Chapter 46 Fuck
Fuck
Tripp
Fuck.
I’m hit with instant regret—and my best friend’s fist. It glances off my cheek as my chair topples over, sending me sprawling onto the floor.
“Wes!” Quinn yells. “Stop!”
But he’s not listening to her. His fist knots in my shirt, yanking me upright.
Pops, cool as ever, mutters from his seat, “Boys, maybe you could take it outside.”
“Shit,” I grunt as Wes drags me toward the porch by my collar.
He takes another swing, but I duck this time, my knuckles brushing the dirt as I stumble. “Wes, just—let’s talk, man.”
He throws another punch and this time my lip splits. “Talk? All you do is run your fucking mouth.”
He’s not wrong. And Christ, I shouldn’t have said what I did. I should’ve kept my goddamn mouth shut. I thought I’d gotten better at the whole thinking before talking thing.
But then again, I thought Quinn and I had been close enough that she’d have told me about a damn job offer that far away.
“I shouldn’t have said that to you. It was a bad joke.”
“You fucking my sister isn’t a goddamn joke,” Wes growls.
I wince. “No, you’re right. It’s not funny.”
“She’s not some buckle-bunny whore who you can do whatever you want with.”
“Wes, enough,” Quinn says from the porch.
“Shut up, Quinn. Stay out of it. You don’t know him like I do.”
I’ll put up with Wes saying just about anything to me, but when he disrespects Quinn, I see red. I lunge and swing fast and hard, connecting with his nose, my fist making a satisfying crunch.
The next few minutes are a blur of fists and elbows and mumbled curses as we pummel each other. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.
Wes isn’t pulling his punches for me, and I do everything I can to use my smaller size and quicker movements to my advantage, but when he gets me to the ground, I know it’s fucking over.
He only stops when the sound of a sharp, shrill whistle sounds close enough to make him throw his hands over his ears.
I take the opportunity to shove him off me and roll to my knees, spitting blood and breathing heavily.
Quinn stands a few feet away, thumb and finger in her mouth, and Sawyer uses the brief pause to step between me and Wes.
“Okay, idiots. You duked it out, now go to your separate corners and cool the fuck down.”
Wes’ eyes burn with betrayal as he spits in the dirt. “You’re supposed to be my friend.”
That hits me in the gut, a mixture of guilt and shame twisting up my insides so tight I think I might puke.
It’s all too much.
Quinn not telling me about the job. Wes calling me out for being a shitty friend. I can’t take anymore of it. My chest heaves, and I turn on my heel, hands on my head as I stalk away.
“She’s not just a notch on your fucking bedpost. She deserves better than you,” Wes spits at my back.
His words land harder than any of those punches he threw, and I hunch over, bile rising.
She was never just a notch on my bedpost.
Never.
“Wes, shut the fuck up. You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Quinn snaps.
Her footsteps hurry after me. “Are you okay?”
Her fingers brush over my knuckles, then prod at my face, checking the damage. My lip’s bleeding. My eye’s swelling shut. My kidney aches. But none of it hurts as bad as the thing breaking apart in my chest.
“You should go, Quinnie.”
Her brows knot together. “No. I need to make sure you didn’t break anything or need stitches.
I shake my head. “To Denver,” I pant between gasps. “You should take the job.”
She steps back as if I’ve slapped her. “What?”
“There’s nothing for you here.” I hold her gaze, willing her to believe me, even though it’s the last thing I want. I’ll say it, anyway. Because I won’t be the one to hold her back. She deserves the world. And my world in Cottonwood Creek is so damn small.
Wes was right.
She deserves better than me. I’ve always known it.
“You don’t mean that,” she whispers, eyes pleading.
Fuck.
I shake my head and drop my gaze to the ground. “Take the job, Quinn. It’s what you’ve worked for.”
She doesn’t stop me as I stomp off to my truck, body sore, heart gutted. I leave it beating in her hands, cold weaving through the hollow spot in my chest where it once resided. It belongs to Quinn now. Maybe it always has.
It doesn’t escape my notice that I’m driving to my mom’s, tail between my legs, like I have so many other times in my life. And while I know she’ll find a way to make me feel a little less awful, I can’t help but wish my dad were still here.
