Chapter 43
43
He spends most of the twilight hours inside of her.
Still, it’s not enough.
Early the next morning, while Hunter is still asleep, I walk to the main house despite the strain in, oh, just about every single muscle in my body.
Because it wasn’t just once . I should’ve known it was never going to be just once . It was a lot more than that. So much that any faith in my birth control dissipated somewhere along the way and, despite what might’ve been moaned in the heat of the moment, I need to buy some Plan B just in case. But that’s later on today’s agenda. Right now, I’m on the hunt for something—someone—else, and I find him exactly where I thought I would.
When I call out a greeting to Jackson, he tentatively smiles at me over the spotted flank of the Appaloosa, Scooby, he’s had ever since I’ve known him.
That smile slows my steps. A thin tendril of dread curls in my stomach, but I persevere. “You busy?”
Shaking his head, he drops the wire brush in his hand into the bucket at his feet. “You okay?”
There’s something about the way he asks; so careful. Too careful.
I sigh. “Lux told you?”
“You know she wouldn’t do that. I was there last night, remember?”
Right. And he figured everything out on his own. Of course, he did. Because it was that obvious. I knew it was, I agonized over it, yet still, I held out hope that paranoia was addling my brain a little.
Wearing a grim expression that matches mine, Jackson grabs the rope looped around Scooby’s neck, and I follow as he guides the old stallion outside and into the pasture attached to the barn—the sick bay, they usually call it. “He doing okay?”
“Just nervous.” Jackson gestures back the way we came, at the barn packed to the brim with horses. “He doesn’t like crowds.”
“Takes after his owner.”
He flashes me a quick, strained smile, silent as he gets Scooby situated. Securing the gate, he rests back against it, arms crossed. “It was happening while we were together?”
“It’s complicated.” I sidle a little closer, stacking my arms atop the gate’s top rung. “Yes, and no.”
“I’m sorry for making you feel like you couldn’t tell me.”
“You had enough on your plate.” Negligent parents, absent grandparents, and four younger sisters he was practically raising, to be exact. I couldn’t, I wouldn’t , add to that.
And yet, still he insists, “I would’ve helped. We would’ve helped.”
“I didn’t want help. I didn’t want anyone to know.” I pause, picking at the hangnail on my thumb. “And you did help. Being here helped so much.”
A warm palm cups my shoulder and squeezes.
“You can help now too.”
He slides me a questioning frown.
“Can you take me home, please? To my dad’s house.”
He’s shaking his head before the question even leaves my mouth. “That’s not a good idea.”
“It’s a terrible idea,” I agree. The thought of going over there makes me itch. “But I have some things I want to say. Things I need to say. I…” I flop my head back and stare at the sky as I search for the right words. “I want to be done, but I can’t just be done . I’m not built like that. I can’t let last night be the last time I ever see my dad.”
I hit a nerve there, I can tell, and maybe I did it on purpose. Played on mutual daddy issues, and it works. I watch his resolve crumble. His shoulders slump as he gives me a resigned look. “He does anything, we’re out of there. And I’m not leaving you alone with him.”
“Good, because that’s why I’m bringing you.”
“Why are you bringing me?”
Why not Hunter? is what he means. “If it was Luna, would you let her go over there?”
“If it was Luna, I’d probably kill him.”
“Exactly. For me, you’ll only step in if it's necessary. Hunter would throw him through the wall for fun.”
Jackson laughs, nodding his agreement before shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it all—before rolling his head to the side to squint at me. “Glad you found that.”
“Someone who would throw someone else through a wall for me?”
He smiles. “Yeah.”
“Luna would throw someone through a wall for you.”
A loud, proud laugh rips from his throat. “Damn right she would.”
Unsurprisingly, the front door is unlocked.
I fight back the wave of shame that hits me as I push it open and lead Jackson inside, exposing him to the mess I’ve hid for so many years. It threatens to drown me when we find my dad exactly where I thought I’d find him—sprawled on the couch, snores spilling from his open mouth.
Either that swollen, bruised nose isn’t actually broken or he was too drunk to make it to the emergency room and get it fixed—or he was too drunk to feel the pain that would drive him there, more likely. The gash on his cheek hasn’t been dealt with either, they haven’t been cleaned and soothed like mine, and I clench my hands in tight fists as the instinctive urge to take care of him washes over me.
