Chapter 12
LONDON
I turn the corner and find him leaning against the counter, a cup of dark coffee in hand, staring out at the ranch. "Did you tell Trigg?"
His eyes stay pinned out the window. "You're going to have to be a little more specific," he says, bringing his mug to his lips.
I come around the massive island adorned with copper candelabras and stand before him. "You know what," I say, crossing my arms.
There are a limited number of people who know my story, how I ended up here and not behind bars.
The only person in Bardstown with those damning secrets is him, but the way Trigg was pushing me today, his sidelong glances piercing like daggers, scrutinizing my every reaction with what felt a hell of a lot like awareness, I'm not sure that's still true.
I may have been temporarily immobilized, my heart hammering hard against my ribcage as panic clawed up my throat, rocking me to my core with dread so heavy I could barely stand.
Still, through my fear, I could sense the knowing behind his so-called innocent glare.
The air between us crackled with unspoken accusations.
I didn't need words to understand the truth: Trigg knew that the woman beside him meant something to me, and that knowledge hung between us like a death sentence.
His eyes, as black as the coffee he's sipping, lock on mine. "Now, why would I do that?"
"Because he's your son!" I shout, unable to contain my annoyance with his lackadaisical reaction when I'm clearly anything but calm. I know he heard the door slam as I walked through the front door.
"Boy, don't go taking that tone with me," he says, setting his coffee on the counter. "I'm not in the business of telling stories that aren't mine to tell."
He stands straight, unfazed by my charge, his hands resting against the kitchen counter, strong hands bearing the small scars and marks of a lifetime working on this ranch.
I've only known Baylor Hale for a few short years, but I know those eyes.
Deep-set dark eyes, black as coal, peer out from beneath a weathered brow, and I know he's telling no lies.
I may not know every trial and tribulation or every secret, but I know those eyes. They're my father's eyes.
"You gonna tell me what's got you all out of sorts?"
I lick my lips before finding the nerve to say it out loud, because it still doesn't feel real.
The entire drive home, I felt like I was moments away from waking up from this nightmare, but then I pulled down the old gravel road, and the sound of the rocks kicking up against the footboards of the truck told me this wasn't a bad dream. It's reality. "She's here."
"You sure are doin' a fine job of speakin' in riddles today, but seein' how you're all worked up, I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that by 'she' you mean Laney Hart. That girl who sent you to me."
"Yes," I hiss, reluctantly confirming.
Out of all the cities in all the states, she had to end up in this one. Why does it feel like the gods are constantly shuffling the deck without rhyme or reason? Why take her away only to bring her back?
"Look, I don't know nothin' about that girl showing up here.
I've spoken to your father once since that sheriff dropped you off on my doorstep, and I haven't told a soul about what you did.
" He reclaims his cup, only to dump the remaining coffee down the drain.
His eyes capture mine, his gaze apathetic to the words he's about to say.
"I don't know what happened between you and Trigg today or what he has to do with any of it.
If I had to bet, whatever it is, is a combination of happenstance and a little bit of knowin'—"
"You just said?—"
"I wasn't finished." He reaches for his hat on the center island.
"Whatever Trigg does and doesn't know is of his own findin'.
But here's the thing with secrets: just as sure as my seed will pop up and grow in rows, so will your secrets.
What's buried deep and hidden beneath the soil will eventually surface.
" Then, placing his hat on his head, he starts toward the back door.
"I'll be out in the rickhouse if you need any more savin', but before I go, I'll leave you with this: you can't outrun your lies forever, especially the ones you never should have told. "
"I had good reason," I argue, as though he's forgotten the details.
"That's your opinion." His eyes meet mine one last time before he walks out the back door.
The weight of my choices settles on my chest like a boulder, each breath a struggle against the crushing regret that lingered ever since the night I changed our fates.
At that moment, I felt like I only had one option.
My path was crystal clear, and I took it without hesitation, but everyone knows hindsight is a bitch.
