To my son, Austin. The only person who understands my love for Alabama football because he just may love it a little more. Seven years ago . . . “You noticed anything different about Ash?” my cousin, Sawyer, asked as he climbed up the tree to sit beside me on our favorite limb overlooking the lake. I shrugged, not sure how to answer his question. Sure, I’d noticed things about Ash lately. Like the way her eyes kinda sparkle when she laughs and how pretty her legs look in shorts. But there’s no way I’m confessing those things to Sawyer. He’d tell Ash and they’d both laugh their butts off. “No,” I replied, not looking at Sawyer for fear he’d be able to tell I was lying. “I heard Mom talking to Dad the other day, saying how you and me would start noticing Ash differently real soon. She said Ash was turning into a beauty and things between the three of us would change. I don’t want things to change,” Sawyer said with a touch of concern in his voice. I couldn’t look him at him. Instead, I kept my eyes fixed on the lake. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Ash is Ash. Sure, she’s always been pretty, I guess, but that’s not what’s important. She can climb a tree faster than either of us, she