Page 30 of The Lilac River (Silver Peaks #1)

Home – Phillip Phillips

Nash

T he world was conspiring against me. The world and my brothers.

Damn Wilder inviting Lily for dinner had just been phase one in the universe’s grand plan to screw me over.

I mean, it hadn’t even been bad, at least on the surface.

I barely spoke to her, but Bertie spoke enough for all of us combined.

Lily had helped clear the table, loaded the dishwasher without a fuss, thanked me politely for dinner, and left.

No drama. No fighting. No lingering looks.

And yet, it had unraveled me.

Two days had passed, and I’d managed to avoid her since.

I buried myself in ranch work, paperwork, even watching reruns of some dumb survival show with Gunner just to keep my brain occupied.

Anything but think about the way Lily had moved around my kitchen like she still belonged there.

Like she still knew my world. Like she still knew me.

Now, here I was, heading to school for the first parent-teacher meeting of the year. With Lily.

I hadn’t even known about it until this morning. Bertie, bless her little forgetful heart, had forgotten to give me the letter. Lily hadn’t said a word when she stayed for dinner, probably assuming I already knew.

The late afternoon sun was still hot as hell, even in the shade, and the high country air had that dry sharpness that always came before a cold snap. The scent of cut grass and pine sap lingered in the breeze as I walked up to the school, the gravel crunching beneath my boots.

The building looked exactly like it had when I was a kid. The same brick walls, same squeaky door hinges, same row of faded flyers for bake sales and band fundraisers on the corkboard. But stepping inside felt like walking into a different life.

“Hey, Nash.”

Ahead of me were Joseph and Bridie Hunterson. Joseph and I had gone all the way through school together, and their twins Jimmy and Jake were in Bertie’s class.

"Hey, Joseph. Bridie. How you both doing?"

Bridie side-eyed Joseph. “Let’s just say if those boys of ours don’t send me over the edge finally, we’ll be fine.”

“Take after you, do they?” I asked Joseph with a grin.

He scoffed. “I was an angel compared to them. Lily said she caught Jimmy painting Jake’s hair yesterday.”

“It’s something new every day,” Bridie added.

“They’re just rambunctious. And there’s two of them,” Joseph said, slipping his arm around his wife. “If anyone can deal with them, it’s Lily. I remember how she kept you and your brothers in line.”

Bridie nudged him sharply, shooting him a warning look.

“It’s fine,” I lied. “Lily and I are... fine.”

“Really?”

“Joseph!”

"Honestly, Bridie, it’s okay." I chuckled. “Listen, I should get going. Don’t want to miss my slot.” I nodded toward the open classroom door.

“Yeah, night, Nash.”

“Sorry, Nash,” Joseph called as they disappeared down the hallway.

I exhaled heavily. It felt like I was prepping for battle or a first date I didn’t want.

"Come on, Nash," I muttered. "She’s just a woman. You can do this."

I pulled my shoulders back and strode toward Lily’s classroom.

When I got to the doorway, I stopped.

She was sitting behind her desk, scribbling something in a notebook, a lock of golden hair falling over one shoulder. She tapped the pen against her chin, the way she always did when she was deep in thought.

A flicker of memory hit; her in my truck, senior year, using a similar notebook, planning our road trip to Tuscaloosa after graduation.

She’d marked everything in color-coded ink: routes, rest stops, gas stations.

I hadn’t cared about the plans. I’d just loved listening to her talk about a future that included both of us.

“I hope that’s not Bertie you’re trying to write about,” I said, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Her head jerked up, a small gasp escaping her parted lips. “Nash.”

I walked inside, pointing at her notebook. “Guessing you’re trying to sugarcoat something? I hope it’s not about my daughter.”

I smiled to make it clear I was joking and tapped my chin. “You always used to do that when you were trying to give bad news nicely.”

She looked down at her notes, then lifted her gaze back to mine, giving me a hesitant, beautiful smile. “I guess you know me too well.”

