11. Brent
CHAPTER 11
Brent
T o distract myself from the intense nerves that I’m having around having my day with Piper, I decide to tackle one of my hardest tasks.
There’s a fence that I need to repair. It’s about a million miles away, at the very edge of our property. I could take an ATV or a truck there, but it’s longer if I ride on horseback. So horseback it is.
I wake up before dawn to get out there. The fencing supplies are bundled up on Sam’s saddle, and I get the fuck out of the house before Tate wakes up, and just as Dalton is stirring.
Piper’s been sleeping at her own house. I can’t quite make heads or tails of that fact. Part of me is glad that she hasn’t been doing something outside of the norm. She doesn’t really ever spend the night at our house, even though we’d be happy to have her. Occasionally, if we’ve all had too much to drink or she’s drop-dead exhausted, she will, but mostly, she wants to be in her own space. Checking on the damn chickens, filming her content in the morning light, all that good stuff. So it feels okay that we’re doing something pretty normal, I guess.
What feels shitty is watching her leave each night and come back the next day. All while knowing that both Tate and Dalton have had a chance to fuck her, and I haven’t.
I’m really not complaining that much. I saw the schedule, and I heard Dalton when he changed it. I wasn’t about to let my instincts grab a hold of me, despite the fact that I wanted to knock him the fuck out when he did it.
No matter what, Piper is not really ours. She wants us to help her have a baby, and that’s it. We’re all still friends. Friends, apparently, who have sex sometimes.
I can pretend all I want, but the reality is that Piper has been very clear with us. She’s very clear that this relationship is still the same.
I’m too chicken to ask Tate and Dalton about their days. When I came back from working the cows yesterday, Tate looked like a goddamn cat that had eaten a fucking canary. And there was a cake that was fucking amazing, along with suspicious smears of flour in places that flour isn’t normally when Tate is baking. I didn’t ask.
Dalton, as per usual, didn’t say shit. He just gave Tate a glare, then went upstairs to his room. Clearly, we aren’t going to talk about it, which is another reason why I’m thinking this will never fucking work.
If we’re going to be more than friends with Piper, it’s all of us. Not just one, or two of us. All of us. And that’s a whole different fucking conversation than the one we’re already not having.
The sun’s nearly overhead by the time I find the fence spot. The cows aren’t even in this particular corner of pasture and won’t be likely until late summer. The priority that this chore should have in my head is fucking zero.
But here I am. Sam, the horse, munches on the untouched pasture grass while I get my ass over to where the hole in the fence is. I get out the barbed wire clippers and start hacking.
Fuck.
I don’t need this shit. I need the farm to be financially viable. We’re so fucking close to it.
And you’re a shit example for a kid when it comes to being financially independent.
The thought hits me like a runaway cow. I take a deep breath, my throat closing off as I think of the ways I’ve already fucked up.
I can’t be a role model to a kid. I’m the one who made all those shitty investments, putting us in this financial position to begin with.
God, I hope it’s not me. I hope it’s Tate or Dalton who…
“You’re gonna break the fence again,” Dalton rumbles.
I turn, pretending that I’m not startled by his presence.
“The fuck are you doing here?” I bark.
Dalton gets off of his horse. He doesn’t name them, so I have no idea who this one is, but it’s a beautiful dapple-grey roan with almost blue markings. The horse whickers, heading over to Sam, who gives them one fast look before returning to the grass.
My friend narrows his eyes. “You left early.”
“Needed to fix a fence.”
“I needed to take the dapple roan on a long ride.”
“Good. They do all right?”
“Yup. Gonna be a great horse for someone.”
I sigh. “You know, you could keep a horse, if you wanted to.”
That makes Dalton tense up. It’s an old argument, one we’ve had a million times. He’ll break and train a horse, but he won’t keep one. Thinks it’s unfair. Which, of course, is stupid as hell. He’s amazing with horses, and he deserves a good horse.
Dalton folds his arms. “Don’t fuck up with Piper.”
Anger, hot and red, descends over me. “What the fuck does that even mean, Dalton?”
“You know,” he mutters.
Jesus fucking Christ. I throw the barbed wire pliers down, glaring at him. “I swear to god, your whole stone-cold thing just fucking annoys the shit out of me. Say more, motherfucker.”
Dalton tenses, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. He gets nervous about talking out loud. Dalton went quiet in about the second grade, when he begged his uncle to stay over Christmas, and he left, anyway.
I huff. “Sorry. That was low.”
“Yup.”
“But seriously, Dalton. What the hell do you mean, don’t fuck it up with Piper?”
Dalton stares at me for a minute, his eyes searching mine. Finally, he straightens, like he’s steeling himself to do something hard. “Piper. She wants to be a parent. Bad.”
“Dude. Clearly. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have asked us to… help her with that.”
