Roaring Fork Roughstock (Roaring Fork Ranch #2)

17. Porter

17

PORTER

I woke to find Cici pressed against me, her head tucked under my chin, one leg thrown over mine. We’d fallen asleep in our usual positions—me on top of the covers, her underneath—but sometime in the night, she’d managed to wrap herself around me anyway. Her warmth seeped through the blanket between us, making my body ache with the need to pull her closer.

Last night’s confession echoed in my head. Telling Cici I loved her was the truest thing I’d ever said to her, but it was still shadowed by lies. I gently extracted myself, not wanting to wake her. She made a small sound of protest that nearly broke my resolve, but I had somewhere to be.

Maverick waited downstairs, his face pale and drawn. No crutches today—a good sign. His determination to walk without them filled me with pride I didn’t deserve to feel.

“Ready?” I asked, keeping my voice low, though we were far enough from the house that Cici wouldn’t hear.

“I remembered something,” he finally said as we turned onto the main road. “About that night. The accident.”

My hands tightened on the steering wheel. “Mav?—”

“Not all of it. Just…flashes. The sound of metal crushing metal. Someone pulling me out…” He stared straight ahead. “Your voice.”

“Memory’s tricky when trauma’s involved,” I offered. “The doctors said?—”

“Stop.” His voice cracked, and his eyes filled with tears. “Just…don’t say anything else.”

I pulled over, killing the engine. “What’s goin’ on, Maverick?”

“Why are you helping me?” he finally asked. “After everything...”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Is it? Look at me, Porter. Look at what I’ve become.” He gestured at his leg. “A crippled drunk. Some fucking legacy.”

“You’re not?—”

“I’m exactly what everyone thinks I am. Except they blame the wrong person for it.” He reached for the door handle. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t watch you and Cici…watch you try to fix everything while I just keep breaking it.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t deserve your help. Any of it.” He got out, stumbling in the dirt. “Tell Cici…tell her whatever you want. You’re good at that.”

I got out too, rounding the front of the vehicle. “Get back in the truck.”

“Or what? You’ll take the blame for this too?” His laugh sounded more like a cackle. “Everything you touch turns to shit because of me. You think I don’t notice? How you hold back, not just with me. More with Cici. I may not know exactly what, Porter, but I damn sure know you’re walking a tightrope, and it’s because of me.”

“Nothing I’m doing is because of you, Mav.”

“No? Then, why are you really helping out at the ranch? Why now?” He took a step back when I reached for him. “I’m not stupid. I see how you struggle to come up with answers to questions you’d rather not address. I see a fuck of a lot more than you think.”

I shook my head. “Quit wasting time trying to figure me out. Focus on yourself—getting sober and getting the ranch back on track. Now, get in the truck. I don’t want to miss the meeting. I need it, man.”

When Maverick climbed in without further argument, I shut the door behind him.

But after I got in and glanced over at him, I saw he was crying in earnest.

“I’m sorry. For all of it. Mostly, I’m sorry for everything Cici has been forced to deal with. Until you showed up, she had no help at all. Especially not from me. I just made it all worse.” He put his head in his hands, and his shoulders shook.

I started the engine and drove the rest of the way to town, thinking about Cici the entire time. When I’d left her, she was sleeping peacefully in the bed we shared but didn’t. About the love I’d finally admitted but couldn’t fully claim. About the web of lies and half-truths that threatened to strangle us all. My guilt and remorse were similar to Maverick’s, except mine were a lot worse.

The AA meeting was hard. Mav sat in the back corner, arms crossed, radiating tension. He didn’t speak, didn’t even look up when others shared their stories. But he stayed. That was something. Each time he came, he appeared to be listening a little more. Today, I caught him nodding once when someone talked about using alcohol to dull memories they couldn’t face. Baby steps. That’s what Kaleb always said—recovery was about putting one foot in front of the other, regardless of how far you travel.

When we returned to the ranch, Cici was waiting on the porch. The sight of her there, wrapped in one of her dad’s old cardigans against the morning chill, made my chest tight. She’d pulled her hair back in a messy bun, and her eyes were still heavy with sleep. Beautiful in a way that made me ache.

“Everything okay?” she asked as Mav headed inside without a word.

“Yeah.” I climbed the steps, wanting nothing more than to pull her into my arms. “He’s just processing some stuff.”

She studied my face. “You look exhausted.”

“Didn’t sleep much.”

“Me either.” Her hand found mine, fingers intertwining. “I missed you this morning.”

