I have. When I was twelve, everyone in town sang for me, I danced with Dermott O’Hale, and he was a good dancer. He’s also a good kisser. He was my first kiss, and it was perfect.

CHAPTER 8
    Bentley
    I’m so sick of being perfect. No, not actually perfect but expected to be so. Bentley McKinna, the poster child. The heir to an empire, the next in line of fake royalty. I don’t want any of it. I toss my cell phone into the air a few more times before I read the text again. I’m over my initial shock that my mother has actually learned how to text, and now I’m just pissed. She hasn’t stopped sending me the same message repeatedly for days. I stab out her number and tap my foot on the porch railing. Leaning forward on one hand, I look out over the Holloway farm. It’s quiet. So quiet. All I hear is the