“She wants to make things different for our kid.”
Our kid. “Different how?” I ask, after realizing that the ‘our’ rattled my bones.
“Wants to show them what being a good parent can be like.”
I glare at him. “Is this some kind of fucking reminder that I would be a bad dad, Dalton?”
He shakes his head. “No. Just a reminder that a fresh start is a fresh start. She wants one. She wants to give one to a kid. You can have one, too.”
My jaw opens, then snaps shut. I can feel the veins in my forehead popping out. “The fuck are you saying?”
“You made one mistake, Brent,” Dalton says. “One bad investment. No reason to punish yourself for it forever.”
I’m… I don’t know what the fuck I am, but I didn’t expect that shit.
Dalton gives me a nod. He marches over to the roan, who meekly trots over, and uses all four legs to go to a gallop almost immediately.
I listen to the sound of hooves thundering away, still turning over Dalton’s advice in my mind. That’s the first thing. Advice? From Dalton? Boy, I thought I’d never see the day. But still.
I get that he’s trying to help me to move on. To let go of the past, and the fact that I did make that bad investment that lost us so much money when we were first getting the farm going.
Too bad it’s not his fuckin’ job.
I get to hold myself accountable to whatever I fuckin’ want to. Including making sure that I’m not going to fuck this up again. Because I’m not.
Fuck him. I’m going to do what Piper’s asked me to do. But I’m going to keep it as clinical as possible, because that’s what she asked for. She wants us to help her with a problem. So I’m helping her with a problem.
This is not anything else. If she wants help with her baby, then she’ll ask for it.
But I’m not a good role model. The best that I can do is be like a fun uncle.
That feels… good. Fine. Fucking great.
I pick up the pliers again, attacking the fence. I’m not going to worry about this shit. Not right now. I need to just show up and do what I’m responsible for when it comes to Piper, but I’m not going to let it eat my whole day. Not when night is hours and hours away. Right now, I’ve got a fucking fence to fix.
The fence becomes a blocked ditch. Which becomes a problem with an irrigation gate. Which ends up taking me so fucking long that by the time I look up because my eyes hurt, I realize that it’s because the sunlight is fading.
At first, all I’m thinking is that it’s sunset. As usual. Gotta get back in, get to bed, and then…
Fuck. It slams into me. Piper.
I’m fucking late to meet Piper.
God damn it.
I swing up on Sam, who is not nearly as fast as the dapple roan that Dalton was on earlier. I kick, hoping Sam will get a little bit of a gallop going, but my horse pointedly ignores me and starts out at the same half-ass canter that he’s famous for.
Sam is what we call bomb-proof. Kids can run under him and touch his belly, and you can take him hunting, and he won’t flinch. Unfortunately, he’s slow as hell. No matter what encouragement he has.
So by the time we’re in sight of the house, it’s dark. Real fuckin’ dark. There’s a light on in the kitchen, and my heart pounds in my chest.
It could be Piper.
“Come on, Sam,” I mutter, looking down at the horse.
He snorts but just keeps plodding toward the barn. When I get there, I rush through the process of taking off Sam’s tack. I’m rushing a lot, because I feel like shit for letting Piper down.
I’m not normally this scattered. I swear I’m not. Well, not since I made those shitty gambles with our money….
I’m thinking about everything except what I should be. That’s the problem. It’s why I turn, opening the wrong stall. The wrong horse. And when I head in, I notice way too late that the horse is a copper-colored bay mare.
There’s a bunch of things that happen at once. I notice that the horse in front of me is facing away. Meaning her ass is facing me. I notice she’s not Sam. And I feel the impact of something hitting my torso. Hard.
There’s a moment where I feel myself flying through the air. Where I’m weightless, the barn flying by me as I tumble backwards. Then, there’s a spark of pain across my back that matches the burning in my stomach.
Lying on the floor of the barn, I gasp. I didn’t realize how much pain I was in until I sucked in that deep breath of air. I must have had the wind knocked out of me.
Fuck me. I’m not a rodeo guy for a reason. Those guys can take a fall without breaking a sweat. Me, however, I fucking hate it.
The horse is screaming, and I know that I need to get her back into the stall. I move up, my torso and my back screaming at me as I go. I wave my hands, and she startles, hopping back into the stall. I shut the door, then groan as a wave of pain cascades out from my ribcage.
I fall. Like I said, I’m not a fuckin’ rodeo cowboy. This shit hurts, and I’m not even going to try and fight through it.
I shut my eyes, trying to breathe as my back and my front both pulse with hurt.
“Brent?”
I blink my eyes open. There’s brown hair. Green eyes, in a delicately boned face. Petite shoulders, kneeling down, close to me.
Fuck.
“Hey, Piper,” I whisper, the sound wheezing from my lungs. “You good?”
“Jeez, Brent. What the heck happened to you?”