Chapter Twenty-One The Dark Stallion
THE DOOR TO my brother’s office opens with a groan.
I step in, and the gap between the third and fourth floorboards creaks as I walk over it.
I get in farther to see that while the left wall is completely flooded with photos from our childhood, the right wall has end-to-end bookshelves, bulging with heavy texts and paperbacks.
On the third shelf from the right, there’s a book called Wild Montana, a text about Montana’s wildlife.
It’s probably the fifth book or maybe the sixth, depending on what mood Mars is in while reading it.
If I found the book in the fifth place, I’d generally assume he was pissed off.
Because it usually goes in the sixth, but when he’s angry, he’ll mess up the order.
Which is a big deal for my organized-to-a-fault brother.
There’s a large desk with thick legs in the center of the room.
The front left one has a slight chip in it from where an eight-year-old Ax kicked it when Mars wouldn’t let him go to the rodeo with his friends.
The wall above the desk is the home of a portrait of our parents.
If you take it down and flip it over, you’ll see the names of all three of us, Marsden, Arsenal, and Axton, written in red Sharpie on the cardboard backing. Ax’s doing.
Not gonna lie, I’m happy this is the first room of the house that I’m stepping into after eight years.
Because creeks and groans may be louder than before, but other than that very little about it has changed.
Unlike the living room and the dining area that I just walked through.
But I’m trying not to dwell on all that.
Or any of the changes that might have occurred in the last eight years.
To that effect, I glance at Ax, who’s sprawled on one of the armchairs by the desk, playing on his phone. Then, looking at my older brother, seated behind the desk, I ask, “What’s he doin’ here?”
Ax doesn’t give Mars a chance to reply. “Ah, you got your shirt back on. Good.” Then, “This is a family meeting, ain’t it? I’m family.”
I inhale a sharp breath, glad to notice that the air still smells like leather and whiskey with a hint of the woods.
Perfect embodiment of my brother who rules all from behind this desk, but from what I can remember, before our parents died and our lives changed, wanted to be just a cowboy instead of a landowner.
He didn’t get that freedom, though. Not like me and definitely not like Ax.
I wave those thoughts away and say, “This is not a family meeting.”
Finally, Mars gets a chance to reply: “It involves family. And Ax is eighteen now. He gets to sit in.”
I know how old Ax is. If Mars or anyone else thought I forgot that my younger brother turned eighteen five and a half weeks ago, then they were wrong.
I remember. I also remember that when I got put away, he’d reach my chest—even at ten years old—but now he’s as tall as me.
His voice was still childlike then, only starting to turn deep.
He was all elbows and knees, but now I can see the definition of his muscles through that blue T-shirt he’s wearing.
He’s more tanned now, and the lines of his face have matured under the sun, telling me that eight years ago, he was a cowboy-in-the-making whose hat would sit too big on his head, but now I bet he’s as good a cowboy as any one of those ranch hands out there.
Mars would’ve made sure of that. Like he did with me and Rad.
And speaking of which, I know my older brother has aged as well.
There’s silver in his hair, and the lines on his forehead and around his eyes are deeper.
When I left, there was no indication that he’d end up marrying the girl me, Rad, and Ax grew up with.
But a little over three years ago, Mars called and shared the good news.
I know they celebrated their three-year anniversary two months ago.
Well, celebrated may be a stretch, given that she calls Mars Mr. Grayson, like she still works for him and he still signs her paychecks.
I did have a chance to meet them during visitations, but after the first few times, I refused to see them.
In the beginning, they’d still come, especially Axton, but like an asshole, I wouldn’t budge.
It was just too painful, to look them in the eyes and see sadness and regret for me.
For what I lost. For how my life changed. I didn’t need that from them.
I didn’t need their pity, their grief. I was there because I deserved to be there, and once all of this was over, I would still be stuck.
In the past. In that night eight years ago.
So no, I didn’t need their sympathy. I also didn’t need them to waste their time on me.
I wanted them to move on with their lives.
It was just that I didn’t know how hard it would be to witness that, all these changes in my brothers.
