Chapter 4
Chapter four
Jett
Standing there with a raised brow and wide eyes, watching as she disappears, I feel confused and conflicted. She refuses to give me more than surface level, and it’s infuriating. I know she wants this. It’s obvious.
Yet, she lets her fears win.
She tries to put on a brave facade, but it’s all for show. She’s terrified.
I begged her to give us a shot, not fuck this up, and she simply left. I could be butt hurt and take that as a sign to just give up, but I won’t. She deserves someone who loves her enough to stick around. Someone who is willing to wait for her.
I can be that someone. I will be that someone. I’m a patient man, and I’ll be there when she’s ready...
I sit alone by the creek for about an hour before heading back in. After leaving the stables, I notice her car is no longer where it was previously parked. Shocker.
Walking back toward my parents' house, I hear someone shout my name and footsteps rushing behind me. Stopping, I spin around to see none other than Mark, one of our ranch hands.
“Hey,” I say roughly, turning back around, continuing to walk.
“Wait up, would ya?” Mark says breathlessly as he runs up beside me.
Mark is my age and has been working on the ranch for a few months now.
I’ve always known of him, but when we were younger, I didn’t care to get to know him.
We went to high school together, and we were never necessarily friends.
He ran with a different crowd than I did.
Where I was into sports, Mark was into drugs. We didn’t exactly have much in common.
One day, on my way back from town, I found Mark curled next to a dumpster.
He was high, beaten, homeless, and at his lowest. I’m no savior, but something in me shifted that day.
This guy I barely knew, and didn’t know many good things about, needed someone…
Anyone. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.
We made an agreement that day. He was to get clean, stay clean, and he could work and live here.
The more I got to know Mark, the more I understood him.
His parents were drug addicts who were abusive to him.
He was kicked out at seventeen, left to fend for himself.
He was desperate and knew no other life than the one they’d introduced him to.
My parents welcomed him with open arms. That was weird for him, but he’s been like family since.
“What?” I snap, unable to focus on anything but my frustration and disappointment.
“She cried.”
“What?” I ask, shocked, stopping in my tracks and causing Mark to bump into me.
“Yeah. I don’t know what happened out there, but Izzy pulled in on Harry Trotter, crying. I’ve seen Izzy here a bunch, and she wasn’t herself. She asked me to stable Harry and tell you she’s sorry.”
And that’s all it takes to keep me utterly and wholly invested in her.
This isn’t easy for her. I want to know why. Hell, I want to know everything there is to know. It kills me that I don’t, constantly feeling like I’m missing something. Like she’s this mesmerizing puzzle I just can't quite seem to solve.
“Thanks, Mark.”
“What are you going to do?” he asks, nudging my arm.
“What I always do when it comes to her. Wait. She has to come back to me on her terms.”
“Doesn’t that shit get old? Playing by her rules?”
I know he doesn’t mean harm, but his question pisses me off. “Nah, man. It doesn’t get old. When something or someone is worth it, you do what you have to do to make it work.”
“I guess so,” Mark says, shrugging as he turns and walks back toward the barn.
Mark walks ahead of me, pulling open the doors to Backroads Barn, the only bar in our small town of Tylertown, Mississippi, and I’m immediately met with the scent of cigarette smoke.
My stomach churns, gagging inwardly. I’ve never cared for the smell—it’s repulsive.
Which is a major reason I rarely ever come here.
The bar is an old barn. True to its name, it sits tucked off on the outskirts of town, off an old back road that’s really only traveled by locals.
The inside is nicer than what the peeling red paint on the outside leads you to believe.
There are clean, yet worn, wooden floors, exposed wooden beams that appear to be repurposed, and weather-galvanized metal wrapping the bottom of the bar.
If it weren’t for the terrible smell, the rustic setting would be almost cozy.
“Remind me again, what the fuck are we doing here, Mark?” I ask, grimacing.
Mark chuckles, patting me on the shoulder and pulling us to stand side-by-side.
“Well, it’s the only bar in town, and they happen to not give a shit how old we are.
And you, my friend, have been a dick and a bummer to be around for the past two weeks.
Ever since Izzy left. You need to blow off some steam. It’s time to move on and—”
I throw him a glare, stopping his words short. “You can take that thought and shove it right up your ass.”
Mark sighs. “Jett, she isn’t the only girl out there, man.”
“Fuck no.” I turn away, now facing the bar. “I’m not having this conversation with you.”
“Fine.” Mark releases his hold on my shoulder, tapping a hand on the bar to get the female bartender’s attention. “Hey, Carlie. Get us two whiskeys neat and two Bud Lights.”
“Whiskey and beer?” I scoff, throwing my hands up. “How bad off do you assume I am?”
“Do you really want me to answer that question?” Mark chuckles, picking up his glass of whiskey as soon as the bartender, Carlie, places it down.
“Wait a second,” I say, turning to face him, placing a hand on his arm. My eyebrows pinch together, my concern evident. “How often do you come here to drink? You know you’re supposed to be sober. Staying clean was—”
“Come on,” he says, cutting me off. Mark’s mouth curves into a comforting half-smile, managing to put some of my nerves at ease.
