Chapter 13-Micah
My phone vibrates.
It’s Sawyer.
Of course it is.
I answer before the second ring, my attention split between the call and the steady rush of water coming from down the hall.
“You good? Everything go okay?” he asks without preamble.
“Yeah.”
“You don't sound convincing.”
I glance towards the hallway.
The shower is still running.
“I'm getting there.”
“You got her?”
“She's here.”
“Good.”
I look out the front window across the moonlit ranch.
“It's worse than we thought.”
He waits a beat before speaking.
“Tell me.”
I rub the back of my neck.
“Before I get into it, I sent a cleanup crew to The Watering Hole.”
“You did?”
“Told them I want it spotless before they leave.”
Sawyer snorts.
“You put that private security firm on the bar?”
“Yeah. They owe me.”
“They're expensive.”
“Worth it.”
He grunts.
“What else?”
I lower my voice automatically, listening to the shower.
Still running.
Good.
“Stella's on her way to get Patrick.”
That gets his attention.
“What? You called Stella? That woman is mean as hell.”
“Yeah. But her rehab doesn't screw around and that motherfucker needs it.”
Sawyer whistles.
“Damn. So, Patrick's going tonight.”
“That’s right. I’ll tell Sloane after her shower.”
“I see. And he'll stay there until he's clean?”
“He doesn't have a choice.”
Sawyer is quiet.
“What is it? Addiction?”
“Meth.”
I close my eyes.
“And gambling.”
Patrick's confession replays in my head.
Broken.
Ashamed.
Scared.
Most addicts don’t realize they’re not only hurting themselves until every relationship they have has already suffered.
“I didn't mean for it to get this bad.”
Nobody ever does.
“I borrowed a little at first,” Patrick had admitted, blood still dripping from his split lip. “Then I lost. Thought I could win it back. Then I borrowed more.”
Classic.
Every damn story starts exactly the same.
“How much?” I'd asked.
He laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it wasn't.
“Everything.”
He'd mortgaged his future.
Then Sloane's.
“He blew through her money,” I tell Sawyer quietly. “Ruined her credit.”
“Jesus.”
“The insurance money after their dad died.”
“Christ.”
“The business account.”
Sawyer lets out a slow whistle.
“Son of a bitch.”
“Then he started taking out loans.”
“In whose name?”
“His and hers. Mostly hers.”
Silence.
“He forged her signature on some.”
“Motherfucker,” Sawyer rumbles.
“Others...” I stare toward the hallway. “...she signed.”
“She was trying to help him,” he says, like he gets it, too.
“Yeah.”
“She knew?”
“Not everything.”
“Why'd she do it?”
“Guilt. Loyalty. Love.”
I listen for her again.
The water is still running.
She's okay.
“He convinced her he'd sacrificed everything to keep their parents alive.”
“And?”
“He lied.”
Sawyer mutters a curse.
And at that moment, I picture Sloane standing behind her bar every night.
Working herself into the ground.
Driving an old van.
Every spare dollar disappearing into Patrick's addiction.
“He took everything she had,” I growl. “And she kept trying to save him.”
“She’s a good woman, Micah.”
I don’t answer because I don’t have to. She is a good woman.
Silence settles between us.
Finally, Sawyer mutters exactly what I'm thinking.
“Fucking asshole.”
I nod.
“Yeah.”
“You trust your gut with this woman?”
“I do.”
“And?”
“She’s staying on the ranch with me for a while.”
“Okay.”
Just like that.
No arguments.
No questions.
Because Sawyer trusts my instincts.
I listen again.
The shower is still running.
“I don't think she's processed any of it yet.”
“Probably hasn't.”
“She still worries about him.”
“He's her brother.”
“I know.”
“Doesn't mean she owes him her life.”
“No.”
Another quiet settles over us.
Then Sawyer clears his throat.
“So.”
I already know.
“So.”
“You planning on keeping her?”
I bark out a humorless laugh.
“She's not a fucking puppy.”
“No?”
“No.”
“She gets choices.”
Sawyer chuckles.
“I figured you'd say that.”
Because it's true.
She gets every choice.
She chooses where she lives.
Who she trusts.
Who she loves.
I'll never take that away from her.
Not after everything Patrick already has.
But the truth?
The answer I never say out loud?
The one my heart bellows the instant Sawyer asks?
Yes.
Absolutely yes.
I want to keep her.
I want her sleeping in my cabin every night.
Laughing in my kitchen.
Leaving coffee mugs on my counter.
Complaining when I spend too much time in front of computer monitors.
I want to replace every bad memory she's got with good ones.
I want to spend the rest of my life making sure nobody ever gets close enough to hurt her again.
It's insane.
We've shared exactly one kiss.
She's barely spoken fifty words to me outside her bar.
And somehow...
Somewhere...
She became home.
The shower shuts off.
Every muscle in my body locks.
Water stops running.
Silence.
Sawyer hears it.
“Micah?”
“I gotta go.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“You call if you need—”
“I will.”
I end the call.
The cabin suddenly feels very small.
Very quiet.
Patrick isn't getting a second chance because he deserves one.
He's getting it because Sloane needs to know she did everything she could for him.
After tonight, I'm taking care of her.
If helping that worthless bastard is part of taking care of her, then so be it.