The simple touch sent warmth through my entire body. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I wouldn’t have minded.” She stepped closer, and I caught the scent of her shampoo—something floral and familiar that reminded me of better days. “Porter...”

“Cici.” My free hand came up to cup her cheek. “About yesterday?—”

“Don’t.” She pressed her fingers to my lips. “Don’t take it back.”

“I wasn’t going to. I meant what I said. Every word.”

Her eyes searched mine, and I wondered what she saw there. Could she read the guilt behind my love? The fear that every touch, every kiss brought us closer to a truth that might destroy us?

“Then, why do you still feel so far away?” she whispered.

Before I could answer, my phone buzzed with a text message from Kaleb. Urgent. Call NOW.

“You should take care of that,” Cici said, stepping back. The loss of her touch felt like physical pain.

“It can wait.”

She shook her head. “No, it can’t. I can see it on your face.” Her smile was sad but understanding. “Go. Whatever it is, handle it. I’ll be here.”

That was the problem. She would be here, waiting, trusting, while I juggled impossible choices and mounting secrets. Loving her had always been the easy part. It was everything else that threatened to tear us apart.

I found an empty spot behind the barn to return Kaleb’s call. “What’s so urgent?”

“It’s about Buck.”

“What about him?”

“He’s been asking questions about Maverick’s accident.”

My grip tightened on the phone. “Why?”

“Says something doesn’t add up. You know how he gets.” Kaleb paused. “Port, he’s got contacts in law enforcement. If he keeps pushing, we’ll both face criminal charges. I falsified evidence, Porter. I could lose everything.”

I closed my eyes, remembering Buck’s expression when I couldn’t tell him I loved him too. How much more would I lose, trying to protect Maverick’s secret?

“I’ll handle it,” I said, even though I had no idea how. “I’m sorry, Kaleb. I never should’ve?—”

“Wait. Fuck, Port. I agreed to it. I switched the blood samples. I’m sorry too, man. I shouldn’t be making you feel like this is all your fault. I could’ve said no, and I didn’t.”

After hanging up, I stood in the stillness for a few minutes, listening to Cici’s voice carrying from the barn—probably checking on Mesa King. Somewhere in the house, Maverick was likely wrestling with his own demons, carrying the weight of recovered memories and fresh guilt. And out beyond the ranch’s fences, someone still wanted to destroy everything the Morris family had built.

I pulled out my sobriety chip, running my thumb over the worn surface. One day at a time, that was what we learned in AA. But which day would be the one when all my careful lies finally caught up with me? And who would be left standing when they did? We sure as hell weren’t going to come out of it unscathed.

The sight of Cici in Mesa King’s stall took my breath away. The morning sun streaming through the barn window lit the highlights in her hair, making my heart clench. Cici Morris was one of the most honest people I knew and had the kindest heart. If only her life could be as simple as this moment—her doing what she loved instead of spending every day fighting for her family’s legacy.

She must have sensed my presence, because she looked up and smiled. “Your call go okay?”

“Roaring Fork stuff.” At least there was some semblance of truth in my response. Buck did live there. I nearly groaned out loud at how fucked up my thoughts had become.

More than anything, I wanted to cross the space between us, take her in my arms, and never let go. Instead, I nodded and stepped into the stall, keeping a careful distance as we worked. Every brush of her hand, every shared glance, felt like both a gift and a curse.

“He’s getting stronger,” she said, stroking Mesa King’s neck. “A few more days, and he might be able to get into the ring, get some exercise.”

“That’s good news.”

“Yeah.” She turned those knowing eyes on me. “Now, if only everything else was getting better instead of worse.”

If only, indeed.

“Porter?” Buck’s voice carried from the barn doorway, sending chills up my spine. My brother stood there, in his work clothes, looking like he’d been up for hours. Probably had been. “Got a minute?”

Cici squeezed my arm as she passed. “I need to check on Mav anyway.”

I watched her go, then followed Buck outside.

“We need to talk,” he said in a thick, low voice.

I thought about the cameras, the surveillance footage. “Not here.”

He nodded and motioned to his truck. “Let’s take a ride.”

I didn’t ask where we were going, even when he drove straight past Gunnison. I was beginning to think he was taking me to the Roaring Fork, but when we reached Altamont, he pulled off the main road and parked by the river where we’d learned to fly-fish.

“Here’s what I wanna know…”

I turned my head, not wanting to see his face.

“You weren’t drunk that night, were you?”

“Leave it alone, Buck.”

“Look at me, Porter.”