Ax looks up from his phone, tips his hat at me in salute. “Lookit, bitches; I got a seat at the table now.”
Mars has a million rules about things. Probably the only way he knew how to deal with our parents’ sudden death and all the responsibilities that he inherited.
In our family, when you turn eighteen, you get inducted.
As in, you get to find out business secrets, land secrets, secrets about the bloody history of the Graysons and the Turners.
I’m not sure how much Mars has shared with our younger brother—probably not much, since he just turned eighteen and I can still see some youthful innocence in his eyes—but it’s coming.
Mars sighs, possibly praying for patience when it comes to Axton.
And I decide to fuck it. The sooner I accept that things changed in my absence like I wanted them to, the better.
So I take a seat, indicating my silent agreement.
I regret it a second later, though, when Ax asks, “So first question, what happened to your shirt anyway?”
I shoot him a warning look.
“Ax, son, enough,” Mars warns.
He raises his arms in surrender. “Fine. Whatever.”
Finally, Mars sits back and rests his elbows on the arms. “Now, care to explain who she is?”
I fist my hands, digging my blunt nails into my skin because I know what’s coming. It’s like an electric shock every time it happens, every time thoughts of her run through my head. Or like sticking your hand into scalding-hot water.
Reverie.
Like a daydream. I couldn’t have picked a better name for her myself.
The girl who brought my dreams back is called Reverie.
Suits her much better than the name Peyton ever did.
But that’s neither here nor there. The point is that I’ve tried to escape her these last few days.
Her buttercup scent that I fall asleep to; the shape of her curvy little soft body that seems to be imprinted on mine after riding with her for close to a week; the goddamn memory of her taste that rises up at the least opportune moments.
I’ve tried pushing all those things away, but it doesn’t work.
So now I simply let it all pass through me, let it electrocute me, burn me before moving on.
Although I don’t think there’s any moving on from what happened last night. What I did. I keep my tone neutral and my mind at task. “She’s the best friend. Her mother used to work for the Turners.”
Mars doesn’t bother to hide his confusion. Tipping his hat up, he asks, “If she’s not the Turner girl, what is she doin’ here?”
It’s hard to hold on to a calm composure, but I do it. “She’s here because I made a mistake.”
At this, Mars’s eyes turn sharp, and I notice Ax putting his phone aside.
Several seconds pass while they scrutinize me, and soon I’m losing my patience.
I need to get this done so I can get out of here.
Because as it turns out, my fucked-up brain thinks family’s a crowd, too, and I’m starting to suffocate within these walls.
I’m not sure, though, where I’ll find relief or where I belong because it’s not as if I can take an easy breath when I’m outside either.
Out there, there’s too much fucking sky and air.
Actually, I do know where I find relief. By her side.
When she’s with me, all my focus is on her. On looking at her, smelling her, keeping her safe. I don’t feel useless. Like a sore thumb sticking out whose only place is behind bars. But the thing is that I don’t deserve relief. And neither do I know how to keep anyone safe, let alone her.
Mars is the first to break the silence. “Are you sayin’ to me that you brought home the wrong girl?”
I clench my jaw and let another one of those electric shocks jolt through my system. This one stems from anger at myself. At my absolute fucking incompetence.
“Holy shit.” Ax sits up in his chair, his mouth open in a way that makes him look like the ten-year-old kid he was when I left. “You fucked up.”
Before I can respond to Ax’s conclusion, Mars speaks: “Did you?”
Exhaling a short breath, I admit grudgingly, “Apparently.”
I see his mustache twitch in growing anger. “So instead of putting her back in the right place, you brought her here.”
“She’s not a bridle that I misplaced,” I snap. “She’s a girl. Couldn’t leave her by the side of the road when I found out she was useless, now, could I?”
“So you shouldn’t have picked her up like the goddamn bridle in the first place.”
“Well, hindsight is twenty-twenty, ain’t it.”
He grinds his jaw. “How does that… How the fuck could you not know?”
I’ve been asking myself the same question. How the fuck did it happen?