Chapter 15
Sawyer
Silvery moonlight reflects off the rim of my glass as I twist it in my hands, swirling the liquid around. Darkness drenches the fields encompassing the house, the star-speckled sky and full moon the only light that glimmers above Lucky Star at this midnight hour.
It’s one thing I never got to appreciate growing up—if I was ever awake at night, chances were I was somewhere on the property trying to get to sleep in my truck, the standard choice whenever my dad’s mood meant staying in the house was too dangerous.
The peacefulness of the ranch was probably the last thing on my mind.
That reality I once lived seems harder to imagine the more time I spend here.
The more nights I sit and recognise the tranquillity somewhere like Lucky Star could offer someone.
The more days I spend getting to know the ranchers and what this ranch means to them.
The more of Honey and Noah’s laughter that fills the place.
There’s a creak of a floorboard above me, and I realise that I must have dialled out while listening to Honey sing Noah back to sleep after he had a bad dream, because the house is swimming in silence now, save for the soft footsteps of Honey creeping out of Noah’s room.
I hear her pad quietly down the stairs, barely making a sound, so not to wake me as she passes my bedroom, and I can’t help the corners of my mouth from twitching.
The lack of light must mean she doesn’t see me, because I watch her reflection in the mirror above the fireplace walk into the kitchen and lean against the island counter, letting out one of those deep sighs I always hear and hate.
I still haven’t found a way to stop them and it kills me.
‘There’s extra warm milk in the pan if you want some,’ I say over my shoulder, making her squeak as she flips around to find me on the couch.
‘Oh.’ She presses a hand to her chest as she studies me.
She’s forgone the flannel pyjama pants she usually wears to bed with her oversized T-shirts, and it takes a lot more self-control than I’d like to admit to stop my gaze from drifting down to her bare thighs, or force the thought that just her panties likely sit beneath that top.
‘Warm milk?’ she asks, fingers drifting down to tug at the hem of her T-shirt.
Her hair’s loose for once, I notice then too—she always wears it up these days, when she has the prettiest locks, like flowing rivers of white and gold.
They deserve to be seen more. To have fingers teased through them.
Especially when they’re lit up by the ribbons of moonlight breaking through the window.
‘Yeah.’ I hold up my glass, a few mouthfuls still left. I did enough for all three of us, including Noah, when I knew they were awake. Just in case. ‘Helps you sleep. Read about it once.’
‘How did you know I’d need—’ She lets out a long exhale and runs her fingers through her hair. ‘Noah woke you up, didn’t he? I’m sorry.’
‘No,’ I lie—he did, but it was my chaotic mind that made damn sure I didn’t go back to sleep. ‘Don’t fret, Blue. S’all good.’
Honey nods, then eyes the pan on the stove and fetches a glass from the cupboard, proceeding to pour the rest of the milk into it.
I don’t think she realises I can see the way she studies me in the mirror afterwards, staring at the couch while she worries her lip, as if deciding whether to sit.
Whether it’s a good idea to be close to me.
I really fucking hope she sits with me.
Even if just to have her calming presence for a second.
Even if I can’t hold her like I used to when I was struggling. Does she remember that?
And to my luck, she does, settling herself on the other end of the couch and stretching her bare legs out onto the coffee table.
Probably doesn’t even realise how teasing she is.
Or how easily my body relaxes the moment she sits beside me.
Watching her tense body deflate into the cushions is a gift, and I pretend she gets the same feeling of comfort from my presence too.
‘Thank you,’ she says, holding up the glass before taking a sip. Another whoosh of relief leaves her lips after. ‘You’re always looking out for me. Not just with the house but with helping when I’m stressed, cooking for us, and being a friend for Noah. And buying him all the toys in Colorado.’
I chuckle but shrug, acting like her words don’t make my body want to shake with pride. ‘Least I can do. You’re helping me too.’
‘How?’ Honey’s face creases and she draws her legs up onto the couch, the briefest flash of her white panties beneath her T-shirt torturing me. Coupled with how much closer her bare legs are. How easily I could brush my fingers along that soft skin of hers.
I swallow, my confession coming easier when I meet her curious eyes. ‘You give me the faith to not let this place consume me with all its bad memories.’