He’d know exactly what to do in a situation like this. The loss is still palpable. Even five years later it cuts deep—a twist of the knife in a wound that will never fully heal.
In the span of ten minutes, I lost my best friend and the woman who means more to me than anyone else ever has. I’m adrift with no anchor, no map, and no idea what I’m supposed to do next. But Mom has always helped me find my way.
I turn my truck off and sit in the fading light, contemplating every idiotic thing I said, the look of betrayal on Wes’ face when he finally figured out Quinn and I had been more than just friends, the disappointment on Quinn’s face when I told her to take the job.
I must sit here longer than I thought because when my mom knocks on the window of my truck, the sun is just a blip on the horizon.
She steps back as I open my door. “You’ve been out here a long time,” she says. “You wanna talk about it?”
I bob my head, tears stinging the back of my eyes as she opens her arms. I fall into them, letting her wrap me in a hug that somehow heals a tiny piece of me in a way only mom hugs can.
If anyone can help me make sense of the shit I’ve gotten myself into, I know it’ll be her.
“Come on inside,” she offers. “You can tell me who messed up your handsome face over some cookies and milk.”
I sigh, letting some of the weight that had settled on me in the truck fall away as I follow her inside.
“It was Wes,” I say as she busies herself in the kitchen, pulling glasses down from the cupboard and filling them with milk.
She shoots me a questioning look.
“The guy who messed up my face.”
Her eyes go wide. “Oh, this ought to be good,” she says, setting the plate of cookies on the table before she finally sits herself down across from me. “Alright, Tripp. Start talkin'.”
I stall, taking a bite of the cookie that reminds me of my childhood, and chew slowly, my jaw a little sore.
“Wes found out me and Quinn were...” I trail off, waving a hand uselessly in the air like the gesture can fill in the blanks for me. “Y’know. Spending time together. But like with more touching... and less... clothes.”
She stares at me from across the table like she’s waiting for me to stop embarrassing myself. “Tripp,” she says flatly, “I’m not a child. Just say you were having sex with the girl.”
I cough in surprise, heat creeping into my cheeks. “Right. That.”
She leans back in her chair, lips twitching like she’s fighting a smile. “So, naturally, he’s mad about it. Looks like he paid you back for it too. Give it a day or so, and he’ll cool off. Then you can apologize for…”—she waves her cookie at me—"falling in love with his little sister."
The cookie halfway to my mouth freezes. I gape at her smug grin. “How the hell do you know I’m in love with Quinn?”
“Well, I think I’d have to be blind not to see it for one thing,” she says. “And for another, it’s been a long time since you showed an interest in any girl. I figured she had to be pretty special to break that streak. It’s been good seeing you with so much light again."
There’s a question in her eyes, like she’s wondering what changed.
“Quinn’s always been—I don’t know—more, I guess. But she got this job offer in Denver, and I told her to take it.” My throat suddenly feels like sandpaper as I swallow another bite of my cookie.
“Of course you did,” she says, unsurprised. “You’re not the type to ask anyone to give something up for you.”
I frown at the table, her words burrowing deep.
She pauses, then adds softly, “It’s why we sold off the ranch when your father got his diagnosis.”
My head snaps up.
“We never wanted you to feel like you were pinned here. I wanted you free to go back on the rodeo circuit, if that’s what you needed. You’ve always known what you wanted and have gone after it. It’s one of the best things about you.”
She's quiet for a moment, letting that sink in, and then her gaze sharpens. “So, go after her. If she wants Denver, and you want her, then what the hell are you doing still sitting at my table?”
I wipe my hands on my jeans, trying to put words to the ache in my chest. “What if I’m not forever material?”
Her brows lift. “What in the world would ever make you think that?”
I hesitate, hating how stupid it sounds out loud. “Nobody’s ever wanted me for more than a good time. And I figured, if it hasn’t happened yet, then maybe it never will.”
She gives me that patient, knowing mom look. “Maybe it wasn’t meant to happen with anyone else, Tripp. Maybe you were waiting for her. Ever think of that?”
My spine straightens as I let that settle, feeling the rightness of it in my bones. For the first time all day, something like hope stirs in my chest.
I bolt out of my chair and lean in to kiss my mom’s cheek. “Thanks, Mom,” I call, already halfway out the door. I have to fix things with Wes, so I can go get my girl.