Chapter 6
R oarke
Early the next morning, I stood outside my front door. Before sipping my coffee, I held the mug up to my face and let the warm steam waft up to me. Half of the wakeup power was in the scent alone, and nothing made me snap to attention better than the aroma of a dark roast.
I gazed out at the darkness, feeling small, which was no easy feat with my height. Under the navy sky, as stars faded from sight, it was easy to feel like nothing more than a speck at the end of the universe. That I was truly alone, the one person out here.
But I’m not.
I squinted, trying to make out the shape of the other cabins out here. Not one stood out, but I knew they were here, closer to the ranch buildings.
With a fleeting flicker of intrigue, I wondered if Heather had managed to stay the night. It was no concern of mine. She shouldn’t even be on my mind, yet the question popped up.
Did you find the cabin too primitive?
Even if she hadn’t stayed, if she saw the cabin and decided it was beneath her taste, I knew for a fact another woman had stayed in one of these cabins last night.
With a heavy sigh, I turned slightly to peer through the crack I’d left in my front door.
My niece slept in on my couch. It was her silhouette I’d found last night. She was the one who’d helped herself to letting herself into my home.
What is it this time, Nevaeh?
My sister-in-law’s daughter had shown up out of nowhere, but I wasn’t too shocked. This wasn’t the first time she’d crashed at my place. My brother passed away in prison, when Nevaeh was just a kid, and unfortunately, Gracie, my sister-in-law, skirted on the edge of the law too much herself. Dabbling with drugs, in and out of rehab assistance, and overall a lousy maternal figure, she fought hard to never let anyone else raise her child. I never understood why she was so against having Nevaeh in the system or sent to a foster family. Gracie never acted like a mother, but she said many times that she would be damned if anyone else tried to replace her.
Needless to say, Nevaeh lacked a solid upbringing. Hell, she lacked a decent home life at all. Without that stability, it was no wonder that she was as reckless and flighty as they came.
I could only imagine what brought her here now, but I could let her have at least a few more minutes of rest. She’d shown up, proved that she had the memory of an elephant, recalling precisely where I always hid my spare key.
Even though I was firm with her, stern that I didn’t appreciate herself just barging in like that, she got sassy right back, asking why I ever told her where my spare key was if I didn’t actually want her around.
Reasoning with a pissed-off teenager was foolhardy, and that late at night, I didn’t want to face a fight. I told her we’d talk in the morning, and after she showered and ate damn near everything in the fridge—which was typically bare—she passed out on the couch.
I didn’t have much time to spare in the morning to wait for her to wake up and be in the mood to chat. My job was waiting. My coworkers were counting on me. Regardless of dawn not arriving just yet, the time for her to explain herself was now.
“Nevaeh.” I nudged her shoulder a few times. “Time to get up.”
A muffled groan was all the reply she managed.
“Nevaeh. I need to get to work.”
She rolled her head on the pillow, sending her pink and purple hair bunching the other way.
“Nevaeh.”
Sleep was important. Of course, it was. It was vital for life. But she wasn’t a minor anymore. She didn’t need me to treat her like a child. That was often the fine line I had to balance on: was it better to act like a friend she can approach just so she has someone to count on, or was it ideal for me to be the adult, the uncle, and the guidance she deserved as a formerly troubled youth?
Still nothing. Her thin chest rose and fell with a deeper, contented breath as she slept.
“Nevaeh!” I roused her now, nudging her shoulder with a little more force. Not to hurt her. Of course not. But more pressure to be effective as an alarm clock.
Her black fishnet shirt draped lower off her shoulder as she moaned and tried to burrow her face into the pillows more. I furrowed my brow, worried and hating that I’d be suckered into concern this quickly.
She seemed thinner, and I waffled between assuming she wasn’t eating well or that she had to be doing drugs.
More so, I questioned my memory about the marks on her.
That’s a new tat, isn’t it? I couldn’t recall a dragon on her shoulder and back like that. If that was the case, where the hell was she getting the money to afford something that intricate and detailed?
“Nevaeh. Get up. Right now.” I stood and crossed my arms. My patience was fading as she groaned and didn’t roll over.
Her arm moved though. She was conscious enough to do that. Slowly, and jerkily as if she wasn’t sure where her limbs were with this funky position on the couch, she lifted her arm behind her back and gave me the finger.
Fucking punk.
“Now!”
She flinched a bit, moaning some more like she was a starved bear coming out of hibernation.
“I need to go to work.”
“Then go. I just wanna sleep,” she mumbled with her face smashed in my couch pillow.
“No.” I narrowed my eyes, remembering all too well what happened when she ran to see me as a teenager. It was her first attempt at being a true runaway. Only fifteen, she traveled from Utah, where Gracie was living at the time, to Texas, where I was just going through the beginning of my separation and divorce from Veronica. I’d moved out to an apartment, and not thinking twice, I let Nevaeh crash in my spare bedroom when she showed up. Before I could get a hold of Gracie again, Nevaeh destroyed the place, letting some boyfriend of hers bring coke, get trashed, and had an epic breakdown there. The costs of repairs had been insane, and the fucking guy stole half my valuables, too.