She edges closer, knee knocking mine and staying there. Connected to me. Giving me her touch to anchor me. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The house. The ranch. It’s mine. I know it has been for a while, really.
But I … I want to find a way to love it.
Except every time I’m here, all I see are the bad parts.
Or I did … before you and Noah.’ Her lips pop open at my honesty.
‘That’s why I never stay here. I have an apartment in town that Wolfman lives in.
I always stay with him. Only here now ’cause of my damn leg. ’
I laugh to myself, shaking my head, as Honey sits there, just listening.
Giving me the space to talk freely and let out the darkness that clouds me like she used to.
‘Y’know it’s funny—when Noah drew over my cast, it kinda made me feel better.
Like he was drawing something good, something happy, over something bad.
My broken leg still made me feel fucking useless, but I didn’t hate it so much every time I looked at it then.
I wish I could do that with this place. Then I might find a way to stay. ’
Silence weighs on me as her eyes flick between mine, searching. But then something strikes through them, her whole face lighting up with whatever idea takes her mind.
‘Wait here,’ she suddenly instructs, planting her glass on the table and leaving the couch. She finds Noah’s backpack hanging by the front door and rummages around inside, pulling out a pack of something I can’t figure out in the dark.
On her way back, she flicks on the lamp beside the couch and eagerly returns next to me.
Something about her energy buzzes now, a subtle vibration that has my own body on edge, anxious to be drawn in and away from my drowning thoughts.
Excitement sparks in her eyes as she holds up a pack of crayons between us.
‘You said you wish you could draw over the bad memories you had here. Well, why don’t we?’
My eyes dart between her and the crayons. ‘You want me to draw on what—the walls?’
Honey shrugs but her grin is too enticing. ‘Why not? If it might help?’
‘You should sleep, Blue. You don’t need to be staying up with me—’
She slides her hand around mine, instantly cutting off my words, and pulls me to a stand with her, fingers slowly seeking out the gaps between mine. My eyes widen, a shot of energy coursing through me now we’re connected again. God, I’ve wanted to feel her skin properly against mine again so badly.
She asks, ‘That time your dad threw the bottle at the wall, and it smashed—what wall did it hit?’
She … remembers that?
Does she remember the way I held her after I told her too? Under the showers, in the boys’ locker room? How we sat for ages, just the two of us, as she propped me up when I had no strength left?
I swallow down the memories clogging my throat and answer, ‘Dining room.’
Determination hardening her features, while a mischievous twinkle finds her eyes, Honey leads me to the dining room slowly.
She flicks on the light and scours the walls, her hand tightening around mine when she must spot the subtle chunk out of the wood on said wall, and the slight discolouration around it.
To anyone it’s just a sign of age. To us it’s fear frozen in time.
I glance down from the pain of the memory, knowing it’s forever left a scar on my cheek from the glass that cut me. When I do, my eyes find our still intertwined hands and it grounds me. Reminds me I’m strong enough to stay standing, because I have her strength too.
I know I can’t stop your dad, but when you’re not feeling whole, I’ll give you my strength. Just like you give me yours.
Reluctantly, I let go and take a couple of crayons from her. ‘So, what do I draw?’
‘I don’t know,’ Honey muses, studying the wall with folded arms that stretch her T-shirt tighter over her full chest—not that my eyes had fallen there …
But it is another good distraction. ‘Maybe something that reminds you of better memories? Like football? Or maybe a cool place you’ve visited while travelling for bull riding? ’
I nod, considering the wall and her words, then start drawing the first thing that comes to mind with the yellow crayon.
‘Stars,’ she notes, baby blues twinkling brighter than the thousands of stars that guarded over us that night in my truck bed.
‘Great secret keepers, I hear,’ I joke.
‘We would know,’ she responds, biting back her grin.
It’s all I need to hear. To know she remembered. To see her smile from that memory too. That not everything in my past has soured. I get back to my drawing, sketching out lots of little stars across the wall, adding a moon too.
Honey showers the dark wall with long-stemmed flowers boasting pink and orange petals.
Even draws a little bee buzzing by one of them.
She’s meticulous with each drawing, joy radiating off her, and it reminds me of that time I once found her in the library writing one of her tales in her secret notebook back in high school.