I've spent countless nights staring at shadows on my ceiling, replaying that evening, frame by frame.
The crowded parking lot of that damn ice cream shop.
The eerie sense of dread that came from passing the transient on the road.
Her smile…before everything fell apart. I've dissected each second and every decision.
If I'd driven another route. If I'd told her I didn't want to stop because I selfishly wanted all of her time.
If we'd never gone to the lake and instead gone straight home.
But "if" is a useless word, and a thousand different scenarios can't wash away what happened, can't undo what was done.
Baylor's roundabout advice that the truth will set me free doesn't change anything.
Sure, I could give her the truth, but I'd rather have her hate me for the lie.
"What the hell is your problem?" Trigg says, walking up behind me as I exit the flower shop.
"I'm not sure I know what you mean," I say, forcing a levelness into my voice when all I really want to do is turn around and hit him with the third degree, but I can't. If I do that, then he'll truly have the upper hand.
Right now, I'm speculating that he knows precisely who Laney Hart is, but all that could very well be a pretense I've manufactured in my head from seeing her.
"You were my ride to the auction, dickhead," he spouts off, clearly peeved.
I turn to face him. He made it back to the house this afternoon, seeing as he's clean-shaven and wearing a t-shirt and jeans instead of the button-down he wore earlier.
"I forgot." I shrug. It's not a lie, but I'm also not sorry.
"I was thinking about everything I still needed to check off before the wedding on Sunday.
" His eyes narrow, and he crosses his arms. He's still pissed but maybe a little less offended. "It looks like you made it home. "
"I did, no thanks to you."
Shit, he got a ride home. The last thing I need is Laney Hart walking around Hale Ranch.
Right now, I don't see her walking down hallways, sprawled on the lawn with her junk journal, soaking in the sun, or sitting beside our lake, casting a line.
I don't need new memories to follow me here.
I'm barely treading water with the ones I can't forget.
One more Laney-shaped memory and I might just drown in what could have been.
"Did your new girlfriend give you a ride?"
He stares flatly, as though he's gauging my reaction to saying those words.
They tasted like acid on their way out. In no reality does he get to give her that title, but I have to prod.
I need answers—how they met, who she is to him, and why she's suddenly here.
Those details won't magically appear unless I poke the bear a little.
"I can't tell if you're jealous or just an ass.
" I raise a brow, attempting to remain unfazed and act as though the answer to both isn't yes.
"Laney had Katie with her, and they had to get back to Fairfield, so I caught a ride with one of Dad's friends…
" He pauses to pull out his phone as it pings with a message.
Fuck. The little girl…the one who bears a striking resemblance to a young Laney and looks very close to a damning age.
My stomach twists as yet another layer of regret is added to the mountain that I'm buried beneath.
A smirk ghosts across his face when he reads the message, and he grasps my shoulder.
"But hey, if you're worried about un-inviting my guests to the wedding this weekend, don't be.
I'm meeting up with her and Asha Fairfield tonight. "
She's friends with Asha Fairfield? When the hell would their paths have crossed?
But more than that, what game is he playing?
While meeting up with Asha may not be a top priority, it would make sense.
He got dealt a shitty hand when it comes to her, but what he hasn't figured out is that it doesn't mean he can't still win the game.
However, that game part has me saying, "Well, in that case, I'll tag along. " Laney isn't a game .
"Are you serious? You're willing to risk the wrath on the other end of that unfinished list to play wingman?"
I shrug. This wedding has grown into something none of us saw coming. The checklist matters very little to me. It's not my list of demands. I've only been working on it when I need a distraction. Its completion bears no consequence. The wedding will still go on as planned.
"I never agreed to play the role of wingman, but I figure I owe you a beer for leaving you high and dry earlier."
His dark eyes hold mine with a smidgen of skepticism before he says, "I'll never turn down a free beer."
"Let's go grab that beer, then," I say, matching his stride as we head toward the park.