For a moment, I just stare at him. I try really, really hard to see beneath the yellow fingernails and the unkempt scruff and the awful memories. My failure settles beneath my skin. It pools at the base of my spine and spreads upwards, settling in my heart and hardening it.
“You can wait in the hall,” I tell Jackson, whose mouth settles in a disapproving straight line. “I’ll call you if I need you.”
He doesn’t look happy about it, but he begrudgingly steps out of the room, leaving the door open behind him.
Dad doesn’t stir as I perch on the wobbly coffee table. Nor when I call out gently. It takes a prod on the shoulder, a couple of them, for bloodshot eyes to fly open. He jolts at the sight of me, his broken face contorting with ugly fury as he struggles to sit up. He grumbles something unintelligible, and I don’t give him the chance to conjure up anything comprehensible enough to hurt me—to deter me.
“I’m done,” I say, weak and quiet, but that’s okay—at least I’m saying it. “I’m done taking care of you. I’m done covering for you. I can’t do it anymore.”
I let him get out a scoff, that’s all I let him do, before pushing on. “If Mom saw you treating me like this, if you treated her like this, she would leave, and she would never come back.”
He sits up so fast I almost fall off the table with how quickly I recoil. “Don’t talk about your mother.”
Getting to my feet, I put some distance between us. I glance at the doorway and see the curve of Jackson’s shoulder as he leans against the wall. Reassured by the sight, I fold my arms over my chest and turn my attention back to my dad. “She would hate this. She would hate you .”
Red creeps up Dad’s neck, smoke practically pouring from his ears. “Watch yourself, Caroline.”
“I’ve been watching myself. I’ve been so careful. I’ve been killing myself, Dad, you’ve been killing me, and you don’t care.”
His mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
“You hurt me last night, and you don’t care.”
Still, nothing. No denial. No regret. Nothing .
“I cried at her funeral and you called me weak. Do you remember that?”
He doesn’t. It’s written all over his face, clear as day, that he doesn’t, and I don’t even know why I’m surprised. I don’t know why it makes me so upset when I’m prepared for it, why I have to take a second before choking out what else I prepared. “I was supposed to be weak, I was a kid. I didn’t need to be strong. I needed to be safe and loved, and I needed my dad, but I don’t anymore. I have people who love me. Who don’t think I’m weak or stupid or pathetic because I’m not. But if I was, I would get it from you.”
“How fucking dare you.” Dad lunges, but he doesn’t get far. He’s slow, still half drunk, stumbling over the coffee table, and by the time he rights himself, Jackson is there. Grabbing my dad by the shoulder, easily dodging him when he makes a swing at him, and forcing him to sit again.
“Stupid fucking boy.” Dad sneers at my ex almost as viciously as he sneers at me. “Came crawling back, did you?”
Jackson doesn’t bother with a response, and I can tell his silence really bothers Dad because when he swivels back to me, there’s an air of desperation to his scorn; like he can’t bear the indifference. “Where’s the big guy, huh? He sick of you already.”
“Try to contact me again and next time, I’ll bring him.”
It’s the only threat I have—the only incentive to stay away, I realize with terrifying clarity—but it’s a pretty good one. And for now, it works.
When Jackson lets him go, Dad doesn’t make another move towards me. He huffs and grunts and swears, and flops back against the sofa cushions, and that’s the last image of him that sears himself into my brain.
A crumpled, angry drunk.
I don’t say goodbye. I walk out, dropping my front door key on the coffee table as I go. I get in the car, I buckle up, and, after Jackson follows suit, I make it all the way down the street before I start to shake. Before my thoughts start to run wild wondering how long it’ll be until, despite whatever effort I make, I bump into him around town. I wonder how I’ll be able to sleep at night, alone in my ramshackle apartment, knowing he’s only a few blocks away. I wonder when the sound of my ringtone will stop making my skin crawl.
I wonder when the call will come. The one that bolsters the guilt coiling in my guilt—that confirms abandoning my dad is a death sentence.