Pride has my chest expanding seeing that passion still burning, that the harshness of the world never extinguished it.
She still catches her bottom lip between her teeth as she concentrates, and I have to look away to hide my smile.
Neither of us are artists by a long shot, but it doesn’t matter.
Warmth floods my veins, climbing into my chest and settling there.
Sparking each time I look at Honey and see her smiling.
It makes me feel like a kid—just playing and not having to think about a care in the world.
Only making something good and joyous out of the moment.
The kind of thing we missed out on growing up.
Well, except for when I was with her.
‘There,’ Honey says as she finishes her last flower. She takes a step back and admires our masterpiece. Then, she asks, ‘Where next?’
I can’t stop my grin from flashing. ‘Door jambs, Blue. Been shoved into those too many times.’
Honey takes my hand again with such ease and whisks me over to the archway we came through before I can stop to marvel at the way her hand fits in mine so well still.
We start there, drawing more stars and flowers and all kinds of other things that come to mind.
It doesn’t matter anymore what they are, because knowing they were drawn by us together will beat whatever bad memories lay beneath.
Eventually, we find ourselves side by side, sitting in the archway that leads to the stairs, glasses of milk on the floor beside us as we add pictures and shapes from the bottom up.
There’s a few more chunks out of the wood on this archway, both near the bottom and top, likely from my dad kicking and punching it with rage.
This time, Honey hums as she draws, and all that tension, that darkness that fills my mind, starts to dissipate from the caress of her angelic voice and has me drawing happily over the dents.
When I finish the sunshine I was drawing, I twist round to face her better and run a hand lightly across the small of her back, making her turn.
‘Blue.’ I grab our glasses, handing her hers as she turns. ‘Thank you.’
The softest smile graces her lips. ‘I told you before, didn’t I? When you’re not feeling whole, I’ll give you my strength. Just like you’ve been doing for me.’
She does remember.
Honey clinks her glass against mine and we both drink the last drops of our milk. When I swallow, Honey rolls her lips, eyes darting to my mouth and twinkling with amusement.
‘What?’ I ask, brows drawing in.
Her laughter bubbles out and the sound has my heart thumping. I remember when I used to make her do that all the time. How much I craved hearing it. How much I still do.
‘Sorry, it’s just that you got milk in your—here, let me.
’ Honey reaches through the space between us, rubbing her thumb across my upper lip and catching the bottom of my moustache, where milk must have lingered.
The softness of her thumb, the way heat courses through me just from such a small touch, makes my body bristle with too many memories.
I catch her eyes as her thumb hovers at the corner of my mouth, where her gaze is locked on my lips, oblivious to me watching her.
I can’t help but wet my lips, noting the way her pupils swallow up most of her irises.
With what, I wonder. Want? Need? And is her blood rushing as quickly as mine right now?
When she finally glances up at me, her eyes flare and she swallows, the long column of her throat working. Now my eyes are on her mouth, drawn there by the trembling breaths that flow from her plush parted lips, wondering if they’d feel as good as they used to—
‘What’s going on?’
We both whip our heads around to find Noah at the top of the stairs, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He scrunches his face as he studies us.
‘Sorry, baby,’ Honey starts, lifting to her knees, as if readying to get up, but I circle her wrist keeping her in place gently. Not wanting this night to end yet. She furrows her brow at me, confusion painting her face, but doesn’t protest.
So, I turn back to Noah and plainly say, ‘We’re drawing over the bad memories I have in this house.’ Then, deciding I could use a few stick figurine cowboys about the place, I ask, ‘Wanna help?’
The way Honey’s face lights up at my offer almost has my legs shaking with the need to see that bright flash of appreciation in her again.
That’s why I don’t even second-guess my decision when Noah toddles down the stairs and I pick him up in one quick sweep, settling him on my shoulders so he can draw on the higher parts.
His adorable giggle echoes through the house, and I hand him the crayon I was using.
Honey reaches up to stroke Noah’s back, but her baby blues are locked on me, sparkling.
I know that when the sun is up again, we’ll be back to purposefully making space between us, to pretending that the past is stuck there forever.
But for the first time in a long time, I rather like the darkness in this house, because it’s where I found the light in Honey again. The light that once kept me going.
The light I don’t think I’ll stop chasing.