Her lashes fluttered down again, hiding something in her expression. Regret? Sadness?

We couldn’t keep on being hostile. It wasn’t serving either of us. And hell, after the other night, after seeing her with Bertie, I wasn’t sure I wanted the war anymore.

“I guess I do.” I cleared my throat. “Anyways, is it okay to come in, or am I early?”

“No, no, come on in.” She gestured to the chair in front of her desk, smoothing the front of her white sweater.

Relieved to see it wasn’t a tiny kid’s chair, I sat down. "Thanks for not making me sit in one of those tiny ass chairs."

She smiled, a little shyly. “I heard about your knee...”

"Did you make everyone else sit in one?" I teased.

“You’d like to think you’re special, but no.”

That made both of us chuckle, a sound that seemed to brighten the room.

For just a second, it was like no time had passed at all. Like we were still those two kids who thought the world couldn’t touch us.

But reality came creeping back.

I wasn’t sitting across from the girl I used to love. I was sitting across from my daughter’s teacher.

“So,” Lily said, straightening a little. “Bertie.”

She launched into everything she’d noticed about Bertie over the past few weeks, and my chest swelled with pride at every word.

“She’s amazing,” Lily said warmly fifteen minutes later. “But maybe now you know, you could get her to read to you a little more. Reward her with extra bedtime minutes if she does.”

I pointed a finger. “Good idea. She’ll do anything to stay up.”

Smiling, Lily handed me a sheet of paper. “If you can just sign to confirm you attended?”

As she handed me the pen, our fingers brushed, and electricity crackled through me.

Her body tensed. Her hand went to the back of her neck. My own skin burned.

Since Lily had come back, I’d been blinded by anger. But under that anger had always been the pull. The magnet that wouldn’t shut the hell up.

Images assaulted me: her head tipped back in laughter. Her soft moans in the dark. The sleepy way she used to smile at me in the morning.

I forced my eyes down and signed my name.

“How’s the creek?” she asked, her voice thin.

“Still waiting on test results. But we know what chemical it was.”

“And... does that help find out who dumped it?” She picked up a paperclip, nervously straightening it out.

“Maybe.” I folded my hands, trying not to watch her mouth as she bit her lip.

We chatted a little longer, phones, Bertie, growing up too fast, and for a few minutes it felt like old times.

It was dangerous. Comfortable. Deadly.

Because if the ice melted completely around my heart, I didn’t know if it could survive another freeze.

The thought made me abruptly push my chair back.

“I should go. Got work to do.”

“Oh. Yes, sure.” Lily blinked up at me.

I rose to leave, throwing one last glance at the curve of her neck. Fuck, she was still the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

“I’ll get Bertie to read to me tonight,” I promised.

“Good.” She smiled, the kind of smile that could heal wounds if I let it.

Then she held up her hand. “Oh, one more thing. The lavender farm field trip?”

I cursed under my breath. "Yeah, sure. Next Friday?"

“No, Thursday.” She winced. “Didn’t you get the email from Suki? It has all the details on it.”

“I’ll check later.”

“Are you sure it’s okay?”

“I said so.”

I turned before she could ask anything else.

“Bye, Nash,” she said softly.

I lifted my hand but didn’t look back.

If I had, I wasn’t sure I would’ve had the strength to walk away, because having seen her these past weeks with my daughter, it felt like every dream I’d ever had had come true. Yet it was all a lie. The universe’s way of tricking me into thinking she hadn’t broken my heart all those years ago.

I sat in my truck outside the school, gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles turned white.

Dinner two nights ago had cracked something open. Tonight, had splintered it even further.

The way she smiled at Bertie. The way she still laughed like summer wind. The way her damn fingertips still burned my skin.

A hawk circled overhead, coasting the thermals above the school roof. The sun was starting to dip low, casting long shadows across the lot and turning the fields gold.

I banged my forehead lightly against the steering wheel.

"Pull yourself together, Miller."

But deep down, I knew it was already too late.

The thaw had started.

And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to stop it.