“Did Lux ever tell you about our dad coming around after our mom died?”
Tangled so deep in thought, it takes a minute to pull myself out and register Jackson’s question. When I do, I shake my head. “She never talks about your parents.”
None of them do. All I really know about them are the dribs and drabs I’ve pieced together from snippets of information revealed over the years; an on-and-off again relationship that resulted in too many kids they didn’t want, kids they didn’t even pretend to want, and a childhood spent bouncing from place to place until they finally landed somewhere safe.
“He turned up the day after her funeral. I think my grandmother dragged him, honestly.” He laughs a bitter noise, as bitter as the relationship between him and his paternal grandparents. “I screamed at them all. Told them to get out of our lives, bought the ranch from them so they would have to, and we haven’t heard from them since. I did that for the girls, and I did it for me, and I don’t feel guilty.” He glances at me briefly, just long enough to see those dark eyes shining with stern sincerity. “ You don’t feel guilty, Caroline.”
You don’t feel guilty .
I repeat it in my head. I repeat it the whole way back to the ranch. And somewhere along the way, I start to believe it.
“Where the hell did you two sneak off to?”
Hands on her hips, Lux eyes me and Jackson suspiciously as we slope into the barn. I swear even the dogs, scattered across the hay-dusted floor seeking shelter from the dry September heat, perk up curiously at our arrival. Giving my shoulder an encouraging pat, Jackson exits out the back door, whistling for the pack to follow him and leaving me alone to explain.
“I needed his help with something.”
I knew that wouldn’t be enough, but the ferocity with which Lux’s dark brows shoot up to her hairline is still vaguely amusing. They droop as I elaborate, drawing together as I detail my brief but fulfilling foray into town.
Unimpressed, she kisses her teeth. “I would’ve gone with you.”
I know she would’ve—I didn’t ask her for pretty much the same reason I didn’t ask Hunter. “You’re too pretty for prison.”
“Rich people get away with murder all the time.”
I snort, reaching out to box her on the shoulder gently only to be yanked into a hug that knocks the breath out of me.
“Proud of you, Line.”
Over the lump in my throat, I warble, “Proud of me too.”
Lux squeezes me tightly before pulling back, dropping a noisy kiss on my cheek as she goes. Clearing her throat, she swipes once beneath either eye before getting back to work, picking up the pitchfork leaning against the stall beside her and stabbing at a bale of hay. “I noticed your truck isn’t here.”
It’s the least accusatory sentence in the history of the world yet it makes me want to hold up my hands and deny some nonexistent crime. “So?”
One knowing look makes me sigh. I relent, spilling the part of this morning I conveniently left out before. “I walked over from Hunter’s.”
A shit-eating grin stretches Lux’s mouth as wide as it can possibly go. “I thought you were walking a little funny.”
I can’t even deny it, I don’t deny it, and my silence costs me.
Lux’s smile drops. She squints at me, a ‘ no freaking way ’ kind of a look on her face as she realises her joke isn’t actually a joke. A disbelieving gasp parts her lips. “Y’all fucked, didn’t you?”
Again, there’s no room for denial. Fucked is definitely the word I’d use.
The pitchfork falls to the ground with a clang that’s almost as loud as the shrieked, “ Caroline Brennan, ” that makes me wince. “ You had sex with Hunter? ”
I resist the urge to clamp my hands over my ears—and to cower with embarassment. “Say that again. I don’t think everyone in Ponderosa Falls heard you.”
Lux grins like a freaking maniac. “Now, now, limpy.”
“I’m not limping .”
“You’re definitely waddling a little.”
“Shut up.”
“I expect salacious details.”
“Then you don’t know me very well.”
“My, my, she’s quippy this morning.” Lux snickers as she grabs my shoulders and shakes me gently. “So you figured things out?”
“We saw Cheryl last night. She was… there .”
Lux whistles out a breath. “When it rains, it pours, hey?”
I flash a weak smile. “Tell me about it.”
“Tell me about it,” Lux retorts, and I do. I relay the parts of last night that she missed—the innocent parts, at least—and I get dragged into another hug. A bouncy, girly, giggly hug that doesn’t feel entirely appropriate since it’s partly a divorce we’re all giddy about, that’s rounded off with a slyly murmured, “Hunter was definitely limping.”
