Once, in Texas.

Sarah Mercer and Mari Garcia were the town's most unlikely pair, a put-together church wife and a teenage girl with a secret. But in the early '70s, they bonded over the one thing they had in common, they were both pregnant. An experience that bonded them like sisters and broke them like porcelain.

Their children, Dean Ford Mercer and Cameron "Doll" Garcia, grew up side by side. Closer than blood ever could've made them. Hip to hip, heart to heart.
Dean never cursed, never buttoned his flannels, and worked with his hands. Doll had a sharp tongue, fists to match, and no patience for small-town rules.

By the time college rolled around, the cracks began to show. They had one shot, at love, at not hurting each other, but nothing about it was easy.

Because there's a part of Doll that cannot settle. Cannot rest.
Dean, at twenty years old, all he wanted to do was rest. Love quietly. Study hard. Marry young.

But Doll Garcia was never built for a quiet life.
And Dean Mercer was never built for such a heavy heartache.

It was never a love story, not exactly.
Not even 30 years later, not even when the dust settled.