Dax

I’m nineteen again and holding the same woman’s hand; instead of climbing up to the hayloft, we’re walking into a bedroom. No scratchy hay, no opening to the night sky, yet my heart is beating the same way it did that night. Letting go of Kandace’s hand, I pull down the blankets on the partially made bed. As I turn her direction, my mouth goes dry and my breathing stops.

The blue Cubs shirt makes her eyes sparkle as she reaches for ...