“Shut up .” I shove her away, rolling my eyes. “Where is he?”
“Off dreaming wistfully about you, I’m sure.” That earns her a poke in the ribs, and it’s her turn for an eye-roll. “He’s fixing fences. Can I talk to you for a minute before you chase him down and desecrate my land?”
I snort at her dramatics, but I follow her inside. When we wind up in her bedroom, I only get a moment to coo over the baby sleeping soundly in his bassinet before I’m frowning at his mother, wondering why she’s dropping to her knees and rummaging around beneath her bed. I get an answer that’s in no way clarifying when she retreats clutching a dusty wooden box, and I frown so hard my forehead hurts when she pulls a thick white envelope out of it.
“Not gonna lie,” Lux says as she clambers to her feet and perches on the edge of her bed. Her tone is light, chipper almost, but her hand trembles as she holds the envelope out towards me. “I’ve always wanted to do this. Handing someone an envelope full of money is kinda badass, don’t you think?”
An envelope full of… “What’re you doing?”
The corners of her mouth drop, as does that money-laden hand. “I was thinking about what we talked about. About you leaving. And I think you feel stuck. Like you can’t leave. And I realized that no matter what happens, you probably won’t go unless someone tells you to. So,” she clears her throat, trying and failing to look solemn. “I’m telling you— go .”
I stand stock-still, staring at that envelope, scarcely able to breathe. “Go?”
“You need to leave, Caroline,” Lux warbles, her attempts at stoicism waning. “Get out of Haven Ridge.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Because I can’t, that’s why. Because I’ve never not been here. Because I don’t know where I would go, what I would do, how I would survive. I wouldn’t—I couldn’t .
Lux pulls me down beside her, holding my hand. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you’re gonna be able to sleep at night knowing he’s still nearby. Tell me you’re not gonna spend every waking moment dreading you might bump into him. Tell me—” her voice breaks, and she does too, a couple of tears tracking down her face. “Tell me you’re still gonna be done when he comes knocking at your door, calling you Linny and begging for help.”
I open my mouth.
Nothing comes out.
Before I have time to crumble, to lament how pathetic I am, Lux is gingerly taking my face between her palms, holding me still so I have no choice but to listen to the truth, to see it. “That does not make you weak, Caroline. It makes you a person. A very good person who, for once in their lives, needs to do something for herself.”
For herself. By myself . I bite my bottom lip to contain a whimper. “I’m scared of being alone.”
“You don’t have to be.”
For a second, I almost think she means Hunter. For a second, I almost want her to. And then, a perfectly timed yip echoes throughout the house, and we both shush Herc as he barrels into the room.
“Take him.” Lux jerks her head towards the runt sniffing our feet. “Take the money. And go.”
“I can’t take the money.”
The upward curve of her mouth is unbearably sad. “But you can go.”
“I—”
I stop the instant denial. I think about it, I really think about it. I imagine myself not here, somewhere else, somewhere no one knows me—I imagine what that might feel like.
I slump with relief at the mere hypothetical.
It’s not a final decision. I’m not one-hundred-percent sure I’ll even be able to do it. But I must decide something because Lux sees me do it. And she lets out this noise, this tiny, sniveling noise, that has me falling into her arms, freaking wailing .
“You were playing the long game, weren’t you?” I sob into her hair. “You’re finally getting rid of me.”
“Yeah.” She sniffles, her voice barely more than a croak. “Look how ecstatic I am.”
I cry harder, and she does too, and at some point, Alex wakes up and does some crying of his own until Lux scoops him up, cradles him close. “It won’t be forever, though,” she whispers to me while looking at him. “You’ll come back, right?”
“If I’m really able to leave.”
She snorts a choked-up noise. “You’re going. And you’re taking that money. I’ll shove it down your throat if I have to.”
Instinct conjures up a refusal, but I snuff it out. Never look a gift horse in the mouth, right? “Thank you. I’ll pay you back, one day.”
Lux lifts her gaze to me. Reaching the arm not wrapped around her son out to me, she hooks her pinky around mine. “One day.”