I took a deep breath and turned my head. “Leave it alone,” I repeated. This time, my words sounded more like the plea they were.

“Explain it to me.”

“If I do, you’ll be complicit.”

“What about Maverick?”

“He doesn’t remember. At least not yet.”

Buck scrubbed his face. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“Who else knows, Buck?”

“If Mav doesn’t remember, then nobody outside of you and the sheriff.”

I hung my head. “He did it because I begged him. You know what will happen if this gets out?—”

“It isn’t going to. At least not from me.”

I studied him.

“I just wanted to understand, Port. And when the shit hits the fan because of this—and it’s going to—I want to be able to help.”

I shook my head hard when my eyes filled with tears. “You won’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I just said I would.”

“There’s something I need to tell you, and after I do, you might not want to be around me long enough to take me back to Parlin.”

“I’m listening.”

“I knew.”

I couldn’t look him in the eye, but that he hadn’t asked what, said it all.

“How’d you find out?” he finally asked.

“Roscoe told me one drunken fucking night. Dumped it all on me, then made me swear on Mama’s life that I’d never tell.”

“You were eleven when she died.”

I nodded. “And I was eight when he told me you were another man’s son.”

“Fuck,” he said under his breath.

“I’m sorry, but don’t think that means I’m asking your forgiveness. I get why you can’t give it to me.”

“Porter…”

I shook my head again as tears streamed down my cheeks. Instantly, I was that eight-year-old kid again, scared shitless, but instead of my father’s wrath, I couldn’t bear the idea that this was the end of my relationship with my brother.

I felt his hand on my arm. “Porter.”

“God, I’m just so…fucking…sorry.”

His fingers squeezed my flesh. “Don’t.”

I wiped at my tears with my sleeve and looked up at him.

“He did this to you. To us. Not just you and me. All of us. Roscoe Wheaton was a mean, abusive sonuvabitch who did everything in his power to make us as miserable as he was. This is not your sin, Port. You were a kid.”

“And now, I’m a man. One who could have—should have—had the balls to tell you.”

He shook his head like I had. “This is the secret an eight-year-old boy was forced to keep. Not who you are now. You know how I know?”

“Nope.”

“I just watched you turn into him. I saw it happen. You turned into that scared kid who did everything he could to stay out of Roscoe’s line of sight, as far from him as you could get. The same way we all did.” His fingers pressed into my flesh a second time, and my eyes met his again. “I forgive you, Porter. You are one-hundred-percent absolved of this.”

“But, I didn’t?—”

He raised a brow. “What? Tell me?”

I nodded.

“What do you call this? What’s happening right now?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Wrong.” His tone was emphatic. “There was no gun to your head, Port. You told me now because it was the right time to do it. Simple as that. You’ve made your amends to me, little brother.”

I stuck my hand in my pocket and pulled out my sobriety chip, rubbing it with the pad of my thumb.

“I’m really proud of you, Porter.”

“Thanks.” My voice cracked as tears threatened again.

“Not just for that.” He motioned to the chip. “But for what you did for Maverick. I’m still worried that this will eventually blow up in your face, but I promise you, no one will hear about it from me.”

“How did you find out? At least if I know what evidence there is, maybe I’ll have a better idea of when this bomb is gonna explode.”

“There isn’t any evidence.”

I raised a brow.

“Crazy how things go missing sometimes, isn’t it? And when I say missing, I mean every last trace.”

“How?”

He chuckled. “Some things you’re better off not knowing.”

“Decker?”

“Sometimes, people can do something without having to know all the whys.”

I nodded, understanding what he was saying and that it meant I could never thank Ashford.

“What you said earlier, about Mav remembering, it’s gonna happen, and when it does, I don’t know what it will do to him.”

“If I were you, I’d be more worried about what it’s going to do to Cici.”

I rested against the back of the seat. “It’s all I think about.”

“I have a suggestion for you. Figure out a way to tell her. The sooner, the better.”

“That’s the problem, Buck. I swore to Mav I wouldn’t.”

“You’ve got to. Your only hope of saving her, yourself, and her brother is if you get it out in the open. And by that I mean, between the three of you. No one else.” Buck started the engine. “You hungry?”

“Not really,” I said, chuckling. “Kind of sick to my stomach, if you wanna know the truth.”

“Mama always said there’s nothing better for a tummy ache than a slopper.”

I laughed out loud. “She never said that.”

“Well, she should’ve, cuz I know for a fact that an open-faced cheeseburger smothered in green chili will kill whatever ails you.”