“ Yeah, I come have a drink or two every now and then. It’s not like I’m here every day.
I promise, I’m still sober.” His eyes meet mine, and I can see the sincerity there.
“What your family’s done for me… I won’t fuck that up, Jett. ”
I let his words sink in and try to trust them. He’s been on a straight path for a while now. He’s yet to relapse when it comes to drugs. What’s the harm in a drink every now and then?
“Yeah, I believe you, man,” I say. Just then, I hear an obnoxious-as-fuck laugh from directly behind us. I spin to face the source.
“Well, boys, look who it is,” the older guy says. He’s freshly shaven, well dressed, and looks clean, a complete contrast to the five guys standing around him, looking like they’re bad off and haven’t showered in weeks.
Who the fuck is this?
All the men laugh, as if something funny was said. It’s then that I look to Mark and see his entire demeanor shift. His cheeks redden, his shoulders slump forward, his head hangs slightly, and he’s fidgeting with his hands in his lap like he always does when he’s nervous.
He knows them, and every instinct in me is screaming that it isn’t in a good way.
“If it isn’t our Marky boy,” the clean-looking guy in the middle says. It’s clear he’s the leader of whatever this little group of theirs is. “Mark, my man. Who’s your friend?”
Mark audibly swallows hard, clearing his throat, his eyes darting to me. There’s an apology in his gaze. “Th-this is Jett,” he manages to say, his voice small.
I’ve never seen Mark like this. Not since he’s gotten clean. It’s as if these men walk in and he’s lost all the confidence his sobriety has brought him. It’s then that it hits me. They’re from his past. It’s obvious, and I don’t know what to do with that information.
When we took Mark in, I was aware of his bad standing with his dealers. I didn’t give a shit. Should I have? Is this one of them?
“Ahh, Jettson Cole,” the man says on a laugh. “Look boys, we finally get to meet Mr. Cole himself.”
What. The. Fuck.
How the hell does this sketchy fucker know who I am? Is Mark still in contact with these guys? No. He can’t be. There’s no way in hell Mark would do that. He’s come too far.
My hands begin to sweat, and tension rises in my shoulders—this whole encounter makes me uncomfortable. What do they want? And how the fuck do I get us out of this?
“Yeah,” I say cooly, keeping my tone even and confident. Taking a sip of my whiskey, my eyes stay locked on the mysterious man. “That’s me. And you are?”
The man steps closer to us, wrapping an arm around Mark’s shoulder. Mark visibly tenses, and I can practically smell the fear radiating off of him. Fuck, this isn’t good.
The man smirks, asking, “Marky boy, aren’t you going to introduce me?”
“Jett,” Mark clears his throat nervously again, “this is Tony.”
“Hey, Tony.” I push to stand, extending my hand out for him to shake. I need to get his hands off of Mark. “Nice to meet you.”
Tony lets out a forced, fake-as-shit laugh.
“Oh, Jett, the pleasure is all mine.” He takes my hand in his, giving it a firm shake before releasing his grip.
“You have no idea how grateful me and the boys are for all you’ve done for our buddy, Mark, here.
” His eyes flash to Mark’s, and Mark’s gaze drops to his hands, still fidgeting nervously in his lap.
“We’ll let you two get on with your night.
Just know, Jett, if you ever need anything, you give me a call.
It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done to…
help Mark.” He smiles widely, too widely, and his words don’t match his tone.
A wave of unease washes over me. Something really isn’t fucking right.
But, before I can overthink it, the men walk away just as quickly as they approached us.
What the fuck just happened?
I look to Mark, who visibly relaxes when the men retreat further away. “Mark, what the fuck?” I shout in a whisper. “Who the hell was that?”
Mark’s eyes briefly flash up to meet mine before dropping to the ground.
“That… That was the ghost of my past who still haunts me.” He looks at me again, and it’s then that I see the shame in his features, in the way he clears his throat and avoids my eyes.
“I wasn’t perfect, Jett. You knew that then when you took me in.
But I’m trying, man. I’m fucking trying. ”
I allow his words to register before responding. “What do you mean, he’s the ghost of your past who still haunts you? Is he still bothering you?”
Mark laughs, keeping his gaze averted, taking a big gulp of his whiskey. “Once you’re in with Tony, there’s no getting out.”
“What does that mean, Mark? Can we speak clear fucking English here, please?” My tone is clipped, annoyance clear in my voice.
“It means exactly what I said. He’s the ghost. He’ll always haunt me.” Mark tips his head back and chugs the rest of his whiskey.
“Are you safe?” I don’t know what else to ask or say here. I’m out of my depth. Never have I dealt with shit like this, and I sure don’t know how to handle it.
Mark forcibly laughs, and the sound stiffens my spine. “Yeah, Jett.” He shakes his head, as if clearing a thought. “I’m good.”
I want to force him to tell me everything, but it’s clear this is all I’m going to get out of him.
By the looks of it, Mark is terrified of Tony.
I don’t want to push for more than he’s willing to give.
At some point, a man has to deal with his past on his own—confront his own demons.
But if he’s in danger, I hope he knows he can come to me.
He’s my family now. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to help him.