“I don’t trust you to stay in my home when I’m not here.”
She flung herself upright, going from a sloth-like supine slouch to sitting with her back ramrod straight. Perhaps she tatted her makeup on so it’d be permanent. Despite her shower last night, the smoky darkness around her eyes remained, the metallic sheen and all.
“Oh, you don’t trust me now?” she retorted in a nasty snarl.
I leaned down calmly, looking her directly in her bloodshot eyes. “No.” I stated it simply, prepared for her to lash out.
“That’s bullshit, Roarke. Fucking bullshit.”
“And it’s tough shit for you. Start talking.”
She rolled her eyes.
“If you ever gave me a reason why I should trust you, I would.” Trusting a woman, whether she was new or familiar, young or old, wasn’t happening any time soon.
“I’m family.”
Don’t remind me. That was literally the only reason I hadn’t tossed her out. I had a heart, but it was battered and hardened from being taken advantage of too many times.
“Why are you here?”
She shrugged, making the other shoulder of her gothic shirts to droop that way. “I just needed a place to stay.”
“For just last night?”
She sneered. “What, you’re anxious to get rid of me already?”
Again, I didn’t sugar-coat or mince my words, sticking with the clear, direct, and brutally honest truth as briefly as possible.
“Yes. Yes, I am.”
“Some uncle you are.”
I gritted my teeth, refusing to cave to her acting like an entitled brat. Determined to get answers, I repeated, “Are you intending to hang around here longer than just last night and now?”
She shrugged and yawned. “Yeah.”
“Here, specifically?” I pointed down at the floor.
“Yeah.”
“Why?” I crossed my arms. “What did you do now?”
Her mouth hung open after she scoffed. “That’s not nice. Don’t assume I’ve done anything.”
“That’s never the case,” I replied.
“And don’t talk down to me like I’m a kid.”
“You’re damned close to one. You act your age, I’ll treat you like an adult.”
She sulked, glaring at me. “I am an adult. I’m nineteen.”
But you’ve never been the brightest individual out there, have you? She’d never shown much promise in doing the right thing, so I wasn’t being an asshole to assume she was on the run or guilty of some kind of problem.
“What did you do?” I asked again.
“Nothing,” she repeated, glancing to the side. “I’m just living my life. Getting by.”
“Then why are you here?”
She growled. “Boy, you really know how to make someone feel welcome.”
“Answer me,” I warned. This wasn’t my first damn rodeo with her flightiness and manipulative ways.
“I’m just trying to get by. Life is hard.”
“No shit it is.” I tightened my arms over my chest. “Cry me a river. Life gets hard for everyone. Why are you here?”
If she wanted to bitch that she needed money, that was a hard no. I’d done that song and dance too many times.
If she wanted help finding a job, again, no thanks. I’d lined up several things for her.
And if she wanted to mooch off me again, for the little I had after my divorce, fuck no .
I was through with being generous under the blanket concept of always helping family out no matter what. It was a hard lesson to learn, but I realized too late that my lenience with her was nothing but enabling her to act like this—without a care, without responsibility.
Over and over, I guessed different things for why she’d show up out of the blue again.
“The last time I heard from you was seven months ago. What gives?”
She sighed, like this was so hard for her. “I was busy.”
“Doing what?” I again looked at the clock, knowing I had to get going.
“I don’t answer to you.”
“That’s right.” I pointed at the door. “You don’t. And I sure as hell don’t answer to you either. I was fed up with her closed-lip attitude.
“Wait!” She shot to her feet, putting on her woe-is-me frown. “I just... It’s just like I told you. I need to lie low for a while. Rest and relax.”
“Why?” I’d asked that on repeat for these last few minutes.
“I can’t explain it.” She huffed, scowling at me like I was the jerk. “But I guess you’re too much of a hardass to understand that sometimes people need a break in life, huh? Screw you, Uncle Roarke.” She grabbed her bag and walked out.
As soon as she was gone, walking into the morning fog in the direction of the main road out of here, I exhaled. All the pent-up frustration boiled to a low simmer within me.
There was no chance in hell that was the last I’d see of her. She’d plot. She’d scheme on how to get what she wanted. She always did, and I felt like it was up to me to be the “hardass” and let her learn from her own mistakes.
I shook my head as I grabbed my keys to leave.
Dealing with her for even that short talk was enough for me to reinforce my personal mantra and rule.
Steer clear.
At this point, I wanted nothing to do with any woman. I was done with their drama.
As I strode to my truck to drive the short distance to the ranch’s biggest barn, I chided myself for having such a stereotypical attitude about women. I knew there had to be some good ones out there. My ma was a saint, gone too soon from cancer. Wendy was a damned sweet wife for Gavin. Good, honest women existed, but it seemed that only the manipulative ones ever found their way to me.
And I’m fucking sick of it.